After a very long drive the day before, Steven and I had arrived far too late in the town of Seyðisfjörður on Iceland's remote and sparsely populated east coast to do anything but grab a bit and collapse. Before heading south and tracing the long jagged shoreline to glorious glacier country in Southeast Iceland, we first wanted to explore the charming fjordside town. We awoke to seeing the large Norrøna ferry disgorging passengers and cars from all over Europe in tiny Seyðisfjörður, whose population was a mere 700 people.
A sample of some of the town's well-preserved wooden houses that were built by the Danish merchants in the mid-19th century, before Seyðisfjörður became a booming herring town:
Naomi: Being a car aficionado, I knew you'd be interested in seeing these Trabant cars from East Germany that had also come off the Danish ferry. When we left Seyðisfjörður via its high hills an hour or so later, both vehicles were parked on the side of the road, with their hoods up. I hope they got the help they needed without having to wait too long.
The lagoon's reflection was too pretty to pass up, so we wandered along the shore to see the town's sights.'
The Ottó Wathne Monument was a notable landmark in the town, renowned for its vibrant history and art. The black obelisk honored the Norwegian entrepreneur who helped develop Seyðisfjörður.
I'd imagine that the town had doubled in size overnight, because of the ferry and cruise ship!
I liked this home's cheery, almost canary-yellow color that would bring a smile to anyone's face in the depths of winter. If you click on the photo to enlarge it, you'll notice the home's unusual facade.
The aptly named Blue Church hosts weekly concerts in the summer.
Beside the Bláa Kirkjan was a mangled girder of a factory that was swept away by an avalanche in 1996.
Seyðisfjörður's pretty 'rainbow street' captured the town's creative spirit. Though it was first painted several years ago by civic-minded locals to celebrate Pride Month and brighten up the town, it has since become a beloved fixture. After being worn out every few months by tourists, the pavement is washed down by the fire department and painted, often by high school students. A look at it from both ends:
The timber Hotel Aldan held court in the center of town.
A block away was the town's thermal swimming pool - remember that virtually every town in Iceland has its own pool. Out front was an abstract sculpture called Útlínur that represented the outline of the fjord, another example showing how important art is in this remote village.
Across the street was this fine-looking school.
On our way out of the serene Seyðisfjörður, we passed one of the country's rare golf courses. With the weather clearing for a moment, we had a chance to understand how dangerous the steep mountain walls that surround Seyðisfjörður can be and the risk of the town being buried by snow or mud. In December 2020, a massive landslide destroyed more than a dozen homes and damaged the Technical Museum of Iceland. Still, fortunately, no one was killed in the country's largest landslide to hit a residential area.
Minutes ahead was the lovely Gufufoss, the largest waterfall in the Seyðisfjörður fjord.
Crossing the scenic Fjarðarheiði mountain pass that had been invisible a dozen hours earlier due to low-lying fog:
Heath Lake was one of several mystical ponds on the pass.
There was no signage indicating the meaning behind the rock column off to the side of the road.
After surviving innumerable switchbacks, we had a glorious view overlooking the town of Egilsstaðir in the valley.
This turf wall was a new type of wall construction for us.
This grocery store checker in Egilsstaðir must be the youngest anywhere!
Photos of the craggy mountains from the long, grooved valley en route to Reyðarfjörður, or Baleen-Whale Fjord:
The fjord was home to an industrial town of the same name. An aluminium smelter gave Reyðarfjörður a more varied economic base than most Icelandic villages, and was essential to keeping its young people from moving away.
Before entering the tunnel, there was a sign saying "No Horses in the Tunnel." That was definitely a first!
The nearly four-mile tunnel dropped us in Fáskrúðsfjörður, or Austere Fjord, which once resupplied French fishing boats.
If you've been to Iceland, you'll no doubt remember seeing a bouncy pad like this one in most communities.
The town honored its history with both Icelandic and French on its street signs, and tiny French flags in front of many homes.
We then settled in for a lonnnnng drive, cutting in and out of deep fjords, each one anchored by a sparsely populated village.
We stopped in the first community of Stöðvarfjörður, which is known for having one of the world's largest privately owned stone collections, begun by local Petra Sveinsdóttir. She began building her mineral collection when she and her husband bought their house in 1946 in the village that is now home to 200 people. Local people tell stories about how Petra could find a magnificent mineral in a place where they had just been walking minutes before. Petra compared mineral collecting to hunting or fishing.
More than ninety percent of the minerals and semi-precious stones in her collection come from the surrounding Stöðvarfjörður area. Geologically speaking, the Eastfjords are one of the oldest areas in Iceland and have the most diverse rock variety.
The local church had an impressive assortment of Icelandic crafts and, once again, pricey handknit sweaters.
Do you recall my mentioning several posts ago that each town had the same sign welcoming people to their community? The only thing that changed was the name under the outline of some houses, a church, and a silo!
Steven required a coffee infusion, so tiny Breiðdalsvík, or Wide-Valley Bay, with its Kaupfélagið cafe/general store, came at the right time. Even though there were just 140 souls in the bayside community, it was surprisingly well set up for passing tourists.
Crossing the vík or bay on a long causeway and curving around the headland took us to the distinctive Blábjörg or Blue Cliffs in Berufjörður. The cliffs are believed to be between nine and ten million years old and were formed in a pyroclastic flow in a large explosive eruption that took place here about nine to ten million years ago. Pyroclastic flows, a mix of ash and volcanic gases, are one of the most dangerous phenomena during volcanic eruptions because they flow at incredible speed down the sides of volcanoes.
We could clearly see the stratified rock layer that had been buried under other strata and later revealed by coastal erosion. The rock's green color was from the chlorite minerals that formed during the rock's transformation.
After being cooped up in the car for so long, it was a relief being able to wander along the long, black pebble beach that we had to ourselves, even though the Blue Cliffs were just a stone's throw from Iceland's most touristed highway, the Ring Road.
Though the cliffs had a bluish-green tint, many of the rocks on the beach had a distinctive green hue.
After looping around the north side of Berufjörður, we reached the end and immediately drove along its south side. On the fjord's south side, we caught a glimpse of a fish farm just out to sea.
Though we aren't geology buffs, stopping at the Teigarhorn Natural Monument and Nature Preserve was another good excuse to get some fresh air and exercise. It is mainly known for its mineral rock formations where zeolite minerals, which contain aluminum and silicon compounds were once mined. According to WebMD, zeolites aid in detoxifying or removing harmful substances and may also act as antioxidants, stimulating the immune system, and killing cancer cells.
A sign indicated that Teigarhorn was recognized in June 2018 as a long-term observing station by the World Meteorological Organization for more than 100 years of meteorological observation.
Meandering through the picturesque surroundings was the perfect way to immerse myself in the preserve's natural beauty while Steven rested in the car.
A sign prohibited anyone from removing the zeolites from the monument. No problem there, as I had no idea what one looked like!
A few miles later, along the almost deserted highway, we arrived at Djúpivogur, or Deep Cove, considered the last town of the Eastfjords. With its idyllic harbor nestled under views of grand peaks, it was a natural place to break for a late lunch.
The lighthouse, built in 1922, was one of 104 that used to guide ships to their location while warning of navigational dangers.
The Eggs of Merry Bay was an outdoor artwork that contained 34 eggs, with each one representing a local bird. All were the same size, except the largest, which signified the red-throated diver, the official bird of Djúpivogur.
Why can't the townspeople of towns of just 500 in the United States or Canada, for that matter, be as creative with installing art pieces as some small towns in Iceland? Wait until I start writing about our time in Greenland, and you'll see there are even a greater number of towns with significant works of art.
Langabúð, one of the oldest buildings in Djúpivogur, was built in 1790 and originally served as a trading post, shop, and warehouse. It now functions as a cultural center and museum, showcasing the area's commercial history and the works of Icelandic sculptor Ríkarður Jónsson, and houses a cafe known for its homemade goods.
With the fjord towns behind us, we drove around two more windswept bays before arriving at the end of the Álftafjörður and a little farm called Þvotta, known for its historical significance in the Icelandic Sagas. In the tenth century, Þangbrandur, a missionary sent by the Norwegian king, first arrived to Christianize the Icelanders. One of the most famous Icelanders of the Saga Age was Hallur Þorsteinsson, who lived at the Þvotta farm, named after the river. Hallur was regarded as one of the most noble men of his age and a leader in Iceland's conversion to Christianity.
When Þangbrandur's arrival in Iceland was not well welcomed by everyone, he sought out Hallur, giving him a message from the king asking that he provide assistance to the royal emissary. Hallur agreed and had a tent erected, where the local people were gradually introduced to Christianity. He soon decided to be baptised along with his entire household at the Þvotta, or Washing River, in what was probably the first Christian baptism ever performed in Iceland.
When Þangbrandur and Hallur attended the general assembly at Þingvellir, Iceland's ancient parliament, many people were also baptised. After Þangbrandur preached the word of God at the assembly, greater numbers of people adopted the faith. Although the king's request that Icelanders accept the new religion was presented, there was no initial agreement.
Days later, the assembly agreed to adopt Christianity as the country's religion after understanding that blood would be shed if Iceland's inhabitants failed to abide by a single code of law and religion. According to the sagas, "... both sides agreed on everyone having to accept the single code of law ..." This turned out to be a code of Christianity, allowing Iceland to adopt the new religion with next to no conflict.
A memorial was built beside the river in 2000 to commemorate the 1000th anniversary of Iceland's conversion to Christianity.
Even if I hadn't been a person of faith, the misty weather, the rocky outcrops at Þvotta, and reading the translated pertinent texts in the sagas would have been enough to convince me that something momentous had occurred in this spot one thousand years ago.
These sheep wandered over to say goodbye as I returned to the car!
Around the next bend was the dramatic Stapinn sea stack, which marked the last sight of the Eastfjords and the end of Iceland's fjord country.
Next up was a 200-mile-long stretch of rugged coastline known as Southeast Iceland, which is synonymous with glacier country. The coastline was shaped by Vatnajökull, Iceland's and Europe's largest glacier. Known as Lakes Glacier in English, it contains more water by volume than Lake Victoria in Africa, and it's larger than the state of Delaware by area. The glacier is so immense that the Dettifoss Waterfall we had ogled the day before drains from it.
Immediately after the lighthouse was Lónsvík Bay, an extraordinarily long natural causeway. Though the weather was frightful, the sight of hundreds of swans bobbing in the bay was enough to almost disregard the chill and overcast skies. I was disappointed that there was no place to stop and take a better picture as the swans and bay were on the opposite side of the road.
As we drove around the bay, we saw that the landscape had shifted from mostly cliffs and green fields to massive, sloping mounds of loose pebbles. Bunkers on the right side of the road helped to prevent landslides.
At the far end of Lónsvík Bay was the town of Höfn, the biggest population center for one hundred miles in either direction. With its 2,200 inhabitants, the fishing-harbor town is the only 'real' one in southeast Iceland. If Steven and I had planned the trip 'better', it would have made sense in hindsight to add an extra day in Höfn, so we could have spent time exploring the Vatnajökull glacier across the fjord. We obviously didn't, so we took some time instead to wander around Höfn and make the best of it.
When Gamlabúð, an old warehouse, was built in 1864, it served as a regional folk museum. It was later moved to a prominent location on the Höfn harborfront.
South of town was the Ósland Nature Reserve, where, on a clear day, we would have had a good view of the glacier. Oh well! Ósland was once an island but is now connected to the mainland.
There was a large tribute to a fascinating time in aviation history at the nature reserve. On April 6, 1924, four planes left Seattle on a historical round-the-world trip, the first of its kind. Three planes made it all the way across the Pacific Ocean, Asia, and Europe to the Orkney Islands. There were two people in each plane, one pilot and one engineer, making six intrepid travelers who spent a few days in the islands before resuming their flight to the Hofn fjord. Once a telegram was received indicating the planes had begun their journey on August 2nd, excited locals, people from the entire Eastfjords region, and the international press, who were closely following the flight, gathered.
Another telegram was received about noon, saying the planes had encountered heavy fog off the coast of the Faroe Islands, forcing two of the aircraft to turn back. Eric Nelson, the pilot of the plane that arrived later that day, saw crowds never seen before in Hornafjörður. Of the other two planes that took off again the following morning from Orkney, one had to make an emergency landing at sea and was rescued by a British trawler. The other plane, piloted by Lowell Smith, landed safely but to a considerably smaller crowd than had gathered the day before. The first round-the-world flight took five months and 22 days to complete. Nelson's plane was the first aeroplane to come to Iceland!
Shots of the Ósland trail through fields of seacoast angelica flowers.
About an hour later, we had not-so-distant views of the mammoth glacier snaking down the mountain to the valley.
Our lodging for the night was at the red-roofed building on the right, a guesthouse at the foot of Skálafell, a volcanic mountain. As it didn't have a restaurant, we dined at a hotel a few miles away. I feasted on a delicious lamb burger with onion jam and Icelandic Gouda cheese, while Steven enjoyed garlic shrimp until he had an allergic reaction to some nuts, that is!
I did my best not to look at the sheep just outside the restaurant window while devouring the lamb!
Next post: An exciting boat tour on the Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon before a very long drive back to Reykjavik.
Posted on September 9th, 2025, from back home in Denver again, where we've finally had some warm weather interspersed with lots of rain. Please take care of yourself and your loved ones.
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