The Icelandic ferry leaves from northern Denmark these days. Be prepared for a long schlep from England, and even more so from the Isle of Man! However, there are some scenic spots en route if you have time to stop.

It seemed like a win win situation. Our friend was selling her vintage Range Rover, we were looking for a 4WD for an Icelandic trip.

Admittedly we had always said we would never buy a Range Rover and the warnings from our inner voices, blithely ignored, quickly proved correct: there was a radiator leak within 40 km, closely followed by a problem with the electronic air suspension. 

I hate things which try to be cleverer than they should be. We fitted springs, threw everything in the back and crossed our fingers.

DAY ONE

Just getting to Iceland is a marathon and we ended up wondering if the ferry costs would have been better spent on a £60 flight from London and a hire car.

First of all we had to get off the Isle of Man, a ferry trip usually up there with root canal treatment. However four hours on the old rust bucket Ben-my-Chree were a positive doddle compared to what was to come.

My apprehension was only partially relieved by reading that both Jeremy Clarkson and the Queen liked old Range Rovers although their colour of choice was green or sand; ours is a rather garish red (or Bordeaux if you want to be posh) . Interesting fact: they had the largest expanse of glass of any vehicle and the police once used them to tow away the roadkill after motorway pile ups!

No such demands were to to be made of our car. We rolled off the ferry in Heysham, Lancaster, close to midnight, and toddled a couple of miles up the road to our favourite layby where a small, flat grassy patch awaited the tent. I heard two cars pass by before I was dead to the world.

DAY TWO

Day two dawned cool and cloudy. After a leisurely breakfast we left Lancaster by the scenic route towards the Yorkshire Dales National Park, winding along roads lush with summer vegetation. The lack of air suspension was unnoticed and the car was perfectly comfortable. 

Those big windows were coming in useful:  scree covered slopes fell away from high bare escarpments as we followed a wild valley towards Hawes. Isolated farms and even more isolated barns dotted the landscape and we admired the symmetry of the Ribblehead Viaduct, where gaily clad walkers headed off across the moors.

Hawes is a pleasant little village with lots of character, old houses lining narrow streets where antique shops vie for trade with a myriad of cafes. There are good delis selling Yorkshire beers and gift shops with a lot of sheepy items. 

We visited the Wensleydale Creamery where excellent tasting rooms enticed us with a diverse range of cheeses: the traditional Wensleydale is delicious but we also loved the salty crunch of the Yorkshire Mature Cheddar and even the ginger blend was yummy in an offbeat way.

There is a picturesque cafe with big picture windows, a restaurant and a well stocked gift shop. With free 3 hour parking, we dropped down the little footpath to town and enjoyed wandering there before heading on to Aysgarth Falls on the small road which parallels the main road.

Passing through a pleasant woody landscape, we found Aysgarth Falls, which once impressed Turner – a painting can be seen in Indianapolis. It was a good time to visit, the recent rains producing a torrent of water over the layered limestone and shale steps.

The Upper Falls are in the opposite direction from the car park to the Middle and Lower Falls so be sure to head off in both directions. Lower Falls has the biggest drop before the river meanders away towards a bucolic landscape, whilst the Upper Falls extend across a wide tree fringed area of the river.

The paying car park has a visitors centre and cafe. With more time there would be some worthwhile walks: upstream to Askrigg or downstream for 3 miles to Castle Bolton, where Mary, Queen of Scots, was once imprisoned.

Instead we rumbled on to Middleham, whose castle was once referred to as ‘The Windsor of the North’, although those days predated the English Civil War.

Once one of the childhood homes of Richard III, it is today only an imposing ruin whose high tower gives lovely views over the small town. Racing stables are tucked away in small corners: arrive early and you might see the horses heading out for exercise.

There are a couple of small antique shops and the popular Wensleydale Hotel with a nice outside seating area.

It had been a long day. We decide to camp at Millfields Farm near Richmond, a pleasant adults only site. The nearby village of Brompton on Swale has a good local pub called the Farmers Arms which serves meals, local ales and has accomodation if a more comfortable option is wanted.

DAY THREE

The following morning we called in at Easby Abbey, which was founded in 1152 by Roald, Constable of Richmond Castle. It was a Premonstratensian Abbey, home to canons rather than monks and must have once been rather splendid, as evidenced today by the remains of the large refectory dining area with its soaring windows.

However it fared less well in the Dissolution of 1536-37. The actual abbey church has virtually disappeared but the sprawling remains of various chapter houses, kitchens and guest rooms remain and it is an atmospheric place to visit. Entry is free.

Turner painted it with the river virtually lapping at its base, but this is now unseen behind a wall. What is worth looking at is the old Easby Parish Church (formerly the original Abbey church of St. Agatha) which remains next to an old gatehouse. It has some vividly painted scenes dating back to the 1250’s, predating the works of the Florentine master Giotto.

They largely tell the bible story from Adam and Eve through to the resurrection, with some depiction of seasonal work thrown in for good measure. The figures are quite lively and the faces are surpringly expressive. They had been painted over in Reformation days and only rediscovered in Victorian times.

A couple of hours were left to wander in Richmond, where narrow lanes huddle under the castle walls and wind down to the river Swale. The great keep of the castle still stands guard above the town; dating back to the 1070’s it is one of the finest early Norman castles in Britain.

The town has a large horseshoe shaped cobbled square, which was once the bailey of the castle. There are a host of independent shops and cafes with the Little Drummer Boy Tearoom on Finkle Street a good option – it is virtually opposite the equally irresistible Wilfred’s Deli. The King’s Head Hotel also has a great position on the square.

It was time to head north for our next DFDS ferry from Newcastle to Ijmuiden, in the Netherlands. We cruised up the A1 and missed the turning, which turned out fortuitous as we decided to visit the Angel of the North and have a picnic lunch on its grassy environs.

I don’t find Anthony Gormley’s 208 tonne angel, erected in 1998, that attractive but one cannot fail to be impressed by the sheer scale of the thing: it stands 20 m high with a wingspan of 54 m, its roots embedded in the coal mines below.

I am not sure he even knows what it represents other than saying that no one has never seen an angel so we need to keep imagining them – maybe it’s iron clad guise fits the gritty image of the north but I know if it turned up at the foot of my bed , it would frighten the life out of me!

The DFDS ferry awaited, along with a huge phalanx of bicyclists. Thankfully we were not searched as I had a basil plant which I don’t think would have been allowed in Europe!

We had been assigned a basic cabin with a bunk for two and bijoux ensuite. The sign said no travel kettles which we immediately ignored to make afternoon coffee before heading up to Deck 12 for our departure.

Amidst showers, Newcastle actually looked quite attractive as we sailed out past the North Shields Fish Market where gaily painted houses on the hill above shone with Dutch gables. At the river mouth were the ruins of Tynemouth Priory and Castle and the Vice Admiral Lord Cuthbert Collingwood Monument – he was second in command to Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar.

The ship headed south on smooth seas and we enjoyed sunset from the top deck as the wind whipped the rainbow flags wildly – the boat obviously doesn’t know what sex it is!

We tried to work out how many more sunsets we would see on the trip, taking into consideration that Iceland is the land of the midnight sun and decided they would probably be too late for us. Speaking of which, it was time for bed!

DAY FOUR

After a good night’s sleep and a piping hot shower to revive us, we disembarked at Ijmuiden, near Amsterdam.

Unfortunately we had no time for sightseeing: a long drive followed, from the flat fields of the Netherlands into Germany, past the cranes of Hamburg and under the Elbe via a tunnel, luckily nearly all on good, free motorways. The trip was not enhanced by the housesitter informing us that he’d scraped the Volvo we had lent him along a wall – and this was only day 3 of his visit!

We then swung north, stopping at 6pm at Flensburg to do some shopping for our trip. Wine is apparently cheaper in Germany than Denmark so we bought our alloted 4 bottles per person plus 6 litres of beer each. I sadly had to turn my back on all the tempting German sausages as no raw meat is allowed into Iceland.

The Danish were still manning their border. The guard looked rather puzzled by our number plate but waved us through and we drove north amidst tidy undulating wheat fields, through heavy showers, still with 350 km to go. We really should have taken 2 days to do the trip, but the 90 days in Europe rule due to Brexit now means we have to count our days carefully.

At 11 pm we gave up and pulled into a rest area just 40 km short of Hirtshals. Exhausted by our long day, we were soon asleep.

DAY FIVE

Having slept surprisingly well, we enjoyed coffee and pastries at a picnic table before heading on to Hirtshals, where we topped up our petrol (surprised to see that Denmark still uses the kroner) and joined the Smyril Line queue for Iceland – roughly 650 miles later and three countries, we had made it to our third boat!

It was grey, wet and squally: the motorcyclists looked happier than the bicyclists. Indeed, it was a complete United Nations line up in the queue with quite a lot of serious off roading vehicles in evidence. No one was searched before boarding.

We didn’t linger on deck for the 11 am departure but retreated to our rather basic bunk accommodation in the bowels of the ship. We were at least the only people in a 6 bunk room, but nothing was supplied. Simon had to dash back to the car to get sleeping bags and pillows. There wasn’t even an electric socket but luckily the nearby bathroom water was just about hot enough for coffee!

Later, the sun emerged and we were able to sit out on deck 8 in a sheltered spot just above the hot tubs (£15 an hour for 6) and watch the low rocky coast of Norway slipping by. Nearing Stavanger, we started to veer away out to sea, our signal to retreat to our cabin to warm up and have supper, which wasn’t as varied as it might have been as I hadn’t known whether we would be searched or not.

There are actually nice picnic areas on the upper decks and a good range of restaurants and buffets for eating; I wouldn’t prebook though as who knows what the weather is going to be like and whether you will actually want to eat or not!?

We chose to picnic for the duration anyway so tucked into tuna salads and bread before retiring to bed to do some much needed route planning.

DAY SIX

At 7 am we slipped past by the Orkneys, tantalisingly close. In previous times, one could get a ferry through the Shetlands to the Orkneys and on to the Faroes and it is a shame this is no longer the case – it would have certainly saved quite a roundabout route via Denmark.

The day was sunny with only the occasional fishing boat to break up the silvery waters. Gannets skimmed past close to the surface.

We bought the Icelandic camping card at the reception for 180 euros which gives 28 nights of free camping for 2 adults and 2 children. All the cards are valid until 15th September: if we used the full 28 days that would make camping only 6 euros a night, a bargain.

Simon was more impressed that the blurb with it appeared to feature the same Range Rover as his, even down to the colour – maybe we had the right car after all!

By mid afternoon, the Faroe Islands came into view, a long, rugged, broken chain on the horizon.

We sailed into Tõrshavn at 6pm, an untidy straggle of housing around a tight harbour. A small cluster of old red framed turf roofed houses and a jolly lighthouse enlivened the scene. The boat stopped briefly and there was some movement of passengers: we would be returning here in September for our visit.

We sailed out past the long arms of Kalsoy and Konoy, the verdant cliffs rising majestically to each side in sheer strata. In every natural bowl there seemed to be a little village clinging on. The islands seem to be amazingly well connected by a network of undersea tunnels.

There were superb views of the rough indented islands as we sailed out to sea: next stop Iceland!

DAY SEVEN

We were up early, emerging on deck to a cold windy morning with low cloud. There is a long approach up a fjord to reach Seyðisfjørður, once the most prosperous town in eastern Iceland thanks to the herring industy, although this is no longer obvious.

The small huddle of buildings around the end of the fjord did not look very distinguished and the sloping mountains hid their heads in cloud: it was not the most auspicious of welcomes.

We were asked to stop and a friendly customs officer stuck her head in the window and asked if we knew where everything was in the car: it was rather stuffed.

” And wines? “

I admitted that we had done some shopping in Germany..

” But within the limits, yes?!”

She smiled, winked and waved us on. We had finally arrived in Iceland, albeit sadly within our limits!