Langanes

Gas station is open and there is coffee. Even a hot sandwich can be arranged. There are no more eating places in the village. The map of the area is sold in the swimming pool.

Langanes is a long and narrow peninsula with a shape of a duck head. An unpaved road goes to the end of it. According to a sign it is not passable with an ordinary passenger car. On-site inspection says that it would be no problem when the car is operated with a brain.

The seaside is filled with drift wood and other stuff from the sea. The middle part of the peninsula is covered in rocks and greenery with occasional sheep and whooper swans. Northern gannets have gathered on a sea stack. The smell of guano hangs in the surroundings. Waves splash against the cliffs and water drops fly in the air like morning mist.

Skála is a village that once was. There were houses, boat landing, dancing, movie nights and the first cold storage in Iceland. Building a new boat landing failed, transport connections changed and torpedoes of the WWII exploded and in 1955 the last person left the village. Half a century later most of the houses are recognizable only to specialists. The toilet is new but it leaks.

At the tip of the peninsula is a lighthouse called Fontur. Here the Atlantic Ocean meets with Arctic waters. Grassy path goes along the cliff edge, no wind, sea smells fresh. Sun warms my back. No people on the move except for a few farmers who are gathering sheep.

Later the restaurant owner tells about his life. His parents emigrated from Iceland to the US, there he met some Estonians and ended up in Pärnu. Taught English and geography among other things. In places like Tapa. Next project is to start a restaurant in southern Greenland.