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As soon as you touch the ground in Iceland, you get the impression you have been catapulted into a fairytale, or better an infinite serie of fairytales, with no beginning and no end. Every moment you expect that a magical or fabulous creature peeps out. Human presence is only perceived.
Atmospheres like classical Nordic fairytales interspersed with gloomier atmospheres like fantasy sagas. It feels like living in a a sort of enchantment, in the country where nature shows its strongest contrasts: water and fire, glaciers and volcanoes. A young land, but with an ancient face, shaped by erosions and eruptions, where nature is mother and stepmother, creator and destroyer and where men have learnt to live in symbiosis with natural phenomena.

How fortunate for all men, Iceland of the seas, that you exist. Iceland of the silent snow and of the fervent water. Iceland of the night that vaults over wakefulness and dreams.
Jorge Luis Borges



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