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The tunnel was about one kilometre long and spat me out at the Siglufjörður. The road followed the coast of the fjord and soon reached the town also named Siglufjörður. It was a major fishing harbour and fairly large, the biggest settlement I had seen since leaving the south. It still was raining cats and dogs and the nasty weather made this place look desolate and depressing. That mood intensified when I passed a ghostly graveyard just outside town on my way further south and into the next single lane tunnel.
That tunnel was even longer – about 3 kilometres – and was interrupted only for a few hundred meters crossing a deep valley before entering the next tunnel. But the two mountain ridges that I had passed underground obviously were high enough to hinder the rain clouds passing them fully loaded and when I reached the next fjord, it had at least stopped raining.
Still, the meadow in the town centre, that serves as campground resembled more a swamp and I had to navigate very carefully to find a place to park my van without getting stuck. Tired from a long day and a long drive I went for a little walk and then to bed for a well needed sleep.
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