The wind broke around the hotel, whistling and howling as it forced its way into every little nook and cranny, splattering snow onto every surface it hit and rattling the windows.
“It always sounds worse than it is from inside,” said the host at Hotel Budir, an isolated boutique hotel nestled in a little crook of the knobbly finger of Iceland’s Snæfellsnes peninsula. I laughed. Icelanders are fond of displaying their prowess in the face of bitter conditions. It was an understatement to say it wasn’t sounding too hospitable outside and it most definitely hadn’t sounded any better from inside our compact car as we’d driven here earlier in the afternoon. But we hadn’t been laughing then.
That morning Stacker had bounced me awake. The day had dawned gloriously sunny, the first one to do so after a series of dull, drizzling days, and he was keen to get out and explore. We jumped in our rental car and headed for the western peninsula, hoping for beautiful views and to get a taste of Hotel Budir’s renowned fish soup for lunch.