As adventure activities go, baking bread probably doesn’t rank very highly in most countries. But then Iceland isn’t most countries. We’re at the Bjarnarflag bakery in the northernmost reaches of the island, a handful of miles from the Arctic Circle. It’s midsummer and horizontal sleet steams as it hits the mud around our feet, underneath which sits the “bakery” – half a dozen pits dug into boiling soil, covered with dustbin lids, containing hverabraud – steam bread made with rye and molasses. Bending to peek inside, we’re blasted with a vapour so sulphuric that you have to wonder if perhaps “Bjarnarflag” is Icelandic for “Beelzebub” and we have, in fact, interrupted a satanic scone-baking session.