Issue 39: Iceland, the south coast in March
Black sand, a mountain that looks drawn, and weather that changes its mind every twenty minutes...
March is the wrong month for Iceland, which is why I went. The roads are open, the crowds are not, and the light does something at four in the afternoon that I have not seen anywhere else.
The beach
Stokksnes, under Vestrahorn. Black sand, a mountain that looks like a child drew a mountain, and a wind that will take your hat to Norway. Pay the farmer his few krona for the road and stay until the light goes.
Driving
- Check the road site every morning. Not the weather site, the road site.
- Fuel at every station. The next one is further than you think.
- Stop at the waterfalls everyone stops at. They are everyone's for a reason.
Sleeping
Guesthouses, not hotels. A room above a farm with a view of a glacier and a breakfast of bread that someone baked at five.
The weather
You will get all of it. Snow at nine, sun at ten, rain sideways at noon, and a sky at four that makes the whole trip make sense. Pack for every month at once.
One place, every Thursday
The letter, in your inbox, before it is on the site. Nothing else, ever.
Writes Signal from wherever he was last Thursday. Eleven years, sixty countries, one forty-litre bag.
Signal
A weekly travel letter: one place, one week, one opinion.