It seems that all night has been dry and there’s not much wind. The sky is stuffed with blue clouds in different tones.
I walk over stones and moss towards Drynjandi. The name comes from the noise that the falling water makes. The landscape is created with flat chunks of stone piled on top of each other. Over them hovers grey fog. River foams through the landscape diverted only by carefully placed massive rocks.
On half way is a river intersection. Since here are no paths, trails or other civilization then neither right not left is any bridge in sight. I have to wade. The river is horribly wide. Air temperature is about six degrees, water must be a bit cooler. The stones on the bottom are unpleasantly slippery and I don’t have walking sticks with me. At places water reaches above knee and flows terribly fast. Boots hold water for the first steps but then of course not anymore. Generally an unpleasant experience.
Waterfall is seen from far from the cloud of humidity in the air. Water gushes down in many broad steps. Beautiful and wild. I still think it is Drynjandi because by accident I deleted all waypoints from GPS. Later I check on the map and pictures online and discover that I waded through Hvalá and found Rjúkandi. Somehow the thought makes me shiver afterwards.
It starts to drizzle although rain was forecasted only after six. On my way back the same cold river is again on my way. Luckily I have dry pants, socks and boots in the car.
I roll slowly back towards inhabited places. River crossing this time feels deeper and scarier although I presumed that there will be less water in the morning. Anyway, the engine stays above water (don’t repeat this with such a car) but the car does not look cleaner after it. The news later say that water level everywhere is higher than normally at this time. Well, what did I say.
After having fun with cold water I can use a hot tube. On the next peninsula before the road ends and after the muddy part is Krossneslaug or the swimming pool of Krossnes. A small pool with a view over the sea. Money is put in a box. A guy from Texas sits in the water and tells me that he “does” the ringroad and stepped off it for a moment. He complains that Americans don’t know how to relax and his two week vacation is a big thing. I can only feel sorry for them. Or maybe they enjoy money so much. Although, to cite the criminal Gregory David Roberts, evil is the root of all money. Meaning that it is only possible to make big money in some ethically deplorable way.
I spend some time sneaking around the abandoned factory in Eyri until a man with big tractor starts to fuss around my car. I move in to the hotel Djúpavík, a family hotel since 1985, equipped with many books.
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