We make another detour to the sea, which is never far away here on the Ringstrasse. We have left the Golden Ring and are now driving on the main road that circles the entire island.
As everywhere, the sand is deep black and the turquoise water is ice cold. Out in the ocean, there are ice sharks that can live for hundreds of years. For the Icelanders, the fish are a delicacy.
They catch the sharks and ferment them under rocks before storing the rotten meat in preservation containers. The stench is so brutal that opening such a can in public places was made a criminal offense.