07-17-2026 Visiting a Volcanic Island, Heimaey

Our view from the front of the Explorer Lounge on our last day of the cruise

I woke thinking about the day to come, realizing that this would be our last full day on the Neptune. The days have run together, and even remembering what happened yesterday begins to fade. Each port we have visited has had its own unique character, and yet the overall feeling is always about spectacular, dramatic, overwhelming beauty unlike anything I have seen anywhere. 

Recent volcanic deposits on Heimaey are colorful

It is like a concentrated beauty somehow. Unlike the many beautiful places we have been in the US, here it slaps you in the face from the moment land is visible in the early mornings from our balcony until we watch the rolling seas and the setting sun after 11PM.

The charming reindeer hides shed horribly so we flipped it over

Our ship was scheduled to anchor in the harbor at Heimaey, in the Westman Islands of Iceland, after 9AM. I signed up for the simple included walking tour of the town as our excursion for the day, and it wasn’t scheduled until after noon, so we had time to relax after breakfast in our favorite spot in the Explorer Lounge.

Settling in with coffee in our comfy chairs, where we could watch the tenders coming and going, was the perfect way to spend the morning.

The charming guy from Shetland

I looked up from my reading to see a tall, lanky, gray-haired man standing at the window in front of us. His eyes looked kind and he wasn’t intrusive, but somehow I knew he might like a bit of conversation, so I asked him where he was from.

I was delighted when he said one word, “Shetland.”

“Oh!” I said. “I have wanted to see Shetland ever since we watched the series on BritBox. It was a favorite of ours, so much so that we watched it three times.”

The two of us then proceeded to talk about what a great pair Jimmy Perez and Tosh were in that show. I mentioned the tiny, narrow, one-lane roads that were photographed from a drone, showing no cars anywhere, and he said that is exactly what it was like. He told me he had been a fisherman all his life and that now he was dealing with Parkinson’s. He still lives on Shetland, not far from Lerwick, the town I always wanted to see.

It was such a sweet and delightful interaction. I felt grateful for the time with him, sharing what it is like living on the Shetland Islands.

Tender navigating the narrow harbor from the ship to Haimaey

Mo and I went one last time to the Pool Grill for a bit of lunch before our scheduled tour at 12:30. The trip to port through the narrow harbor was fascinating, and I tried so hard to get photos of all the birds we could see nesting on the cliffs through the windows of the tender. No luck. All were fuzzy in the final shots.

The Viking tour coordinator that made our day perfect

Once off the tender, we were met by the red-coated Viking tour guides and discovered that we had missed our walking tour by almost an hour. I was standing there with my walker, feeling devastated, and asked if there was a map we could use.

The woman who had often made sure we were on the right tour said, “That would mean that you wouldn’t see the best part of the island. It is almost 4 miles to the volcano museum. Let me see if I can get you on this bus.”

As a result, a missed free tour gave us the opportunity to enjoy the not-free bus tour of the island, and anything less would have been such a loss. Just one more instance of how well Viking made sure I had the best cruise experience possible, even with my limitations.

The only photo I took of AJ

Once on the bus, we were treated to what may have been the most entertaining bus guide we experienced on the entire cruise. The young man, nicknamed AJ, was born on Heimaey. He teaches at an elementary school in winter, runs a karate club, and fronts a rock band at night. It seemed the kid had at least six lives. He introduced his driver as half the island’s “A-team” because they hadn’t had an accident in at least two weeks.

Then his deadpan tour of the town was so funny. Two supermarkets, schools, and quick, get out your cameras, here are our two traffic lights. His delivery was charming and hilarious and had us all laughing throughout the tour.

A pro at only 15 years old

He drove us past a giant cliff where his 15-year-old student was demonstrating spranga, the traditional rope-swinging/cliff-descending technique once used to collect seabird eggs. Just wandering around town, we would have definitely missed that.

Then he told us the story of the “pufflings,” baby puffins.

The pufflings emerge at night, but some burrows face town, so the babies glide in the wrong direction. AJ described it as “it rains pufflings.” The whole community goes out with flashlights and cardboard boxes. Someone spots one and yells, PUFFLING! They scoop them up, take them home overnight...

...and AJ says, “And then the next day we eat them.”

“Nah, I’m kidding.”

Then they take them back to the cliffs and send them toward the ocean. AJ himself was featured in a New York Times Animal podcast episode about the puffling rescue, and his band even made a death-metal puffling song for it!

Along the route, we saw the beautiful grounds of the Westman Islands Golf Club, one of the most dramatically situated golf courses in Europe. Opposite the golf club were the Elephant Cliffs, and after AJ pointed out that elephant shape, it was impossible not to see it.

Find the elephant

AJ, being a musician, also had to point out the location of Þjóðhátíð (the National Festival), held on the island every year.

Location of the music festival in August

AJ stressed that the festival was not only about almost 20,000 people coming together to celebrate the music, but that it was about love. On the last night of the festival, in a tradition called Brekkusöngur, literally “slope singing”, thousands of people sing familiar songs, many of them love songs, together in that natural amphitheater. The festival song he sang for us was a love song, and he described it as being much like Iceland’s version of “Amazing Grace” in the sense that everyone knows it.

And then AJ burst into song, singing for us as the bus maneuvered along the narrow roads leading toward the volcano.

But the emotional heart of the bus tour was the story he told about the 1973 eruption that very nearly destroyed the island and the town.

I don't remember which house belonged to AJ's grandfather

AJ pointed out the house his grandfather built in 1968, which survived the 1973 eruption. His grandmother and mother evacuated, but Grandpa smuggled himself back onto Heimaey, eventually joining about 200 local men who had returned. When lava threatened to close the harbor, they worked around the clock pumping seawater onto it. They knew that the harbor was the lifeblood of the town and that if the flowing lava closed it, their community might never recover. AJ said his grandfather believed that if they had begun one week later, the island would have been lost.

AJ ended the story with a marvelous finale. Grandpa developed leukemia in 2002, and doctors gave him two years to live. AJ’s parents hurried up and married so Grandpa could walk his daughter down the aisle.

Except Grandpa didn’t die.

He is still alive at 80, playing with the grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

So AJ’s punchline was essentially: my parents got married for nothing.

Our bus tour ended with admission to the spectacular Eldheimar museum, at the edge of Eldfell, the volcano that buried nearly 400 houses and buildings during the 1973 eruption. I did look wistfully at the steep trails with many stairs that led toward the top of the crater. But I have stood on the slopes of Etna and hiked to the top of Vesuvius, so I wasn’t terribly disappointed that I wouldn’t manage to hike to the top of Eldfell.

The entire museum has been built around what remains of one of the homes buried in the eruption. We were given audio guides that shifted the story with each section of the museum that we entered. The museum was a dramatic depiction of what it must have been like to experience that eruption, part of the story that has earned Heimaey the description “Pompeii of the North.”

The imagery and sounds of the displays were dramatic and very well done for what was a small museum on a small island off the east coast of Iceland.

We would have missed so much if the Viking cruise guides hadn’t made room for us on that tour bus.

Neptune from the tender

Once back on the ship came the dreaded job of repacking everything and making sure our large bags were outside our stateroom door by 9 PM. This may be the least exciting part of cruising, and trying to figure out what we absolutely need in our carry-on that night and the next morning until we land in Portland can be daunting.

I have been writing almost every day about each of our days on the Neptune, and I have decided that I will leave you, my faithful readers, on the Neptune, peacefully anchored off Heimaey, for a few days before I return to writing about our trip back to Portland and at last to Sunset House.

Maybe in that final post I will add a few thoughts about Viking and our ship.

There were puffins on the island but we never managed to get to the cliffs where they were located

Till then, enjoy floating around in the North Atlantic and the Westman Islands of Iceland.

07-16-2026 Djúpivogur and the lost bag

Another spectacular morning greeted us with perfect weather as we sailed along the southeast coast of Iceland. We were scheduled to arrive at 7am, and by the time we got up for breakfast the ship was already anchored in Berufjörður, with the tiny fishing village of Djúpivogur sparkling in the sunlight.

I went to Google Maps to try to understand where we were in relation to Iceland and the North Atlantic. The more I looked at the map, the more interested I became in all the fjords cutting deeply into the coastline. We had sailed into the deep blue waters of several fjords on this journey, and it seemed like I should understand how a fjord was formed.

Imagine my surprise when all my experience with glacial landscapes didn't kick in right away. Fjords are formed when glaciers carve down through the landscape, creating those classic U-shaped glacial valleys, complete with hanging valleys on the steep sideslopes, glacial lakes and waterfalls spilling down from above. When the glaciers retreat and the sea floods those deep valleys, you have a fjord.

Of course. It was embarrassingly obvious once I knew the answer. Made me feel a bit silly.

With a population of only a few hundred people, the tiny village of Djúpivogur sits beneath steep mountains in a landscape that feels much larger than the town itself. Fishing has sustained the community for centuries, but today travelers also come for the extraordinary scenery, birdlife and quiet beauty of this isolated corner of Iceland.

Our early morning excursion was another bus tour, with views of the fjord, the mountains, the beach and another waterfall. It was to be a day for scenery...spectacular scenery...and we were excited to step ashore once again for a tour that didn't require much hiking. I was ready for a break, and Bus Number 3 provided a lovely respite from all the walking I had been doing.

We drove through the tiny town, and within minutes our route intersected the famous Route 1, the Ring Road. This highway is more than 800 miles long and circumnavigates almost the entire island of Iceland. I know several friends who have traveled this road, including Suzanne, who did the classic Iceland Ring Road trip in a tiny van. Her stories of that journey were enthralling, and after visiting Iceland myself I returned to read her blog again with different eyes.

The road was narrow and followed the shoreline of the fjord, with every curve revealing another astonishing view of the mountains and the landscape. 

There is our ship in the fjord patiently waiting for our return

We traveled quite some distance before the big bus left Highway 1 and navigated a narrow, curving road up the steep side of the valley to another waterfall.

Nykurhylsfoss, also called Sveinsstekksfoss, spilled over basalt and crashed over the outcrops in a rush of wild whitewater. It was noisy and breathtaking. There were hints of a trail climbing above the falls and following the river that fed it, but that would be for another day, and no doubt another life.

Every waterfall I saw in Iceland made me hunger for more, and they are everywhere. From tiny rivulets to raging torrents, every one seemed to have its own personality and, I imagined, its own spirit.

I later learned that local folklore says a nykur once lived in the pool beneath Nykurhylsfoss. A nykur is an Icelandic water spirit, usually appearing as a horse and associated with lakes, rivers and waterfalls. Unlike the trolls turned to stone or the generally more benign huldufólk, the "hidden people," the nykur was decidedly not friendly. Stories describe it enticing people onto its back and carrying them into the water.

But what I felt was definitely friendly.  Maybe it was the way it would entice people to climb the falls and walk the river.  Who knows. Whatever I felt there, it wasn't sinister. The place felt ancient and alive, but somehow welcoming.

But it wasn't a day for hiking, and all too soon we were herded back into the bus to crawl back down the winding steep dirt road to the main highway.

As we drove along the shore, I noticed large circular enclosures floating in Berufjörður. We were told they were sea cages used for fish farming, primarily salmon. 

Our guide talked about some of the controversy surrounding fish farming in Iceland, including foreign ownership and concerns about its effects on wild fish and the surrounding environment.

At one spot along the shore, the bus pulled into a large turnout to give us an opportunity to walk along the rocky beach. I wasn't particularly excited about trying to hobble over slippery bowling balls, so I enjoyed the beach from a safe distance instead. 

Several tiny wildflowers tucked among the beach grasses caught my eye.

With those delicate blue-viloet bell and those narrow leaves, the blue flower is harebell (Campanula rotundifolia), which is native in Eastern Iceland. 

The extraordinary little golden-tipped stamens arranged around the center are characteristic of Parnassia, specifically grass-of-Parnassus (Parnassia palustris). It loves damp, cool northern habitats, and an Icelandic fjord shoreline is right in its wheelhouse.

Once again back on the bus, we returned to the tiny town, where I noticed a few small businesses, including an inviting brewery. 

Mo and I settled into the warm atmosphere of sunlight and wood and enjoyed a cold beer.

It seemed like the perfect way to end our afternoon.

We were happily settled back in our stateroom when I suddenly realized we were missing a bag. It was a small fabric bag that we had been using throughout the cruise to carry miscellaneous things, including Mo's phone.

It was nowhere.

We searched frantically through the room before finally accepting that it was gone. I began retracing our steps. I knew I had it when we visited the waterfall. Had we taken it into the brewery? Maybe we'd left it there. Or on the bus? I was almost certain it was at the brewery.

Trying not to panic, I called the main desk and explained what we had lost and where we thought it might be. They promised to let us know if they found anything.

A while later the phone rang and I answered expectantly, only to learn that the bag hadn't been left at the brewery.

There wasn't much more we could do. We accepted the loss and decided to have dinner that evening in The Restaurant. It was a lovely meal, although somewhat dampened by the loss of Mo's phone. There are so many things stored on a phone that you never think about until suddenly it is gone.

After dinner we returned to our stateroom.

Once again, the phone rang.

This time it was good news. Viking had tracked our missing bag to the driver of Bus Number 3. Sure enough, that was exactly where I had left it...tied safely to the seat in front of us.

Viking had gone far beyond what I would have expected to track down our lost belongings and get them back to us. We were both a bit giddy with relief, and it was with an entirely different attitude that we went to the evening show honoring the Viking crew on stage.

The evening sunset was the perfect ending to a day that had gone from wonderful to awful and, wonderfully, back again.

07-15-2026 Seyðisfjörður Iceland

Seyðisfjörður may have been the most beautiful arrival of the entire cruise.

This morning, as I return in memory to our cruise, I am surprised that I had forgotten just how beautiful Seyðisfjörður was. Snow still lay across the high mountains above the fjord, feeding countless ribbons of water that spilled down one green basalt ledge after another toward the blue water below.

Seyðisfjörður is a tiny town of about 700 people tucked at the very head of a long, narrow fjord in eastern Iceland. Steep mountains rise almost directly behind its colorful wooden houses, with streams and waterfalls tumbling down the slopes, making the town seem almost cradled by the mountains. Originally developed as a 19th-century trading and herring-fishing center, today Seyðisfjörður is known for its remarkably preserved Norwegian-style wooden buildings, lively arts community, and its harbor, which remains Iceland’s ferry connection to Denmark and the Faroe Islands.

The morning was nearly perfect, bright and clear, with nothing hiding the mountains from us. Long before we stepped ashore, Mo and I were already captivated.

Sharing the tiny harbor with us was the sleek Scenic Eclipse, a luxury expedition ship complete with its own helicopter, looking more like an enormous private yacht than a cruise ship.

It was noon when we arrived in port, and Mo and I took time to have a delicious lunch of Asian chicken wings at the Pool Grill, a little favorite of ours. A tall frosty beer was the perfect accompaniment.

After our long day on a bus seeing incredible wonders yesterday, we chose to skip the ship tours and simply spend our time in port walking through the charming and colorful town. The trail to the waterfall was visible from our veranda, and it was only a short walk from the ship to the head of the trail.

I felt a thrill inside at the brilliant saturated colors around me, the clarity of the air, and the sunshine.

The trail was smooth gravel with an easy grade. Much like Multnomah Falls in Oregon, there was a longer and steeper hike to a bridge that crossed the creek partway up the falls. I didn’t attempt that section.

We walked slowly enough to stop and look at the thick carpet of wildflowers among the lupines and take photos of the ship in the distance. And no, of course I didn’t walk that trail without my sticks. I had Mo hold them so I could get a photo of me without them. Just for fun.

By the time we walked down the hill and back into town, the brilliant sun had disappeared behind incoming clouds. Somehow the softer light only made the colorful painted houses and lush cottage gardens even more beautiful.

I was surprised to see so many familiar plants in the gardens, reminding me of my decades of gardening through the long summer days and snowy cold winters of northern Idaho. I still haven’t quite adjusted to the dry, hot summer growing requirements of Grants Pass.

Rugosa roses were huge and lush and in full bloom. Many of the little cottages had whimsical art tucked away in their gardens and interesting paintings on their walls.

We meandered slowly toward the main part of town and realized that not far away a large crowd was gathering for what I thought might be the Viking Festival that was part of the official walking tour that day. I had no desire to jostle for a place to stand, especially since standing still for me is much harder than walking, so we meandered in the other direction and skipped the crowd.

It was a good choice. As we turned down the main street toward the church, the beautiful rainbow-painted pavement was nearly empty of people.

There were a few little shops, and one especially caught my eye.

Slipping in through the entrance, the fragrance and feel of soft Icelandic wool was my first impression. There were racks of sweaters and tables filled with gorgeous scarves and shawls, blankets and gloves. I managed to simply enjoy the feeling of that soft wool against my cheek while avoiding the startlingly high prices for Icelandic keepsakes.

However, I did buy just a few little things.

With puffins and sheep being symbols of the country, I settled on a couple of gorgeous kitchen towels, with puffins on one and some silly-looking sheep on the other. I also found a treat for my friend Jeanne, a wooden put-together puzzle in a flat envelope that could easily be sent in the mail and, after building, would become a lovely wooden depiction of an Icelandic sheep. I couldn’t resist and bought a tiny version of the same thing for myself and another to thank Deb for watching the house.

Looking back, I am actually a bit sad that I was so frugal and wish I had spent a whole bunch more on “stuff.” With Mo being a much less impulsive buyer than I am, she was delighted that I was somewhat restrained in my purchases.

I sent photos of Rainbow Street to my gay grandkids, knowing how much they would appreciate the inclusive environment we were seeing in Icelandic communities.

We walked slowly up the colorful street toward the church, admiring the well-kept houses along the way. I could live in this town and be happy. Except I do have to remember that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder during dark winters and would no doubt need to escape the darkness.

At the end of Rainbow Street stood the pale blue Lutheran church, Seyðisfjarðarkirkja, although almost everyone calls it Bláa kirkjan, “the Blue Church.” Thank goodness I have a little help writing out those Icelandic names. I still have a terrible time every time I try to write the names of the ports we visited.

As our path turned back toward the ship, I couldn’t resist taking more photos of the gorgeous lilacs in full bloom, with the wild, snow-covered slopes rising behind the town.

I almost didn’t want to go back to the ship, but we had walked quite a bit that afternoon. I am learning when to stop instead of doing that stubborn Sue thing of going and going, thinking it will be OK. Usually it isn’t, and I pay the next day.

But this time it was just the right amount of time, and I felt great. Maybe it was the beauty of the town, the freshness of the air, the magnificent colors and the mountains surrounding us.

What a treasure to experience such a lovely place. Before the cruise I knew about Goðafoss, but I had no clue what we would find in this tiny little town at the end of a fjord in Iceland. Seyðisfjörður was a complete surprise, and maybe that was what made it so delightful.

We were back on the ship in time for supper at the World Café. One more perfectly fresh salad with succulent shrimp and luscious, crispy greens, with the waterfalls of Seyðisfjörður still visible beyond the windows. I still have no clue how Viking manages to serve greens this fresh and good after so many days of sailing.

A perfect day.

Perfect.