Thursday, August 20th, 2026
Distance flown – 2,820 kilometres (PRG – FRA 410 kilometres / FRA – KEF 2,410 kilometres)
Distance driven – 254 kilometres
Distance hiked – 4.7 kilometres (almost all in Frankfurt airport)
Whether or not it is truly a factor of increasing age, I do not really know – but things that were, it seemed only yesterday, in the distant future, now seem to pop up marked “it is tomorrow” with increasing frequency !
So it was with our latest little adventure.
When we booked to go from Iceland to Svalbard via Greenland, it seemed ages away (it was around a year) but, all of a sudden we had to go !
So it was that, having paid it no heed at all – in truth Lucie does ALL the planning, I woke up this morning and we had to go and do it !
In the early hours, I donned my shirt, trousers, braces and boots. I used to do very much the same thing, almost every week, in the early 1970s but, on this occasion my destination was not the North West of England, which had the highest concentration of football grounds, but the North West of Iceland, which has the highest concentration of, errr, puffins !
We were on our way to where we spent our honeymoon, in 2004. (yes, we did get married in 2003) as a warm up for another expedition cruise.
As usual, Lucie had pared down what we were taking to the barest of essentials and our two rucksacks were pleasingly light. About fifteen kilograms in total – well under Lufthansa’s hand baggage limit. We hefted them onto our shoulders and Prague’s wonderful public transport system conveyed us from our front door to the airport in only fifty-four minutes. Total time standing at stops was under five of those.
We took off exactly on time.
We were a tiny bit nervous, because our layover in Frankfurt was scheduled to be less than an hour, but the ruthless Teutonic efficiency of our chosen carrier, Lufthansa, meant that we never really stopped moving. It was slightly worrying in Frankfurt (the ONLY airport where I have ever missed a connection), not the least because although our bus dropped us in the right terminal, Terminal 1, this was over sixty-six gates away from the one we wanted – and only twenty minutes before boarding commenced – but we made it.
Flights generally tend (mercifully) to be uneventful – so it does not take much to ripple that little pond.
I would have thought that everyone knows that, in a standard “airbus” type aeroplane, with a single aisle, the seats are lettered as A to F, starting on the right as you look towards the tail.
Not so!
In the row in front of us, three people were sitting in A, B and C.
An ancient lady, being assisted by a steward and with her granddaughter in tow, appeared.
Granny had a ticket for seat A.
The woman already sitting in A had the ticket for C – and the woman in C had a ticket for D on the other side of the aisle (the granddaughter also had D – but two rows back). Still with me ?
The steward insisted (whilst displaying a remarkable grasp for Latin languages) that granny must sit in seat A. So frail was the old biddy that all the moving, shuffling and reseating took almost ten minutes.
Quite naturally, granny, once finally ensconced, then decided she did not want to sit by the window. So everyone had to get up again, while she swapped seats with her grandaughter.
It was a relief to finally take off.
Keflavik airport had certainly changed since 2004, it was small then – it is big now !
Another long walk. As we tried to find our way out, I noticed a billboard saying “Discover Iceland’s best kept secret”. What the poster did not say was that the “secret” was how to find your way out of the terminal. Renovations were in progress and there was no signage whatsoever saying “Exit”.
After a lot of looking, we did find our way out – but it was more like scurrying down a narrow escape tunnel in Colditz than, leaving an international airport.
We had pre-booked a small 4×4 for our exploring, a Suzuki Jimny.
It was a handsome little beast, like a baby Mercedes G-Wagon and we were soon on our way. After about two kilometres, it began to flash a warning message. It appeared to be fine, but the message persisted so, reluctantly, we turned around and headed back to the airport.
As I was parking and preparing to do battle with Budget, a young woman from Avis pulled up and asked if I was returning it. When I told her about the message, she told me not to worry. Iceland has recently gone totally 5G – but the software in the Suzuki cannot cope with that and “they are all doing it”, she said. If only the girl who had given us the keys had thought to say that, it would have saved us a lot of worry !
The car drove well on the road – but the flashing was close to driving me crazy !!
In 2004, Iceland’s roads were deserted by anybody’s standards, that is not the case any longer.
The volume of traffic was very surprising – we even saw some traffic jams ! In addition, the road around Reykjavik is now a long succession of roundabouts – I did not remember seeing one on our previous visit. This stop/start progress, coupled with a manual gearbox (my Hyundai is automatic) and the fact that almost every other vehicle is a huge SUV, made for a trying start. Luckily, I grew into it and, soon enough, the “real” Iceland came slowly into view (the little Suzuki was not a fast car).
Considering the enormous care that goes into Lucie’s packing, we had a minor hiccup. The trend towards a smaller USB connector meant that, as the Suzuki only had an “original” USB outlet, we could not plug in a ‘phone to navigate. Luckily, we were able to buy one at the first petrol station we came to. This had a “Route 66” theme, which we liked.
We had a quick snack of a “Fish Burger” – this was, quite literally, a fried piece of cod in batter – served in a bun. I like fish and chips (the English way) so the jury is still out.
After all the drought in Europe proper, the scenery was surprisingly green as we started heading North up Road 1. Majestic mountains, large areas of lava or glacial moraine and, of course the ubiquitous waterfalls abounded. At one point the road was being repaired and we drove for ten kilometres on a very poor surface including loose shale. The little jeep scarcely noticed.
At Borganes, we left Road 1 for Road 54 and headed West along the Snaefellesnes peninsula.
For many kilometres, the road hugged the lowlands and was flanked by the steely, blue-grey sea on our left and towering mountains on our right. The tops of these were often obscured by low clouds and the light was poor. It was on our honeymoon that we first took note of large plastic-wrapped bales of hay. We christened them “hay beads” and the fields were dotted with this year’s collection in resplendent whites and greens. There will be no Winter fodder shortage in Iceland, this year, I supposed, unlike back home. There were also, besides the expected sheep and cattle, a number of the stocky Icelandic ponies, with their characteristic long manes. Did I include sheep in the “expected” column ? Having watched us approach from a long distance, three sheep “unexpectedly” scampered across the road about ten metres in front of the jeep. It was the only time, all day, that I had to hit the brakes with any intent !
Eventually, a few kilometres short of our destination, in Olafsvik, the climbed steeply over a ridge and we were afforded fine views back along the way we had come.
We arrived in Olafsvik. The road was flanked by gigantic boulders as we came into town. The bay looked quiet and tranquil but, as those huge rocks had obviously been placed there deliberately, it was clearly not always so calm and picturesque. We easily found our accommodations in the Vid Harid guest-house/hostel, as it is right on the main road through town.
It was a little bit basic and our room was small, but it was clean and welcoming.
For dinner, we walked about three hundred metres along the main road to the “Matarlist” restaurant, which appeared to be the best place in town.
It certainly did not disappoint. The staff were welcoming and friendly, the service was smooth and efficient and the food was heavenly. We both had cod that was so good it is perhaps understandable that the UK and Iceland both got their gunboats out, several times, between 1958 and 1976, in disputes over fishing rights. Iceland won ! Oooops ! Lucie had her cod done to a local recipe and mine, low-class layabout that I am, was fried with chips !
The local beer was called Gull.
It amuses me to inform you that, in two visits to Iceland, I have eaten a Puffin and drunk a Gull. Razorbill on toast for breakfast the next morning, maybe. Less amusingly, the beer cost almost 500 Crowns in Czech money ! It was good though.
Then it was home to a locally early (because of a 2 hour time difference) bed !
