Not much in Vogar

Fragmented sleep again.  Still getting used to the time difference and the light.

I had a very unpleasant dream that I’d recently moved house, and suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen my cat Mira for three days.  I went wandering around the property noticing all kinds of things that were dangerous for an old three-legged kitty:  Steep hills, a muddy creekside, animal dens, a road, rival cats.  Then I saw her, in the middle of a flooded pit filled with dead branches, swimming weakly, trying to move toward me but stuck in the debris.  I rushed down and plucked her from the water and cradled her in my arms. 

She felt warm, which was a good sign, but she had a wound in her stomach that was bleeding.  I implored my neighbors for help getting a towel to wrap her in, and finding a car to get to the vet, but my neighbors just stared, so I set about doing things myself.  Then I woke up, in the semi-darkness of the tiny cabin, with the wind streaming by outside.

“Mira is safe in the little Oakland back yard, and your nephew feeds her every day,” I reassured myself.  “She may be far away but she’s in good hands.” I took hold of the thought like a tiny brush, and ran it across my mind, settling myself. The wind outside ebbed away leaving absolute silence.

I unfolded myself from the bed and ate some chips and peanuts, aired out the room a bit, and then laid down for another long nap.  By the time I woke up again it was noon, five hours later.

I dressed and boarded the bike to have a look around town. Top of my list was food, because all I had for the day was one package of peanuts, and my metabolism was awake and burning in “tour mode” now.

A groovy black sand beach. But a bit cold for swimming.

There were no shops, except for one small place that was closed for the weekend. There was a decrepit restaurant that had shut down some time during the pandemic. I asked at the local hotel but the clerk had no idea where I could eat, unless I rode to the next town.

I decided to stay just for the day, rather than two, and booked a hotel partway to Reykjavik. I could nap here some more, then get up early.

Next to an abandoned building I found a large dumpster heaped with scrap metal, and this perched on top:

Anyone trying to drive this is definitely quackers.

I sent a photo to Andrew, and the chat pinged for the next half hour as I rode around.


Oh wow! I saw one of those cruising around locally about two months ago.

Technically not legal in the ‘States, but there’s a program that will allow you to import the occasional non- compliant personal vehicle.

I love how they took the rack/ladder and just mangled and crushed it against the front.


So what the heck did this one go through? It looks like someone cut the cab off and welded a metal sheet across it, then painted Donald Duck there to hide their shame?


World’s coolest treehouse? I don’t know!


Hah! No tree big enough in Iceland!


That rusty junk in front of it is the frame/undercarriage.

Did they completely disassemble it just out of boredom?


Check out the rusty metal bar on the right edge. It’s “welded” on!


Hah! It’s a leveling jack! Maybe this was a treehouse minus the tree!


Dang, I think this monstrosity was used as a tiny “cabin” and rented out to tourists.

The town of Keflavik had clearly benefitted from the international airport nearby. The town of Vogar had clearly not. The government had built an excellent, wide highway connecting Keflavik to the capital, and it blew right past Vogar.

A little bit of history everywhere you go.

Nevertheless, the township had a little money to spare for preservation, and I learned about some early post-Viking settlers.

Local lore of Vogar.

When I got back to the cabins, I saw a giant row of tents appearing all at once. Some package tour no doubt. Hello fellow explorers! I was tempted to ask if they had any food.

Lots of campers setting up together. They pulled all this gear directly out of a large van.

It was another windy night. I had the electric heater cranked up, but the lack of air circulation in the tiny space felt a bit dangerous, so I used some of my gear to prop open a window.

Keeping the window partially open in the wind.

That weird hybrid sense of comfort and dread that comes with being isolated in a rugged place was upon me again, and in a few minutes I was asleep.

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