This one is called Háifoss (High Waterfall), and it plunges into this massive crevasse. The walk down is a little treacherous, especially because of the very strong winds that threaten to throw you over the edge of the cliff. I know it doesn't look like much, but when you're crawling on your belly just to peek over the edge, the sheer drop becomes much more apparent. On the way back to the cottage from Haifoss, we stopped at the reconstructed longhouse at Þjóðveldisbær.
Inside is surprisingly warm and cozy, and the platforms on each side were inviting if lacking in privacy. I can see how Vikings gained their notoriously liberal sexual reputations, as there's just no where else to go when the birds and bees start knocking boots. I mean, there's a dairy/pantry(where the HUGE buckets of skyr were kept),
the women's room (for weaving, spinning and gossip), and the toilet. That's it. The only people who get their own private room are the owner and his wife. They get a closet to sleep in.
Needless to say, this is going to impact the sex scenes in my book. Not that I'm complaining about having to revisit that part, but...y'know. I'm lazy.
The only other building on the grounds was a tiny little church.
After that, back to the cottage for more soaking. And ice cream.
Get this - the ice cream truck drives right up to your front door. Not at the end of the driveway. Right to the front door. So, you buy ice cream and then go and then go and sit in the hot pot while you eat said ice cream. In addition, it may be just the most perfect, fresh and delicious (remarkably free of preservatives or additives) ice cream you'll ever eat in your life.
God, I love Iceland.
No comments:
Post a Comment