Icelandic Intimacy and Isolation

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The ceiling of the turf-roofed Litlibær, or Little Farm, was so low my hair brushed against it. But when I sat down in the drawing room, sipping a hot cup of coffee and looking out the small, multi-paned window to the fjord and snow-flecked mountains beyond, I felt quite at home. I chatted with the sixteen-year old great-great grandson of the man who had built the original farm, and who now helpe... Read Full Entry

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