Vestmannaeyjar: The Westman Islands

On Thursday I decided that I had had enough of mainland Iceland. I was enjoying the country and small trips outside Reykjavik, but something deep down was egging me to go one step further. So I did a little research and came to the conclusion that the Westman Islands would be just as good a place to visit as any. As I began booking my 2 day excursion to the secluded island, I ran into a bit of a problem (and when I say a bit of a problem I mean a brick wall). There were two ferry ports that transported people from the mainland to the island and the ports were two hours apart from each other. That was all fine and dandy until I realized their schedules were based solely on the weather and that only one port operated at a time. This meant that at any moment the departure town could change along with the scheduled time. I found it difficult to wrap my head around this concept and continued to question whether or not this trip would be worth it.

When the time finally came for me to get that show on the road, I was shuffled awkwardly from bus to bus by various drivers, whom none of which actually knew which port to go to. Assuming they knew what was what, I boarded the first bus, took my seat, and hoped like hell I was going to the right place. When the bus rolled to a stop in front of a congested ferry terminal, I was able to rest easy knowing I had made it.

Heimaey, the largest of the Westmand Islands, was one of my favorite places in Iceland. I spent two days strolling along the cliff edges and listening to the water splash against the shore. The air was so fresh and cool that I felt more awake wandering through pastures and spotting puffins than I had in ages. Determined to hike one of the island's volcanoes, I challenged Eldfell. Half an hour into the trek and half way up the side of the volcano, I began slowly sliding downwards. The volcanic rock beneath my feet was so fragile that it kept chipping into tiny flakes and would shift with every step. I struggled at first, scared of losing my footing and tumbling down into the canyon, and then shifted gears and made a mad dash for the top. With the wind whipping my hair around in a mad frenzy and the sun's last rays seeping through my flannel shirt, I ignored the groans from my calves and pushed my body forwards. Once having crested the summit, I was able to take in the tiny community below, the ferry port to the West, and all of the tiny islands that bobbed along the coast with a breath of achievement. But there was something strange about being on top of this volcano that I couldn't put my finger on. It wasn't until I strained my ears that I was able to pin point what it was. Silence. It was just me, the sea, and a very steep hike back.