“Is it clearer now?  Or now?”

For a goodly proportion of the world’s population, the little red and white church will be a familiar sight.  Although for some, a rather blurry one.

Optometrist tests in China often include a long-distance photograph of a distinctive white church with a red roof, standing at the end of a long straight road, set against a wide backdrop of green hills, snow-capped, rocky mountains, and blue sky, in their auto-refractometer machines.

“Is it clearer now?  Or now?”

But where is this church?

Not in China.  In fact, it is about as far away from China as it is possible to get.  It is the Ingjaldshólskirkja, close to the village of Hellissandur on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula in western Iceland.

In summertime, a big colony of Arctic Terns nest close to the roadside on the approach to the Ingjaldshóll church and, although tolerant of motor cars, they will aggressively dive-bomb any pedestrians.  And I mean aggressively.  Don’t be deceived by their apparent delicate beauty; they are squawking furies.

The church itself was built in 1903 and claims to be the oldest concrete church in the world.  Although, outside of services, the church is typically kept closed, it is possible to peek through the windows to get a glimpse of the simply furnished interior.

Despite its relative isolation, the church is a popular tourist attraction, particularly with Chinese visitors, although they tend to want to brave the Stuka-like terns to take the ‘classic’ eye-test photograph of the church from the bottom of the approach road.  This leaves me with the church to myself.  Myself, and the magnificent, wide, surrounding landscape.

And the silence.  More than anything else, I am struck by the silence.  Ironically, I am not so conscious of my eyesight at Ingjaldshólskirkja, as I am of my hearing. 

The silence.  It is profound.

© E. C. Glendenny

E. C. Glendenny tests her vision at Ingjaldshólskirkja.