A rainy slow day in the hotel lobby at Egilsstaðir with a painting as flat as a Cézanne landscape.
A nearly shattered record on the old phonograph in the same hotel lobby.
En route to Seyðisfjörður (Icelandic pronunciation: [ˈseiðɪsfjœrðʏr̥]). Someday soon I will elect to travel to a warm, tropical environment over my summer vacation.
Gufufoss through the binoculars.
Seyðisfjörður, a small wharf town where I would have loved to walk around if the weather was not so nasty. I succumbed to peer pressure and watched The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and have a clearer understanding what this town looks like without drizzle.
En route to Höfn (land of the langostino lobster). This may be the only documentation of sheep on the roadside out of the thousands of photographs taken.
The Djúpivogur Peninsula was magnificent through the clouds and we backtracked the next day to see what we missed. This is also a rare photograph of another car in the distance. The gloomiest day on the trip brought us to our hotel room early. We would call Höfn our base camp for two nights for the most anticipated location in the country: the Jökulsárlón lagoon.
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