Photos: (1) Þingeyri in the rain; (2) Dead jelly creature; (3) Campsite; (4-5) Café and view from the cafe window
It’s a rainy, cold, windy day. My cold has worsened, I feel feverish. I’m actually glad I’m not out hiking in this weather, feeling this way. I know I can push myself through physical aches, pains and ailments and maybe overexerting myself today would have been just the thing to push me over the edge and give me pneumonia or something. I’m wracking my brain the entire day to find a reason for the tent episode, an indication of something to go wrong, a significance in the forced change of plans. I’m not at all wistful or disappointed since I believe things happen for a reason and with my optimism, I am able to make the best out of any situation. Thus I decide to spend the rest of the week in Þingeyri. I need some time and space to proccess everything, to come up with a plan for the remaining two weeks of my trip (and my upcoming trip in September) without a tent that won’t strain my budget too much. The guesthouse here is pleasant, with a view of the mountains and ocean from any given window, and a comfortable kitchen to hang out in. The price is just a fraction of what I would pay in Ísafjörður; I have a private room and there are not many guests.
Without a tent … yes I don’t even consider the possibility of finding a tent somewhere, either to purchase or borrow. It just wasn’t meant to be this time and I’m not going to challenge fate and push my luck. I am happy to change my plans, eager to add some forced flexibility to my otherwise carefully planned life. That’s what adventure is about – throwing away the plans and improvising. Actually, now that the incident is over, it was quite an amazing experience!
So I spend the day resting and getting acquainted with the town, while looking for things to do in the next few days. I take a walk along the beach and poke at a dead jellylike creature that’s washed up to shore, have coffee and a waffle at the café, have a nap, and soak in the nice indoor pool for a long time.
In the evening I unpack the tent and spread it out on the floor for a few last funeral pictures. I could take it back Germany and try and get it repaired – it might be covered under warranty since I think the zipper rip is from faulty material. It’s roughly 4-5 years old, which doesn’t sound like much, but it’s been through hellish wind and rain on many trips to Iceland. But I feel somehow rejected by my unfaithful tent companion; I was so confident and felt safe and secure inside, despite its recent moans and groans, and then it just gave up the battle. I think it is best to leave it here; Iceland is a nice burial ground for old outdoor equipment.