No, our tradition wasn't broken. Yes, a miracle happened. Yes, I use the word “miracle” too often. No, I won't stop.
The miracle wasn't that the campsite was excellent, with hot water and electricity, but that for the first and only time it was FREE. Where did such a fluctuation in the space-time continuum come from, you might ask?
The thing is that the nearby church Strandarkirkja emanates rays of divine power, and their grace is so great that none of the surrounding farmers has the strength to refuse a neighbor a place to sleep.
If my Aesopian language is unclear, let me translate: the church is a famous pilgrimage site, and two farmers living nearby have set up as many as two free hostings campsites: one pays for itself with souvenirs, and the other with a little cafe.
They asked for some advertising, so here I am doing it
It's my first time seeing such funny English in Western countries — almost every other word is butchered so much that to me it looks purely like "Padonkaffsky" slang, a very cool effect that I had never seen in English in such a pure form before.
The camping is a freebie, but you can toss some buckaroos into the emphatically red box out of the goodness of your heart
Duck eggs, on the other hand, cost 0.23 Ls/piece
We bought some eggs for breakfast, turned out pretty good, though the picky Andrey made me boil them for 15 minutes for some reason, arguing that he doesn't like a runny yolk. After intense sports I can eat any substances in whatever state of matter, so I can't understand such aesthetic food habits.
The shower in the campsite, though, was paid, but you could get one key for two. However Andrey, who usually strives to fleece the gullible Icelanders if it doesn't look too much like stealing, was so dumbfounded by such a warm welcome that he paid for his own key separately.
We also spent a long time choosing where to install the tent, because "the wind blew from the sea, the wind blew from the sea". As a result of endless arguments, we asked some people if we could pitch next to their camper to shield ourselves from the wind. Of course, the Scandinavian who would refuse a trifle to exhausted cyclists hasn't been born yet, and what's more, they warned us that there were three huge dogs running around, to which we enthusiastically replied that we like dags. (c) Snatch
The farmer lives here
And his kids
And the critters
And the sky above us lives everywhere
Panoramic view
The area is landscaped, and gets prettier by the day
In the booth with the shower and toilet we found a bunch of half-empty gas canisters for free
Both the owner and the campsite made the most pleasant impression on us. If there was more of this approach in the world, you see, life would become better, life would become merrier.
And here is Strandarkirkja itself
Inside
And outside
When I talked about its healing power, I wasn't joking. Here is what the kirk is famous for.
A farmer's son was hauling timber from Norway, but hit fog and darkness, everybody panicked because there was no harbor nearby and the shore was rocky. The owner promised that if they lucked out, he would build a new church instead of a barn. Sure enough, everything worked out, and the Lord guided the sailors through the risky rocky path to the shore. He had to pay back the deity, greedy for prayers and handouts, as promised. Ever since, those who have troubles donate some cash to the little church, and instantly get healed or whatever bad stuff they had, it all vanishes. Hence the wealth, honor, and respect for this organization, preserved to this day.
Having admired the church, which was filled with pilgrims to slightly less than 5%, we moved on across the endless expanses of Iceland, filled only with wind and sun. We were facing our last day on the road, along a smooth highway with no cars, plenty of supplies, and ahead lay our cherished goal in the form of Reykjavik. You'd think, what could be simpler?