The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
Hit the empty road to the edge of Europe
The new Arctic Coast Way is the perfect antidote to Iceland’s overcrowded south, says Emma Thomson
It was the height of summer, yet Iceland’s far north seemed ensnared in autumn’s grip. Herds of heavy clouds cantered over the high hills, rain ran down my cheeks, and as the mist crept in it melded sea and sky seamlessly. But this half-light and merging of worlds brings magic. For up here, islands appear to float, old ladies sell knitted jumpers in the middle of nowhere like fairy godmothers, seals are mistaken for mermen, and frozen in the rocks are dragons and the faces of trolls.
The coastline appears to have been scratched at by a sea monster – a claw mark of jagged peninsulas and fjords, just shy of the Arctic Circle, steeped in sagas and myth, scattered with fishing towns, and ruled by nature.
With its gates set to open to visitors from June 15, Iceland is likely to be a popular spot with travellers as off-the-beaten track options become more important than ever. Roads built from the 1940s onwards have been connected to create the Arctic Coast Way – a 500-mile road trip that traces every nook and cranny of the coast to the farthest reaches of the island.
The route begins in Hvammstangi, a middling town huddled around a small harbour, where drying fish dangle like chimes in the wind. It is home to Iceland’s only seal centre. Captain Edvald Danielsson and his son Solvi ushered a handful of us on to their refitted fishing boat and chugged out into the fjord, the wind snatching Solvi’s Viking-blond hair from its bun.
Harp seals, their fur golden as the kelp lapping around them, fidgeted on the toothy rocks. Icelanders call them saefolkid, or sea folk. Similar to the silkies of Scottish and Irish folklore, they are sea-dwelling elves that, each midsummer’s eve, shed their skins and walk on land. There was certainly an impish air to them as they balanced on the boulders; curled in the middle like crisps, whiskers splayed like smiles.
Back at the seal centre, Sigurdur Lindal Porisson, who sits on the board of the Arctic Coast Way, explained the allure of the North. “In the South, all the main attractions are beside the road. In the North, you leave traffic and mass tourism behind. Instead of going from one site to another, it’s about exploring.” He tore off two museum tickets for a couple and continued.
“The area north of Skagastrond is my favourite. There are no restaurants, no public toilets and about 50 people; the route itself is the highlight.”
Prior to the pandemic, Iceland had been battling over-tourism in the South, and the opening of the Arctic Coast Way was a strategic move to distribute visitors to more peripheral areas and implement some sustainability. But it also gives travellers the chance to spend time in coastal villages, meet the people, and listen to local stories that have been shaped by a life lived on the edge.
And the legends of these raw lands are starting to garner attention. Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence is lined up to star in the film adaptation of
Hannah Kent’s award-winning 2013 novel Burial Rites, based on the story of Agnes Magnusdottir – a farm worker who murdered two men and in 1830 became the last woman in
Iceland to be executed.
“She murdered my great, great, great, great, grandfather,” said Sigurdur, drawing an exaggerated breath, “so I think I should play opposite Jennifer in the film.” He laughed. “Remember to keep the sea on your left,” he teased as we exited.
As we drove, the camerafilm road unspooled on to brown gravel, passing fields of trembling purple lupins and hardy Icelandic horses, their punk-rock fringes obscuring their eyes. On a comfort break, I foraged crowberries growing by the roadside.
A signpost dressed in a jumper caught my eye. I swerved the fourwheel drive to the side of the road, strolled towards a farm bungalow surrounded by more of these headless woolly scarecrows, and knocked on the door. A grey-haired lady opened it to reveal a hallway dressed floor-toceiling in jumpers. “I make them with my daughters Thortis and Agga,” she explained in broken English, standing beside wooden shelves clothed with mittens, tea cosies, socks and hats.
I rejoined the road, passing Hvitserkur – a dragon-shaped sea cliff just off a black-sand beach – down the Vatnsnes peninsula to Saudarkrokur, the site of Iceland’s only civil war. The recently opened 1238: Battle of
Iceland museum explains the medieval conflicts played out between members of the Sturlung clan to bring Iceland under Norway’s rule. It culminates in a thrilling VR experience that transports visitors into the thick of the pivotal Battle of Orlygsstadir, allowing you to throw digital spears and rocks. “Local kids have bought a year’s membership so they can practise spear-throwing every weekend,” said museum service manager Freyja Emilsdottir.
We rolled through Hofsos, home of the most scenic swimming pool in