Horseriding in Iceland
The world’s purest horses roam the wild landscapes of Iceland’s interior – and travellers can herd them in the country’s annual round-up
Here’s a geographical conundrum: how did Greenland, which is mostly ice, get named ‘green’ land, while its altogether greener neighbour Iceland ended up as, well, ‘ice’ land?
It’s the wrong way around. You’d imagine that every now and again someone in the Icelandic tourist office calls up Greenland to point out that it really would make sense to swap names. “Guys,” he probably says, “this is nuts. Your big draw is ice, so why don’t we just hand over the whole ‘ice’ thing to you and you give us the ‘Greenland’ name? Then we’ll all be happy – and our visitors, and yours, won’t get so confused.”
It would make more sense: Iceland really is green. Truly. On a good day, of which there are many, Iceland can make Ireland look a bit short-changed in the 40 shades of emerald department. The country is all grass and heather and birch shrubs, rolling hills and sapphire-blue rivers watering verdant valleys. True, there are a few glaciers – indeed, some very large ones – dotted around Iceland but, really, not enough to give the whole country such a chilly name.
Still, moniker apart, Iceland has done a good job of building a thriving tourism industry out of what might at first sight look like unpromising material. Sun ’n’ sand breaks?
Nah – never really a runner up north. Gourmet holidays? Well, yes, but only if you like ram’s testicles, rotted shark, smoked puffin and very, very many recipes for cod. How about music then? Well, I supppose there’s Björk…
What the Icelanders do have, though, is benchmark wilderness. Oh, and some pretty bracing weather, too.
The kind of meteorological pick ’n’ mix that streams down from the Arctic Circle a few miles to the north or wafts up on the Gulf Stream, or whirls out from the very forge of Vulcan himself. Locals say: “If you don’t like the Icelandic weather just wait for ten minutes and it’ll change”. Though the more pessimistic then add “…for the worse”.
But squared up against the charms of more artificial countries, Iceland’s raw authenticity is a telling advantage. As are its horses, arguably the purest in the world. The early Norse settlers of the eighth and ninth centuries brought their best steeds with them, bedded down on the bottoms of open boats sailed across the north Atlantic. Then, 800 years ago, the Icelandic parliament passed a law prohibiting the import of horses. So since then Iceland’s horses have improved and toughened in total isolation, like some extreme Darwinian experiment in evolution.
