go around the steep mountains allowing you to stretch your gaze on the steep valleys that form the backdrop to the small villages . We conquered the great orange lighthouse immortalised on many postcards , becoming part of the most typical of Icelandic landscapes . Two long tunnels allow you to reach Siglufjörður , the town that best tells one of the most important chapters in the country ' s history : herring fishing . Today the graceful and well-restored warehouses , which housed the fish processing centres , are home to a National Museum that tells the life of thousands of people who moved here every summer to fish and transform fish into oil , flour and the famous salted or smoked herring . Unfortunately , uncontrolled exploitation caused the disappearance of herring in the early 1960s and Siglufjörður began its decline , until the slow tourist revival of recent years .
The F35 guided us to explore the spectacular inland territory : alone , in one of the few cold deserts in the world , we followed the narrow strip of beaten earth bordered by large stones . We felt pervaded by a mixture of excitement and concern . Not an indication or a signal that made it clear where we were exactly . We crossed stretches of loose stones while the poor Transalp tried to convince itself that it was suitable for off-roading before reaching the thermal area of Hveravellir , an oasis in the desert of gray rocks where you can find services along the track . One of the places marked by the myth of Fjalla Eyvindr , an incorrigible thief of the eighteenth century , sent into exile in this region . A prison without bars where the only freedom was to earn the opportunity to continue living . When we immersed our aching bodies in the pool of thermal water we were invaded by a pleasant sensation of numbness and refreshment , and we
TRAVERSE 142