Grundarfjörður, Snæfellsnes, Iceland.
Nightfall was drawing close as we drove in to the little village of Grundarfjörður. The pouring rain and swirling dark clouds made it look even darker. No more views today. We were looking forward to cooking some simple food and calling it a night (probably before 9 pm). “It should be here somewhere…” Koen said, stopping the car and peering into the GPS. “In fact, it should be right here.” He looked up to me while I was staring through the wet front window. He caught on with my not-so-amused look pretty quickly.
In front us lied the subject of our hesitant attitude, a small field of what was, supposingly, once grass. Now it was an eroded mud field, trying to get its qualifications as landslide. On the side stood a lonely standing washing sink, looking back at me, arrogantly. I’m sure it was all very lovely with an open sky.
We looked to our tent in the back of the car, still damping from last night. Spreading that smell of not-completely-dry-things all campers know too good. Not 5 minutes later we pulled up in front of the town hostel. No regrets.
Next morning, we were still rewarded with the best views of Snæfellsnes peninsula. We had the black sand beach all to ourselves. And it seemed like the rest of the peninsula too.
Let me just defend all Icelandic camping grounds out there. 9 out of 10 they’re little jewels, dug away right in the middle of the mystic landscape, or around the best little villages. Most of the time they even have indoor cooking facilities. To me, camping is the best way of getting around the country. But all of that doesn’t mean nobody has any camping stories like the one above. Moral of the story is to enjoy your travel no matter what and always try to make the best of it!