Midnight Sun at Látrabjarg
On the value of a place and contemplations during a midnight sunset.
Hey folks,
Another small vignette and notes from my trip through Iceland this week. I’m still working on some larger essays and features about my time there, but for now I hope you enjoy.
Skylar
05/28/25 - Látrabjarg
“Honestly, I find Iceland a little disappointing,” Sarah said as she prepped her camp dinner. “It all looks the same. There are a few waterfalls on the side of the road. All the rocks are the same. In Colorado, we have bigger mountains, lakes, rivers, and trees - just more variety.”
I must've looked at her quizzically because she quickly followed up.
“It's pretty, of course, and I don't regret coming here. I'm just a little underwhelmed.”
We were sitting in the communal kitchen area of the Breiðavík Campground. I had just arrived at the basecamp after a long day of driving down from Ísafjörður. The drive was full of dirt roads and potholes, which made for slow going because the tires on my camper van looked about ready to give up.
It was late, around midnight, and I was fixing some dinner while enjoying the closest thing to a sunset I'd seen in the last week. The campground itself was steps from the ocean, tucked between two cliffs off in the distance, perfectly situated to enjoy the lingering twilight Iceland offers in late May. That's when I met Sarah.
I'm always a little puzzled whenever I hear someone expressing discontent with a particular locale. It happens often, especially when I tell people what I do - travel writer, eh? Suddenly they're keen to list off countries and meals, subtly asserting their preferences as if to affirm their taste while simultaneously sussing out mine. Would they be impressed knowing I've been surviving on lox and flatkaka for the last week? I think not.