On Friday, we finally ventured outside of the city limits. We went with some relatives of Jo to her grandparents' old place, a parish named Prestsbakki at the base of the Westfjords. This is where here grandfather, a priest, was posted for 40 years; and where her father grew up too.
Once you get out of Reykjavík (and its suburbs), things change very quickly. You'll find a town every once in a while, but mostly it's just long stretches of road, with mountains visible all around. We stopped by the remains of a volcano and walked around those for a few minutes.
Then we spent the afternoon in the (now abandoned) parish. It consists of: a church, a house, a sheep shed, and a cemetery. It's located right by the water, and far from everything. It's both peaceful in its remoteness, and sad in its abandonment.