Following the Ring Road Road along the coast, we stop at several  waterfalls climbing behind, around and underneath them. Occasionally we take an unpaved road up a mountain. I am sure these have a destination but they seem to lead to nowhere so we turn around, avoiding getting swallowed by the uninhabited abyss of Iceland's interior. These spots are insanely beautiful  but what quickly becomes my favorite are the historical homesteads with their tiny, grass covered turf houses, bucolic churches and eerie graveyards. I imagine what it would have been like to have lived here hundreds of years ago and my mind wanders to our own land. I ask Pete if we can build a turf home. He agrees to a shed or root cellar, but not to making our house out of rocks and wood then covering it with dirt..... bummer. In between stops we meet our first emo-ish Iceland horses. Shaggy hair hangs over big dark eyes making them appear angsty and shy,  but these guys are friendly enough. 

Around every bend some crazy geological phenomenon, quaint little farm with a backyard waterfall, or grass covered meadow dotted with fat, furry sheep awaits us. Instead of music, because there is no radio station to be found, we begin a steady beat of exclamatory, rhetorical questions..... "Is this place for real?!"....... "Did we die is a plane crash and this is our alternate reality!?"........"How can we get a 100ft waterfall in our backyard?!"... and the one that I think is the most befitting of the Icelandic landscape......."Holy shit! What is that!?"