Iceland: Horseback tours in saga landRussell, W. S. C. (Waterman Spaulding Chapman)
History
Iceland: Horseback tours in saga land
Russell, W. S. C. (Waterman Spaulding Chapman)
Iceland -- Description and travel; Sagas -- History and criticism
After a short ride we came to the _Blandá_, Mingled-Waters, which was
so swollen that it was necessary for us to proceed to the mouth of the
river at _Blönduós_ where there is a substantial bridge. The ride from
this trading village south to the farm, _Hnausar_, Rough-Ground, was in
a hard rain with the thermometer at one degree above freezing and with
occasional gusts of snow that swept down from the ridge at our right
with the howling wind. With our heads bowed low over the saddle and the
wind at our backs we saw little of the valley save that at the feet
of the ponies. The wind increased and the storm drove up the valley
from the Arctic Ocean with sufficient violence to drive from our minds
everything save thoughts of a shelter. At seven-thirty we halted at the
gate of the _tún_ while Ólafur sought the _bondé_ to ask the customary
questions about food, shelter and grass for the ponies. I have never had
the request refused but politeness demands that the traveller remain
without the turf wall until the request is made of the farmer, or if he
is absent, of his wife or oldest son. The Icelander within his turf wall
is like a baron in his castle and as such must be recognized. Once the
questions are asked the request is granted and the traveller then is
placed at ease with all the freedom that is necessary.
The good wife built a fire of turf and sheep manure in the tall Norwegian
stove in the guest room, took all our wet clothing to her kitchen to dry
and prepared for us a satisfying and tasty supper. She kept the fire
replenished till midnight and I remember no fire that seemed so good as
this one. Before the fire was built and we stood about the cold stove
with chattering teeth I knew something of how _Grettir_ felt when he
discovered that all his coals had turned to ashes out there on _Drangey_.
It rained and snowed by turns all night and at eleven when I looked out
upon the farm the haycocks wore white capes. A small bedroom opened out
of the guest room and the water came through its turf roof in many places
in streams, in fact everywhere except upon the bed and why that was
exempt I do not know.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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