From Iceland — 24 Hours In Stykkishólmur

24 Hours In Stykkishólmur

Published January 21, 2025

Photo by
Art Bicnick/The Reykjavík Grapevine

Alien Jesus, Vanishing Glaciers

We navigate our car out onto the less-trodden Snæfellsnes peninsula in the dim-lit dusk of late November. The frosty twilight paints the mountains in a wash of dusty purple — a beautiful sight that I clung to as we turned into the Vatnaleið mountain pass.

There are a few things as frightening as winter driving over Iceland’s mountain passes. A quick jolt could send you hurling towards the nearest abyss. Wind rocked the car, but my partner’s steady hands on the steering wheel kept us on course.

We were on our way to Stykkishólmur — a seaside town on the peninsula’s northern coast facing the great, big mouth of Breiðafjörður. It’s a requisite stop for those wanting to travel by the the Baldur ferry to the Westfjords via Flatey.

Stykkishólmur’s relative proximity to the capital area makes it — and Snæfellsnes in general — an ideal destination for an adventurous day trip or a quick weekend getaway.

Basically, it looks like a giant, Christian spaceship ready to transport a cult to their alien god.

The peninsula offers plenty of quirky and interesting stops along its periphery, with Stykkishólmur being one of them. Half the buildings balance on protruding cliffs; the other half are a sprawling suburb in the making. The town’s geography and sporadic mix of traditional and postmodern architecture lend it an air of mysticism and a feeling of je ne sais quoi.

Election night hamburgers

As we drove in, we saw the Library of Water rising upwards in the midst of the town centre. A former library turned museum and art residency, it has hosted the works of American visual artist Roni Horn since 2007. But that’s not our current destination. This would be our final destination before travelling back to Reykjavík.

Having survived the drive, we arrived comfortably at Hótel Egilsen, a simultaneously impressive and modest-looking building in the town centre. The hotel’s warm and cozy interior had a quintessentially “Iceland farmhouse” aesthetic, with armchairs one could drown in while snuggled up with the right book. After settling in, it was dinner o’clock.

At first glance, this basketball-themed grubhub had all the charm of a wayside gas

Seeing as Stykkishólmur’s bistro fare consists exclusively of two restaurants — that’s Sjávarpakkhúsið and Narfeyrarstofa — and neither of us were in the mood for a proper sit-down atmosphere, we opted for the town’s sole hamburger house, Skúrinn.

At first glance, this basketball-themed grubhub had all the charm of a wayside gas station, selling multitudes of cigarette products and small beer cans out of a mini-fridge.

Meals in hand, we sat down in the poster-plastered cafeteria, whose tables were strewn with the candidate brochures of the upcoming elections. A massive flatscreen TV occupies. On a Friday night, Skúrinn is definitely the place to be.

As the evening progressed, more guests pile in. Suddenly, someone turned on the TV and the election night debates were on high volume. We sat among a handful of locals, all sharing the quiet agreement to refrain from making spontaneous political slights.

The food was exactly what we expected — the company, even better. Retreating back to Egilsen and our lovely room, we fell asleep with the wind threatening to break through the windows.

Alien Jesus

On a good day, looking from the port of Stykkishólmur you can see as far as the southern edge of the Westfjords and the slightly closer landmass of Fellsströnd. In between, the great sea waste is littered with the many islands of Breiðafjörður — an endless cluster of islets and atolls and a common simile in Icelandic vernacular. Unfortunately for us, this was not a good day.

With reports of a storm rolling in across the northwest, Stykkishólmur was hit with its surplus and clouds obscured the view. As the day dragged, snow piled beside buildings, glazing the streets.

Though cognisant of our goal to enter the Library of Water, my eyes were fixated on the strange church situated on a small hill in town. Stykkishólmskirkja is undoubtedly one of the town’s landmark features, selected among the world’s top ten most beautiful churches by Reader’s Digest (a trusted source, if ever there was one).

Structured as if it’s ascending towards the heavens, two great, curved staves form the vestibule, with its roof partially topped by a semi-dome. Basically, it looks like a giant, Christian spaceship ready to transport the congregation to their alien god. The church’s galactic aesthetics even transcend the exterior, permeating the interior design.

Behind the altar, an otherworldly depiction of the Virgin Mary holding the Christ Child hangs high. The painting shows Mary in front of a deep-blue background radiating a white glow — as if she’s floating in space. Her expression is devoid of any emotion as she holds her infant like a sacrificial offering. Baby Jesus is certainly nonplussed about the ordeal, seemingly grinning.

It’s terrifying, to say the least, and an obvious stop on our itinerary.

Unfortunately, when we pulled up on a Saturday morning, the church was closed. Still, I managed to take a peek through the glass entrance and saw the sci-fi scene with my own eyes.

The Library of Water

Having sufficiently defiled my eyes with a sacral depiction, it was time for something nice: The Library of Water.

We sought refuge from the storm in that forlorn, lonely building, slamming the doors behind us. For a moment, everything went quiet — except for the all-too-familiar sound of wind whistling through every possible crevice.

Housed in the Library of Water are the installations Water, Selected and You Are The Weather; as well as the book series To Place, and the spoken testimonies of locals compiled in the book Weather Reports You, all created by Roni Horn. Coming up on its 18th year, the exhibition reflects the artist’s intimate involvement with geology and geography — glaciers, in particular.

Water, Selected consists of 24 irregularly placed columns in the room, each one filled with water sourced from different glaciers in Iceland. Meanwhile, You Are The Weather features inscriptions of words describing weather phenomena plastered on the floor. In a side room, Weather Reports You and excerpts from To Place are on display.

Upon entering the building, guests are asked to remove their shoes and grab a pair of provided slippers. Immediately greeting guests are the columns, which reach from floor to ceiling. As you walk through the space, your suddenly cosy feet grace the floor’s inscriptions.

“Unpredictable,” “Hamslaus,” and “Þrúgandi,” included some, fittingly descriptive of the strong storm enveloping the cliff. From this precipiced vantage point, I looked outside and spy a flock of ravens physically exerting themselves as they flew against the headwind. Brutal.

Vanishing glaciers

It’s unsurprising that an exhibition so focused on the elements involves the weather playing a significant part in the viewer’s perception. Allegedly, the glass columns refract and reflect light onto the floor, thereby highlighting the floor’s descriptive adjectives.

During my visit in the dead of winter, light was a cruelly lacking component as thick clouds overcast the sky. Needless to say, there was limited refraction happening.

Despite the exhibition’s long-running stint, its permanence and impact are still relevant, partially sustained by the contemporary conversation around climate change. Glaciers are to land what whales are to the ocean: powerful mammoths and evocative symbols in the language surrounding man-made degradation. With each vanishing ice cap, humanity stares at geological conservation spanning millennia turn into something as fleeting as water.

Looking back on the disappearance of Ok glacier, ceremoniously pronounced dead in 2019 by ministers of the previous government, my head spun with pessimistic thoughts about eternity and the tangible passing of time.

Perhaps, in the not-too-distant future, all that remains of our glaciers will be Roni Horn’s aquatic columns. Future generations might be examining these remnants in the same, disturbed way we perceive deformed animals encased in formaldehyde.

Riddled with these daunting contemplations on the state of the Earth and the future we’re bequeathing to our children, we drove back to Reykjavík to cast our votes in an election, blindly putting our trust in politicians running on platforms that universally failed to address the crisis at hand.

Thanks to Hótel Egilsen for providing accommodation. Check out www.egilsen.is if you’re headed to Stykkishólmur.

Support The Reykjavík Grapevine!
Buy subscriptions, t-shirts and more from our shop right here!

Show Me More!