ISAFJORDUR

Hvernig hefur Ipu bad?  I was “perfectly fine,” Takk fyrir “Thank you,” until  I saw that the first step onto our tour bus was as high as my leg could reach, and we had not been offered a step-stool. So, I put my hiking boot foot high up on that step. Now, I was presented with the problem of getting the other foot up, and then pulling myself into the bus. I held onto the side rails and got my other foot up. Now, my legs were onto the bus entrance, but my arms weren’t strong enough to pull me up. I was stuck! Happily, my son, Josh lifts weights, so he pulled me into the bus, while my dear daughter-in-law, Barbara stood behind and gave me a little push. This time pushing your mother-in-law around was and extremely positive move.

I was prepared to visit the abandoned village of Hesteyri near Isafjordur. I had layered my clothes, wore my Gore-Tex rain-free jacket, had on my hiking boots and carried my trusty hiking stick. Unfortunately, I did not realize that I was going to experience a rough Marine Corps Basic Training course in one of the most remote areas in Iceland.

Our next test was to jump from the bus into a small boat that has come alongside. It was the only way to reach Hesteyri. By now, several fellow passengers took charge of me, and helped me jump onto the side of the little boat and sit down. Vinsamlegast (Please!) tell me that this is it! But, No! Next, we had to leap from the boat into an inflatable Zodiac which would take us to shore, where someone there pulled out a piece of wharf for us to step onto the black sanded beach.

In the distance we saw a very high hill with a few scattered, empty houses that had been abandoned in the 1950s, because the people couldn’t take living there anymore. I noticed that the sky was getting darker. Our trek began as we started to walk uphill on a one-person-at-a-time rocky path.  Josh walked ahead of me, with his arm available to help me navigate the wet path, and Barbara followed me in case I needed a boost.

As we walked higher and higher, periodically we would walk over some small wooden planks so we could avoid sloshing through small streams of water. Since I kept my eyes down concentrating on the path, I didn’t really look up until we reached the Island’s cemetery that boasted a handful of gravesites. Finally, I looked at the marshland that surrounded us, and at the Isles craggy mountainside, which in Norse mythology, was the home for Iceland’s remaining trolls. On one of the mountains there is a big, dark indentation which was rumored to be left by a huge Troll when he plopped down there. It is called, THE TROLL’S THRONE.”

Deciding not to be left at the cemetery, I continued with the others on our walk up the trail to view the beautiful Dynjandi Waterfall. The best part of the view was that we were going to end our 2 1/2 mile hike walking downhill.  It began to rain. We walked to a house where the owner spends his summer welcoming tourists with coffee and homemade pie—and playing his Hammer Dulcimer—an Icelandic instrument where the strings are not plucked but instead are hammered. The Dulcimer looked like a guitar cut in half, but the Icelandic tunes were beautiful.

After 30 minutes, our guide suggested we return to the beach and stand in the rain to wait for our Zodiac.  By now, it was raining a bit harder. So we stood, and stood, and stood  watching two little boys build a black sand castle on the beach. Keeping Icelandic time, the Zodiac finally arrived.

Unfortunately, I didn’t see the town of Isafjordur—population 2,600—where it is rumored that the local folk party away at the local pub on long winter nights, but I now do have the satisfaction of passing the Icelandic tour basic training challenge.

Esther Blumenfeld