ICELAND casts a spell
Witchcraft and rich folklore populate the Westfjords, where a dark and curious history has given way to stunning natural beauty, adventurous tours and unexpectedly glorious beaches
LET me take you on a journey through undeniably magical lands, where thankfully witch trials ended centuries ago and a more holistic approach to lifestyle and togetherness is enjoyed.
This is a place where you can find tiny tight-knit fishing and mountain communities, thriving outdoors activities and teems of geothermal pools you can relax in for free.
We know how women across nations and cultures have been slain for centuries due to fear and distrust of witchcraft, but in this corner of the world, a dark and curious history a little different can be traced.
It’s lesser known that male sorcerers were executed in 18th century west Iceland. Folklore plays such a large part of any Icelandic storytelling and location history, not least in the magnificent and strange Westfjords.
Eight hours into our drive from the capital of Reykjavik, I realised this was a gorgeous road trip fit for couples, families or solos. Our raggedy little army of writers was a fittingly hilarious mesh: we shared stories in the minibus as darkness quickly fell and we were driven into the abyss by the Westfjords’ jolly tourism official Solvi. He was forever at the ready with wild tales of trolls and Icelanders, and sodas and snacks. On our last day, he even gave me some pig head pate.
Something I find appealing in my travel these days is a departure from slick or glitzy boutique stays. The new wave of appreciation not just for camping and van life, but for unglamorous guesthouses, rec centres and kitschy spa stays in rural areas brings me so much joy.
This region has them in droves. Think twin rooms, 1970s avocado-coloured suites, long Shining-esque hallways, libraries, taxidermy and eccentric proprietors. Hótel Laugarhóll is cosy, characterful and has its own thermal pools (€100 per room per night, laugarholl.is).
One place we stopped off at for lunch even had a talking parrot that kept spurting Nordic names I can’t even pronounce — even after five years in Scandinavia.
Make sure you stay at least a couple of days in the main town of Ísafjörður, booking dinner at the cosy wooden hut Tjöruhúsið for its splendid seafood buffet, and raucous live music at brewery bar Dokkan.
For the outdoorsy, there’s an abundance. We darted around the volcanic terrain on quads with ATV Ísafjörður — a two-hour tour starts from €165 per bike for up to two people, climbing deep into a rocky and brutally windy and cold terrain that resembles Mars. It was wild, and a perfect adventure for thrillseekers who want those pictures you’ll get nowhere else.
The vistas in this town, and the accessibility in this region in particular, is like nowhere else in the country. Everything points to history and to folklore, in some sense.
Witch craze is a theme of the Westfjords. I studied ancient bloodstones at the Sorcery and Witchcraft Museum, and other strange things that chart the 17th century horrors, during which hundreds of men were executed for using or claiming to use magic across the creepy Hólmavík area.
The beautiful cliff/islet of
Trøllkonufingur is said to be the finger of a witch that came to throw the Faroe Islands to Iceland. An almost 700m viewing deck, Bolafjall offers astounding views of the valleys, waterfalls and ocean, while there is the blustery and dramatic Rauðasandur (Red Beach) stained with tales, as well as various haunted houses to drop by on the 950km road trip.
The hot pools have, of course, always been a major appeal of Iceland, and the often free and truly droppedin-the-wilderness geothermal pools of the Westfjords enchant. Free of manic tourists, beer-splashing group vibes, hefty prices and selfie sticks in the eye, they actually feel restorative and calm.
To break up a long, dramatic drive there’s waterfalls — Dynjandi will blow any nature nut’s mind — and mountainous terrain with sudden off-track stops at pools such as Arnarfjörður.
There are a few eco geothermal pool spas with swim-up bars for the fancier or designconscious flaneur. But really, it’s about nature and how the intense history is so married to the land.
We stopped for lunch at FLAK, an artsy cafe/pub famous for its fish soup, at Patreksfjörður harbour, before diving into Westfjordic history at Hnjótur Museum, filled with costumes, artefacts, tools and documents of bitter centuries of survival.
We also meet Finnboy, the type of man who, in his seventh decade, is snug in his own lane. So snug, in fact, that in his own makeshift fermentation lab shack nestled in the crevice of a harsh inland valley, he needs three layers less than anyone else exploring western Iceland in September or later.
His rough hands are the instruments he uses to prepare, bind and string up the shark meat he harvests and lets rot for some years. Like him, the resulting fermented snack has personality. Like him, it’s unforgettable and best served with a warming celebratory shot of caraway seed schnapps, Brennevin.
There were other hut-like places I fell into — candlelit restaurants, blustery cafes and, for those wanting to punctuate their trip with a smidge of bouj, a gorgeously arranged swim-to-bar spa resort at Hvammsvik (€45 on weekdays, €55 on weekends), with eight thermal pools of varying temps and a warming shellfish soup.
The airport hotel by Radisson also impresses: make time for a burger, a beer and a rest before your flight home.