Skagaströnd

So there is this little fishing village Skagaströnd in a bit of middle of nowhere in North West Iceland. And despite its small size this fishing village has everything what is needed: a not-too-small grocery shop, a kindergarten, a music school, a pharmacy, a physician (though only on thursdays), an Icelandic country music restaurant, an Icelandic country music radio channel(!), an artist house where around 100 international artists meet per year and a fortuneteller museum. I think nobody is unemployed in Skagaströnd, everybody has his occupation with fishing, working with the kids or ... fortune telling. (Yeah, that's right, there are professional fortune tellers in Skagaströnd.)
So just a little well-functioning fishing village. But I have a feeling that over time the inhabitants have become a bit weird ...

Fishing village Skagaströnd.

Art in the harbour.

For example, nobody, truly NOBODY, wakes up before 11 a.m. Between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. a few newly awake people in pyjamas can be seen coming out their front doors to take the newspaper inside. Maybe somebody is driving his dog for a walk (yes, I have seen a guy who was DRIVING his dog instead of walking it). The afternoon goes by slowly and calmly, doing a bit of work in the little harbour, mowing the grass or cutting some hedges. But when the evening arrives people wake up finally and it gets pretty lively in the little village. Kids are sent outside to play, the fishing boats leave the harbour and the farmers think about haying. It seems though haying isn't done the usual way in Skagaströnd. Next to the summerhouse of my parents was a little grassland where somebody had cut the grass and put part on it on a pile and had spread part of it over the land.

Hay waiting for to be taken home ...

Then the time had arrived to take the hay home. But the tractor was broken and on several evenings at 11:30 p.m. a farmer came and tried to jump start the tractor with a Mercedes by flooring the gas pedal completely. Obviously, that didn't work, so the next evening two guys with a little girl came, walking around on the land, throwing the grass a bit around and then trying to use an old Russian Lada with a little trailer to bring it home. (Interestingly, the Lada was accompanied by jeep tires ...) That didn't work neither, obviously, so they went home, the next day it started raining and it seemed they had given up the haying process.

The old Lada used for haying.

Once my mom went for a walk and told us that when she was passing a farm, the farmer came running out, saw her and let himself fall into the grass. He jumped up fastly, ran inside and came out with his wife, both of them looking at my mom and then letting themselves fall into the grass ...
The same day I went for a walk to some cliffs at the coast and there I found a suitcase with some stranded goods and a letter.

A suitcase with stranded goods.

Hello girls and guys. My name is Hákon and I am seven years old. The seagull is a good bird. He is beautiful.
Verse 2.
I went away with my cousin Iris today.
Verse 3.
The Arctic tern is sometimes good, sometimes bad. She pecks but then one has to sway the arms above the head.
21 April 2013.

Finally, when we left Skagaströnd, some guys on some diggers had taken the road in the village apart. It is a weird little place and honestly I miss it a little bit.