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Published: October 17th 2016
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Riding day for Helen: up early for two and a half hours and many kilometres in the sole company of the amiable Louise. The ride went down to and along an empty black-sand beach (they all are, here), and on her ready mare Rekna Helen quickly gained proficiency in the
tolt, the so-called fifth gait, which looks a bit like a disrupted pacer’s gait, or maybe a quadruped Jared Tallent. I took the chance to wander out among the horses for a bit of in-paddock photography. The lack of sunshine for the camera is a continuing frustration: almost every photo taken so far has been in cloudy conditions, thus understating a country where the landscape often dresses in surprising colours. Yesterday’s wind had eased, though, which was a blessing.
In the afternoon I took it easy (definitely incubating some kind of bug in my throat) while Helen went to the swimming pool in the local village, a school pool repurposed for public use after hours. Just she and four local women there. The fee included an unasked-for coffee brought to you by the attendant, which was rather nice. The village also boasted a “ghosts, trolls and elves” centre, which sadly
was closed for the month. Even fantastical creatures need a break.
We went out down the road to a local guesthouse for dinner, on a farming property just as remote as the one we were at. Just us and one other bloke there for what was an excellent meal, at decent prices by local standards. It’s hard to see how they can make a profit.
Those local standards, by the way, are around Australian prices for food, expensive for beer and super-expensive for wine. The latter drink has been a rare extravagance for us – in Iceland it started at around $45 a bottle or $10 a glass for house wine, whereas a beer started at around $7. Wait till you get to Norway, some travellers have told us darkly.
On the Friday we farewelled Louise, Alex and Monika (Walter and Elise had left earlier) and headed west to Reykjavik, the flight to Copenhagen and a weekend of relative rest in Malmo with Helen’s nephew Matt and family. We planned to visit a certain woolcraft shop along the way, but despite the evidence of a map and the assurances of a tourist information staffer en route, and
repeated scouring of its putative neighbourhood, we proved conclusively to our satisfaction that it did not exist. The time thus spent made us too late to visit the Blue Lagoon on the way to the airport as planned.
On arrival at Keflavik airport, a reminder of how small a place Iceland is. We ran into Walter and Elise, last seen heading for Vik and points east before their return to Paris. A last chat and second round of farewells followed, at which I was nicely chided by Elise for kissing one cheek less than I should.
After a slight hitch with our phone communications Matt picked us up at Malmo station well after 10 pm. It was so good to have someone else driving us.
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