We headed north out of Reykjavik towards the Snaefellssness Peninsula and despite ending up at a lovely hotel, were stuck in the worst, smallest rooms there so suffered a bit. Since every hotel room costs an extraordinary amount, anything less than good feels like a cheat, and no room with less than a square meter of full-headheight space could be described as good.

With only one day to pause before heading north to the Westfjords, we headed out across the peninsula in the rain and fog.

And despite the gloominess there was a grandeur to it, as well as quite a lot of water.

There were plenty of open spaces and views, cute bakeries and traditional churches; all with the most sparse and unforgiving background I’ve ever come across.

It really was very bleak grandeur, punctuated by the very occasional bungalow. It seems that the Icelandic people are utilitarian to the core.

Except there are glimpses of pure whimsy, where caverns and caves are described as being the hang-out of trolls with “luscious” daughters.

And back at the hotel, the sun came out to shine.

Shame it didn’t last for the ferry ride north.