📍Between the despair and the depression, not far from Safébocou-sur-nerfs
Warm, in a room without wind or rain, in a dry bed... without a single sound, a deafening silence. The day started off rather badly. A bit like the second half of last night. We were waiting for the hypothetical mechanic to take the car to the garage... We whistled as much as we could, but as Joe Dassin would say, no one ever came.
After yet another call between me, Baloise (my insurance), TCS, Arc Europe, and Krokur—in short, the saga of the partners of the partners of the partners, are you following?—I was told that in fact… there were no partners in Iceland. Translation: no one would come. If we wanted to move forward, we would have to pay for everything ourselves.
A little disappointed, we leave the café and try the Höfn campsite. Except, guess what? Wind alert. Höfn, an exposed peninsula. The previous night had already shaken us like plum trees, but this time it's worse. Between torrential rain and gusts of wind, we end up packing up in a hurry, not wondering if the tent will explode, but rather when. Behind a toilet shed, we reinstall everything as best we can, soaked to the bone. We even considered sleeping sitting up in the car. Same thing again at 4 a.m. when the wind changes. We pack everything up at 7:30 a.m. and take our sick man to his "specialist."
The verdict? Belt still whistling, tightening, then levering the tire iron to re-tension... The whistling stops, I ask how much. Response: invoice by text message. The axe falls: CHF 198 for 4 minutes. The tire iron's serenade wasn't cheap.
We set off again, heading for Egilsstaðir. But after 60 km, I realize that with all these adventures, I forgot to fill up. Reserve. Next pump 45 km away. We head to Djúpivogur, our tank running out of gas. Phew, it's OK. We have a quick coffee to recover, and we laugh at the fright... we shouldn't have.
Google Maps "saves us time" by sending us onto the 935 and then the 95. Bad idea. Uphill, rain, wind, fog, and suddenly: brakes locked. The car won't move, even in neutral. It smells like heat, it smells like the endgame. After a few minutes of waiting, miraculously, it starts up again. Ten minutes later, it's the same old story. This time without signal. Invisible in the middle of the road, the fear rises a notch. When the signal returns, another round with the insurance company ensues: we're referred to the police, then to Icelandic roadside assistance. Quote: 200 CHF just to open the file + 700 CHF as soon as a breakdown service is found. My insurance company says no... then finally says yes when I mention the near-death experience.
Finally, miraculously, we restart and give it our all: reach our guesthouse 35 km away. And it works.
The paradox? Here, no rain, no wind. Almost beautiful. But tomorrow, we'll have to sort out this car issue.
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