Today is Sunday and the town of 500 people is closed down. There was a little bit more activity in town yesterday, but not much more. I took a walk then through the little village and observed the fishing/harbor area, the little church on the hillside, the public school and houses that are spread about. The ocean was calm, with ducks bobbing up and down and seagulls flying freely, as they like to do.
It was cold but I was comfortable with my Icelandic wool sweater and layers of clothing underneath. Back at home, as I sat by the big window overlooking the fjord, it began to snow great big flakes, and it lasted about 5 minutes.
But today! It was about 65,000 degrees below zero. Exaggeration helps to set the scene so you’ll believe me. I walked the opposite direction of the town, where I wanted to have a look at the airstrip I’d be flying out on in a month. I didn’t get very far when realizing I’d better go back and double my warming effects.
With wool gloves and a stocking cap Siggi had loaned me, I started again up the road toward the runway that was not yet visible. The ocean is more active than the calm of the day before.
I had asked two men, who were dressed in yellow rain coats, yesterday where the airstrip was and they said about one kilometer that way, and they pointed up the road.
The harsh wind blowing toward my direction was so cold, the glasses I wore were frozen to my frozen face, and my hands matched. But you know me, don’t you by now? Can’t give up; no siree, so I forged on, taking my fingers out of the fingers of the glove and putting them back inside like fists, and pulled the hat down as far as it would go over my face with just enough space left to see.
I passed a few houses and then there was nothing. However, up ahead, an information sign in Icelandic and English told about the area, and what lie ahead.
Seems a Norwegian boat capsized many decades ago a few kilometers ahead, and all but one person died.
A village close to that accident, has long been uninhabited. I could only imagine it looks like what I remember as ghost towns in Colorado. But that village would be much older.
By now, I could see the runway. The wind sock gave the direction of the wind; and you betcha, it was blowing right on my face.
The runway was on a slight slope; it would have been fun to see the plane crabbing into the wind to land, slightly uphill.
Now, it was time to turn back away from no man’s land; and on the way back, tiny pin drops of snow stung the other side of my face.