Budir Hotel in Snaefellsjoekull (pronounced ‘Snaefellsjoekull’)
We stayed between a beach and a glacier. A nearby volcano offered a morning walk, and we watched the adjacent waterfalls converge under the 1:00 am sun that refused to set.
Everyone knows everyone in Iceland. The woman who made us lunch correctly assumed we would meet her story-teller friend afterwards, as every tourist apparently does.
They’ve name each road after the family that owns the land, which their lineage has occupied for generations. Pointing to the house adjacent to our hotel, the storyteller told us, “The last Icelandic mass murderer lived here. He died in the 1500s.”
Locals ski from the top of the glacier to their village in the winter. He says the glacier will fully melt in 40 or 50 years.
The view of a port from a lighthouse.
One fisherman takes the summer off to lead boats of tourists out to a larger glacier. He describes his winter labor as grueling: He and a friend work 22 hour days, taking turns sleeping and steering.
Two men unloaded the half dozen crates of fish they caught.
A man emerges after getting drenched and enveloped by a geyser’s cloud.
The grey sky made it hard to discern geysers’ eruptions. But this nearby pool certainly stood out.