Last September I discovered a place that epitomizes what this blog is about: remnants of what once was, places nearly forgotten with strong ties to the past.
This place sits in a volcanic landscape and looks like the back of the moon. The built environment consists of a tiny church and fenced graveyard, walls of lava stones, and walking trails on the edge of the sea.
Inhabitants are sheep and a few tourists. And the dead.
The human community, once a fishing village or fishing station, no longer exists. Only the remnants.
Wandering around the trails one comes upon a lava-lined den half-buried in the earth. Apparently once used to store stock fish, the structure now provides shelter to the wondering sheep.
The wooden church has been rebuilt several times since its founding in 1703. Local women fought to keep the church and parish active. At least one of these early preservationists is buried in the tiny graveyard.
Despite my belief in sharing history, it is my fervent wish that this isolated place, with no sounds but the wind and the sea, remaind unspoiled.
So please don't visit Búðir, in the shadow of the Snæfellsnes Glacier, in western Iceland.
