Sunset driving into Borgarnes.

Kodak Portra 400//Hasselblad 500CM

After Reykjavík, driving into Borgarnes was a quiet, deserted affair.  At one hundredth the size of the capital while still being one of the biggest "cities" in Iceland, the first person I saw was the owner of the hostel once I called him to come check me in.  After a little exploring, I sat down to a dinner of tomato soup and toasted bread and met Daniel from Bristol, England, who had been hitchhiking around the country for the last 6 weeks.  When asked what he did, he insisted that he was a traveler that happened to work with computers just long enough between adventures to fund them.  He shared some tea, I shared some chocolate, and we talked about our various travels.  Shortly after Daniel went to bed, a large Australian man with two black eyes sat down across from me.  After introducing himself, he asked if I minded him taking out his two front teeth.  Dale, professional fighter and most genuine of people, and I talked about photography, micro-expressions, war, various societies' perception of loss, native cultures, and much more.  When I finally tiptoed into my room that night, my roommate, a cyclist from Quebec who had been biking Iceland for a few weeks told me, "it's ok, you don't need to be quiet."  As I laid down and closed my eyes, he let out a sigh and softly said in his thick French accent, "after spending so many nights outdoors, it is difficult to fall asleep inside."  "I can imagine," I answered.  "Sweet dreams."