Iceland doesn’t score very high in terms of cityscapes. Granted, there are corners of beauty peppered here and there in Reykjavik but there’s no denying that, besides those exceptions, towns and villages all around this island have a utilitarian air. They were built to answer a function, to solve a need, not to be admired.
The village of Grundarfjörður was, at least from the outset, not that different. There was no promenade by the shore but a harbour where pick-ups and fork-lifts manoeuvred in and out of warehouses. Homes and civic buildings all had a Spartan look; even the café-cum-library boasted a nude concrete floor which, we believed, must’ve been easier to clean than wood or tiles.
Yet Grundarfjörður had an undeniable allure. There was an air of frank no-nonsense, of affable helpfulness. No one, there, had neither time nor the interest for playing politics or to mess about. And there was the landscape. Honestly, you could plop any eyesore in such a location and I’d still stop, awe-struck, in contemplation.
We stayed at a small cluster of homes just outside of town. Our window opened on a panorama of mountains softened by the snow that kept on falling every night, but the real treat lied waiting just past the front door.
Our stay was brief; yet, halfway through it, we’d already gotten the measures of the place: which brand of cheese we liked, how to get the coffee machine to work and, as it’s typical in villages, we begun recognising some of the villagers. The friendly bear-of-a-man who worked as the cashier in the store; the groovy café guy; the farm boys who drove snowmobiles every late afternoon.
Alas, we were to leave soon. On our last evening we stood outside the guesthouse as the sun sunk behind the horizon in an eternal crepuscule, hoping for some clear skies. Initially, though, that did not seem to be the case.
But then, at around midnight, a casual glance out of the window revealed a blanket of stars. We quickly tossed on some layers and braved the -8C armed with tripod and camera. Millions of stars twinkled above us and, before the camera’s lenses, they began their slow dance. A fishing trawler, meanwhile, chugged serenely into port, its mission evidently done.
In spite of being late in the season we had harboured hopes of witnessing the spectacle of the aurora borealis. It was our last night and, if ever it was going to happen, it had to be now. Suddenly and without noise, but for the quacking of two quarrelling ducks in the stream beneath us, a grey band materialised in the sky. It sneaked elegantly across the bay, describing an arc from Kirkjufell to the mountain range to our backs. It looked like a cloud, but stars shone through it. As we weighted options the band became two. And then three, four, like incomprehensibly large amoebas whose Petri dish was the entire celestial vault. As the grey bands went about their business we waited with baited breath.
Then it began. From behind Kirkjufell a faint green curtain appeared. Pulled by an invisible hand along an unseen railing, the curtain worked its way across the fjord and up our heads. There it remained, dancing into the night sky to a rhythm that no one on Earth could hear, for a good ten minutes before it disappeared as gently as it’d arrived. As far as auroras went, we would be told later, this was a pretty weak show and it only left the faintest glow on our photos. But, yet, the sense of child-like wonder, the shiver of excitement at the sight of such a mysterious phenomenon was the best parting gift that Grundarfjörður could give us.
Ahh, you’ve got a taste. Now you’ll want more, I suppose. Nice storytelling. Such tension. I had to stroll down before reading it first.
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You know what? I’m actually happy with the brief intro we had. Sure, should we see more auroras in the future I won’t say no, but… I don’t know if the emotion will be the same! Thanks for reading Manja!
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What a stunning landscape, and to see the northern lights. Ah, magical!
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Indeed it was a treat. Thanks for reading Jolandi.
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The feeling of seeing an aurora…almost indescribable. That one was modest, but you felt the music of it, the unearthly harmony. A feeling you’ll surely never forget. One thing about auroras…they like to show up when it’s ungodly cold out. Good for you for braving the cold. We get them in northern Michigan, and we were gifted with an unexpected display last May, when we could actually linger outside comfortably. Hopefully that will be the case this year too. Great photos, Fabrizio.
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Auroras in Michigan! I’d have thought it was too far south. It is, indeed, a mesmerising experience. The feeling of witnessing a phenomenon coming from space really puts us into perspective. Thanks Julie.
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Yes, I even posted a decent photo of it on my last post. Very proud of moving out of my photography comfort zone.
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Beautiful
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Thanks! 🙂
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Oh this sounds like such a special moment. Having lived in the far north of Canada I’ve seen the aurora many times – it is simply magical every time. Beautiful photographs. I can feel the icy cold and silence.
Alison
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Thanks Alison, I bet it’s a sight that never gets old doesn’t it?
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It’s awe inspiring every time.
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Magic pictures! Bravo
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No wonder Grundarfjörður was your favorite town! I’ve never seen the aurora borealis, so I’d take even the faintest show. So cool.
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Hope you’ll see it Lexi!
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It seems fitting, having the Aurora as a send-off for Iceland. I’ve only seen rare wisps myself, in my much younger days on cold Minnesota nights. Having sworn off weather that cold I probably will not see them again. Hopefully, you’ll be able to have an encore some day.
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Hope you will Dave, because you’ll be taking some cracking photos!
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