Is Iceland Different Enough - Part 1
Before I get into this installment, I wanted you to know that I have just put out my first YouTube video. It’s basically me telling this story. If you would like to watch me tell it, please click here. If you’d rather read it for yourself, just keep reading. Either way, thanks for your attention.
Several years ago I came home from work to find my bride, Ginger, all excited. Now, I’ve heard. This is all second hand. I’ve never actually been there myself. May have actually read it someplace. But I have heard there are sites on the Internet that could leave a person in this state. We have a computer. I was getting excited. You can imagine that when Ginger said, “I want to go on a horseback riding vacation to Vermont,” I got depressed.
We had horses. We rode 8 to 10 hours every weekend. Her horseback riding vacation sounded a lot like our weekend. If I was going to spend all the time and money to go on vacation, I wanted it to be something different. When I told this to Ginger… Actually, when I told this to Ginger, she took it it well. You might even say she took it suspiciously well.
A couple of days later I came home from work and she greeted me with, “Is Iceland different enough?”
Now, I had never been to Iceland, but I suspected that it was way different from South Carolina. Plus, there was no way I wanted to challenge Ginger to find someplace more different than Iceland, so of course, I agreed. Which, looking back, may have been her plan all along.
Ginger had already done the research. It seems that the rates to stay in Iceland go up in the summer. Well, we’re frugal people. Okay, the people who know us best call us cheep. We will save a buck where we can. That’s how we found ourselves on a horseback-riding farm in Iceland in the spring.
The farm was nice. It had motel styled room for the guests and a large dining area that probably sat between 50 and 60 people. We had plenty of room, because we were the only guests. Think about that. In the whole world, there were only two people so “frugal” that to save a couple of bucks and waiting for Summer they were visiting this farm in this week in the spring. And it was us.
But like I said, we had plenty of room, and received a lot of attention. There were four young adults who were supposed to take care of the horses and the guests. There was a young lady from France. A young lady from Germany. A young lady from Sweden. And a young man from… Okay, I’m sure he told us where he was from, but to tell you the truth, I don’t remember, because I didn’t care, because he was a guy.
The only person working there who was actually from Iceland was the cook, and he did well. Of course we ate a lot of fish. It is, after all, an island. The only way I really liked fish was chicken fried. But that’s probably a Southern thing. In the south we believe everything’s better if it’s chicken fried. Steak. Oreos. Bananas. We’ll even chicken fried ice cream. And for special occasions, chicken fried chicken. Apparently, chicken frying isn’t an Iceland thing. We had fish every way you can imagine except for chicken fried.
I didn’t matter. We weren’t there for the Icelandic cuisine. We were there for the little horses. These guys are cute. They stand about four and a half feet tall. The first thought when you see them is that at least you don’t have to worry about them running away with you. All you’d have to do is put your feet down. But trust me, it didn’t work. These little guys are tough. They have to be. They live in Iceland. The Icelandic people are serious about these little horses. There’s only one breed on the whole island. Other horses can’t come there. If one of these horses leaves, it can’t come back. Horseback riding was the number one sport in Iceland.
Our vision was to spend 5 to 6 hours each day exploring the island from the backs of these horses. Did I mention we are “frugal” people? Back home in South Carolina, the average high temperature in April is 74deg. As perfect as you can get. That’s the temperature we left for Iceland where it was 33deg and raining sideways. We still got to ride. But it was only an hour or two each day, we had to wear 20 extra pounds of clothing, and us and the little horses had to lean sideways to keep from getting blown over. I kid you not, if the wind had ever stopped, and it didn’t. The wind never stopped the whole time we were there. But we were leaning over so far that if the wind had suddenly stopped, us and the little horses would have fallen over on the frozen, muddy ground.
Actually, we got to ride every day but one. That day, the young-lady from Germany, her name was Jenny, met us in the dining hall. Jenny explained that she didn’t feel good about us riding in the weather that day. All week, Jenny hadn’t had any trouble with 33 deg and raining sideways, so if Jenny didn’t feel good about whatever weather was coming in, I felt sure I was going to hate it.
She suggested that we enjoy Iceland’s second favorite sport.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking skiing, ice-skating, or bob sledding. You’re thinking it would have to be a sport involving frozen water. But no, the second favorite sport in Iceland was swimming.
Now you’re thinking about a gymnasium sized room with the air heated to 90 degrees and the water heated to 105. But no. That would not be swimming in Iceland. When we got to the swimming complex, there were several pools, outside, on top of a hill where the wind, sleet, and snow could get to us unobstructed.
Iceland has a lot of geothermal. Hot water just pours out of the ground. They use it to heat their buildings, their drinking water, and yes, their swimming pools. Once Ginger and I managed to get up to our necks in the water we were warm. We had rain, sleet, and snow beating on our heads, and we were toasty. We had icicles hanging off our eyelashes, and we were comfortable, physically.
Mentally, I kept looking at the 30 feet between us and the bathhouse and thinking about my body parts that were going to freeze off and roll across the floor. And I kept thinking about how much I was going to miss those parts when they were gone.
After a run that still embarrasses me to this day, we made it back to the bathhouse and eventually the farm. And I know you don’t care as much as I do, but I made it back with all body parts intact.
This is getting a little long, and this is about the middle. I think I’m going to stop here, call this part 1 and call the rest of it part 2. If you’ve enjoyed this, follow me.
Thanks