Evening in Seyðisfjörður
The road into Seyðisfjörður curves around a series or 25 waterfalls, the largest of which is Gufufoss. These waterfalls are created as the Fjarðará river makes its way down into the Norweigian Sea. The Fjarðarheiði plateau that stands between Egilsstaðir and Seyðisfjörður is perpetually shrouded in fog, and it is from this wet atmosphere the waterfalls ultimately derive their water.
I marvelled at the rushing water crashing and and spraying into the bedrock of the fjord as we drove into the little town of Seyðisfjörður. It was an amazing sight, for the falls were created by deep steps set into the rock face and seemed like a stairway whose purpose was to welcome visitors into town.
The town of Seyðisfjörður is absolutely magical in the summer, like something out of a storybook, complete with a rainbow road leading to a little blue church. We entered a time warp when we stepped out of our car. Here, the wooden architecture has been perfectly preserved and it felt like a summer’s day that could have been set many years past. Apart from the architecture, I’m not sure what made it feel that way. Maybe it was the types of activities that went on – people dining at the restaurant, drinking at the pub, some children fishing (even though I could have sworn I saw a sign that explicitly forbade fishing), a sprinkling of folks walking about simply enjoying the sunshine. Nothing being done today that could not have been done a hundred years past.
The food on the menu of the restaurant – smoked herring, raindeer sausage – nothing that wasn’t around way back when. Perahaps it was these things that made me feel this way.
We checked into Hotel Aldan – I think that was the only hotel within the town. Our rooms were in a converted schoolhouse, and my bed was inset into a closet. It was very cosy and comfortable.
We spent the evening wandering about the town. There was a design studio and we could see some of the works within. So there was a little more going on in this town, I thought to myself. I suppose it must be great place to be an artist – surrounded by such a beautiful nature every day. Not to mention the vast changes in the landscape as the seasons went by, how inspiring it must be. It looked very cosy inside the studio and I thought to myself that this little town seemed like a place I could spend some months working in, distraction free.
We walked the rainbow road to the church. There was quite a gathering there, folks of all ages dressed in black, some in heavy leather jackets. On closer look, a heavy metal band was performing that night. It seemed a little out of place, you don’t usually expect heavy metal bands in little blue churches in small towns that look right out of a fairytale, but how cool! I suppose no one in these parts really goes to church for mass anymore, so repurposing the beautiful building for other entertainment is perfect.
We walked by the river a little but it was getting dark and storm clouds were looming ahead, although if I recall, they never broke. Also, there were quite a lot of tiny little flies by the river, so we turned back in favour of a dram of whiskey in the schoolhouse. We sat on little rickety chairs and stools – not the most comfortable, but it nevertheless felt wonderfully cosy.
Soon it was dinner time. Raindeer meat and Arctic char it was, I think. The ingredients were probably the same as they had been a hundred years ago, although I suppose the preparation might have been a little different. It was delicious, I remember.
We left the next day. I don’t recall being so sad to leave a place. I wanted to return the moment we left. It was like walking out of a little scene in a snow globe, leaving the magic behind.