Dear Diary

We follow the description of the other travelers in search of the small, remote port called Borgarfjörður. It is so small and remote that we seriously doubt that we will find it and that we are on the right track.

The way is the goal and rewards us with an impressive landscape in wonderful light. We see a vast expanse of snow-capped mountains in front of us in a landscape of fjords.

The road soon goes very close to the coast and ends in a small village with a harbor.

We still feel wrong, but then we notice a small rock on the edge of the harbor with a lot of air traffic. The puffins have established a small colony there and are now breeding.

The birds are not particularly big and got their name from their brightly colored beaks. You’re not particularly skilled either. Every take-off and landing looks very stupid on them. When taking off, they almost fall to the bottom before they have enough thrust for flight and they come to the ground through a crash landing, in which others have to be careful not to be knocked off the field if the bird itself does not roll over.

The flight itself is fun too. The puffin wings seem too short and the poor bird flutters through the air like an overweight hummingbird.

We enjoy watching the animals a lot and have to leave at some point in order to arrive at a very special accommodation before nightfall that does not yet know anything about us.





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