After making breakfast in Skaftafell, I continued my journey around Iceland. Next stop was the glacier lagoon Jökulsárlón. On the way there I picked up Vlad, a hitchhiking sausage maker from Moscow.
On the way we chatted about everything and nothing. Vlad told me about his adventures of cycling form Akureyri, over the Icelandic highlands and to Skaftafell. It had been a cold, wet but beautiful journey, partially through fresh snow. Since he had not much time before his flight to Barcelona, he decided to hitchhike to Jökulsárlón rather than going by bike. At the lagoon I gave him a copy of my short story The young man with the bicycle which I conveniently had packed as part of my Icelandic Ring Road short story give-away program.
I stayed at Jökulsárlón for some time admiring the beautiful landscape. The icebergs in the lagoon provide a permanent temporary exhibition that changes from day to day when the icebergs melt and join the ocean while others break off the glacier to fill the lagoon.
Form the lagoon I drove to Höfn where I went swimming. Well, I went directly to the swimming pool. Well, I went directly to the warm hot-tub of the swimming pool. I had my swimming goggles with me in case I fancied going swimming or just to pretend to be much of a swimmer.
“I’m just about to do a 2k crawl,” I did not say to my fellow hot-tuber, showing my swimming goggles. “I do it every morning to stay in shape.”
“It doesn’t show,” the hot-tuber did not reply, pointing at my weak arm muscles.
I left the warmer hot-tub and moved over to the cooler one, before I went for the sauna, followed by a cold
shower, before trying out the two swimming pool slides. Both were a nice ride. One was fast and curly but the other one was a black tube where one could not anticipate the twists and turns.
After swimming I took a stroll along the harbor and sat down at the harbor front to upload yesterday’s blog. I could not leave the town before eating a plate of langoustines that the town is famous for. I went into Pakkhúsið, a restaurant by the harbor, and ordered a delicious langoustine sandwich.
After dropping of some short stories at a couple of guesthouses in Höfn, I drove north along the southern east-fjords. My destination for the day was Berunes, the farm where my grandparents lived and is now a hostel run by my aunt and here family.
Now, I am chilling in the Berunes restaurant, blogging and waiting to see what my cousin, the chef, brings from the kitchen tonight.