When I got back to Fossatún, I was feeling quite attached to the place and quite sad about leaving tomorrow. However, when I reached my tent, I discovered that a load of morons had moved onto my field and were trying to park a caravan where it would not fit. I went to the hot tubs for a couple of hours and found they’d moved yet another caravan on and had blocked my car in with one at each end, parked inches away. “Can you move your car please?” How the hell do you think I’m going to do that? And why should I? Mine is next to *my* tent and has been for two days and I assure you, it wasn’t me who chose to pitch your camp in an awkward place. I will slam my car doors as many times and as loudly as I can when packing up in the morning, believe me, you rude, inconsiderate people.
Anyway. Before the entire world descended on Fossatún and ruined everything,I was driving around Snæfellsnes, dodging showers, climbing gorges using stepping stones, being divebombed by Arctic terns, knocking over stone towers on the beach (graffiti, junk, eyesores and haven’t you grown out of being proud of making little towers yet?), enjoying the view from the little mountain that forms the north wall of Stykkisholmur’s harbour and generally doing a lot of driving.
Now, if that radio is still wailing in an hour and those stupid kids scream even once in the night, I will lose my temper.
Tomorrow I move on to Akureyri, where I shall find a hotel for at least two nights. Four if this endless rain doesn’t stop.