Iceland/Paris blogging: Part 3 -- Riding as the vikings did

I'm indebted to two gorgeous, strapping Icelandic boys who added a ton of pleasure (and pain) to my trip. Here's one of them:


Meet Algud, one of the more than 1,000 horses owned by the Ishestar horse tour group in Iceland.

Much like the Icelandic language, Icelandic horses are a glimpse into the past. The common thought is that no horses have been imported to the island since the 1200s, and while Iceland does export its horses, once they leave Iceland, they're not allowed to come back. In other words, the horses we see today are pretty much the same as what the vikings had centuries ago. So naturally, I had to ride one for myself.

Look! I managed to shoot nothing but horses' asses!
And the landscape is that moss-covered rock I was talking about.

I chose the day-long tour, which came with caveat of "some riding experience suggested." Now, I've ridden before, but that was mostly on lazy Texas trail rides. And, as I found out, European riding is a bit different than Western riding, although Iceland does have a bit more in common with the West than, say, the U.K. does. My two horses and I got along fine, however.

Besides the breeding, there's another unique trait to the Icelandic horse: the gaits. As my ass would attest, I had the trot down pat. There's a better gait known as the tolt, however, which is fast yet smooth and therefore much more comfortable. Unfortunately, perfecting that requires quite a bit of rapport between horse and rider, and there's only so much I could do in a matter of hours.


Here's me and my second horse, Fengul -- and in breaking a cardinal rule of journalism, I have no idea if I'm spelling either horse's name right. I know I look hideous and fat, but keep in mind that this was near the end of the ride and that I had been outside in the mud and rain for five or six hours.

During Fengul's leg of the trip, one of my fellow riders, an American (and the only fellow rider who wasn't speaking Swedish) who had lived in Iceland for several years and now runs an agency booking tours to Iceland in the U.S., asked me where I lived. When I told her that I live in New York but was originally from Texas, she said she could tell I had ridden quite a bit because I seemed comfortable and had a good rapport with Fengul. I think, however, that says more about Fengul than it did about me.

If I ever make it back to Iceland, I'd love to take one of the longer horseriding tours that last for several days. Fengul has my phone number, and like all the other gorgeous men I meet, I'm sure he'll call. But in the meantime, I'm open to any exercises known to thicken the skin on one's ass. I was cut, bruised and sore for a few days afterward.

This reminds me of one little Iceland factoid with which I'll close this portion of the journey. A good portion of Iceland's energy comes from geothermal sources, and this includes how the country's water is heated. The average visitor would notice this because warm water from the faucet has the slight odor of sulfur. I learned this by a totally different method, however, because when that warm water comes across an open wound... Let's just say I hope the people in the next room weren't trying to sleep when I took that shower.