Don’t look, there’s a face in the window behind you …
Lining the road that leads from Keflavík International Airport to Iceland’s capital city of Reykjavík are a number of silhouettes, impossible to perceive as anything but humanoid. Stoic, gray stacks of rock, they loom on the edge of fields suggesting shoulders, torsos, and heads. They are, of course, cairns—towers of stones that have been arranged to show the way to travelers. They were sometimes called by the eerie name of “bone crone,” though this is, in actuality, a reference to beinakerling literature, which is the tradition of leaving, ah, ribald notes and lewd poems in cairns.
The stone greeting is perhaps an appropriate one. It seems as if there’s an eerie tale to be told no matter what corner of this North Atlantic island you visit. From the shores where Vikings first settled to the remote valleys where outlawed criminals once roamed, you’re sure to encounter a story that’ll send a chill down your spine.