Seydisfjordur, Iceland

Today, we arrived in Iceland. After a rough, rocky night, there was a palpable sense of relief and maybe a vague sense of euphoria as folks emerged from their cabins for breakfast, rubbing their eyes and squinting at the new day. Anyone on decks 4 or 5 in particular, whose deadlights had been closed for the duration of the rough sea passage (and, slightly frustratingly, remain closed), would have had no preliminary sneak-peak at the outside world, so the world revealed to them as they entered Marco’s Bistro would take on an additional veneer of enhancement.

We were sailing down a broad, mountain-lined fjord to our first Icelandic destination, Seydisfjordur, a tiny, clean, almost temporary-looking, lego-brick-style town typical of this region. The mountains rose majestically all around us, with spectacular spring snowfields and punctuated by even more spectacular waterfalls that seemed to start impossibly high up and wind their way down massive rock stairs to the fjord far below.

We arrived bang on at the appointed hour of 11am. After a delay of about 30-40 minutes, an announcement was made that the ship had been cleared by the local authorities and that those passengers wishing to go ashore independently were free to do so. That included us; with no tour escorting duties to fulfill, Tracey and I had the whole day to ourselves. All-aboard time was 5:30pm, so we picked up a map and headed for the nearest waterfall.

Our map informed us reasonably clearly that if we were to climb to the top of the waterfall, we could join a footpath that would take us alongside the hill above a rocky sill and drop down to join an art scultpure from which we could follow a road back to the ship (hopefully in time for lunch).

It didn’t quite work out like that though…

We approached the waterfall, which falls in several long stages from a high craggy ridge, and started climbing. At some point, we realised that we would have to cross the stream. That was much easier said than done, although we finally found a way across, and picked up a footpath that seemd to lead us higher and higher… so far so good…

Unfortunately, the footpath evaporated and left us standing somewhere halfway up a very large hill, with a waterfall just off to our right and an imposing cliff above us. After surveying the landscape, I took the executive decision for us to press on regardless of the lack of a clear track. I could see a small gap in the cliff that should bring us out right next to the top of the waterfall, and hopefully, to a point where we would be able to spot the higher footpath.

As we got higher, things got hairier, damper and, slightly disconceringly, slippier. We made it to the top of the waterfall, where the views were quite splendid, and I’m pretty sure there were a few folks way down below wondering who the maniacs were who had made the climb (I’m pretty sure Tracey isn’t crazy about my navigational skills either, although I’m always telling here that a walk out with me is almost always an adventure…).

Unfortunately, the footpath we were looking for was nowhere to be found. It was quite possible, we reasoned, that the path was just a little bit higher, but the higher we got, the less comfortable we were that we were where we should be. More importantly, there was a nagging worry that if we failed to find the path we were looking for, then we might struggle to find a safe way down.

Satisfied with our achievement at reaching the top of the waterfall, we decided that safety should come first and that pushing our luck might not be a particularly wise choice, so we retraced our steps as best we could, until we were able to pick up a gulley that led us back down to the road that ran along the side of the fjord.

Once on the road, we joined the small numbers of more sensible passengers making their way towards one of the town’s many artistic sculptures; Tvisongur, created by Lukas Kuhne and described as a sculpture of ‘Singing Concrete’, which can be seen as ‘a visualisation of the Icelandic Five Tone Harmony Tradition’.

Curiously, a clearly-marked footpath led up the hill behind the structure, to where the path that we’d failed to find must surely connect up to. We debated momentarily whether to follow the path and see where it led us, but decided against it, agreeing that we’d probably had enough of a good thing for one day.

The good news is, even after our epic climb, we made it back to the Marco Polo in time to catch lunch.

After lunch, we took a more leisurely stroll into the small town, pausing briefly at the Tourist Information desk in the cruise terminal to ask about the footpaths. A young, outdoorsy, bearded young man confirmed for us that the reason we’d struggled to locate the higher footpath was because it doesn’t exist (despite the fact that it appears on the tourist maps). Not that one, at any rate; there is another path, he explained, that runs even higher up the mountain, but must be approached from a different point altogether. All useful information for a future visit methinks…

We spent the rest of the afternoon pottering around the town, spending a bit of money in a craft shop, looking inside the tidy little church and using the wi-fi in the terminal building before having to head back to the ship.

Tomorrow, we’ll be visiting Husavik, Iceland’s ‘Whale Capital’, by tender boat. Again, we won’t have any escorting duties, so we’ll have another day to amuse ourselves however we like… maybe we’ll find ourselves another mountain…