A Year of Reading

I have spent much of the last year in a book.

Well, in a great many books, to be precise, the challenge that I had set myself in January was to read one hundred book in 2016.

It helped that I have not worked for the last twelve months, extended sick leave gave me the time to read and reading distracted me from worrying over-much about my health, so a win-win in my opinion.

It also helped that I spent so much time on cross-channel ferries, having taken six, or was it seven, trips back to Brittany meant that I spent the equivalent of a whole week on Le Bretagne, which gave me a lot of time to read.

So my 2016 book list...

It is, you will notice, heavy on Nordic Noir and twisted tales, having cancer will give one an appetite for such stories. And a few authors crop up several times; when I find one that appeals to me I tend to read as much of their work as possible, so several Sarah Addison Allen's magical feel-good novels and Val McDermid's serial killers are here.

Some books were a delight, some were disappointing and several taught me that having a story to tell is not necessarily a good reason to write a book. Time was when bad writing would be weeded out by the publishers, now anyone can put their words into print and there are some truly bad books out there. Enough said...

I have to mention A Little Life by Hanya Vanagihara, it is so uplifting and distressing and full of hope and of despair and will play your emotions like a finely-tuned instrument. I think that it should have won the Man Booker Prize.

And how is it that I had not read The Picture of Dorian Gray until last week? I suppose that leaving English Literature at the age of fifteen to focus on science meant that I missed out somewhat.

I am not sure that I will manage to read so many books in 2017.
I have some major changes to make in my life including an upheaval on the home front and, hopefully, a new profession to occupy me, and I really would like, finally, to get that horse that I have been requesting from Santa for the last fifty-five years, but who knows? Reading is addictive and in the tales told by others we can often find an escape from a world that is not always nice so...

Here are the books in the order in which I read them.        


         

           

           

         

           

           

            

            

            

            

                

              

             

         

             

                 

                

                 

                 

            

             

            

                

         

Merry Christmas

From my heart and hearth to yours xxx

In Love in Iceland - Day 3

The last day at the farm for me and a fellow-rider, Tina. The others were not due to leave until the following day after more riding, a whale watching trip and a dip in The Blue Lagoon. We were envious, had we known, we kept saying, we'd have booked a longer trip. They were sad, they would miss us, they told us kindly. We hope you see loads of whales we said, and we'll think of you in thew lagoon.

Maybe next year? We all said, although we'll never meet again, but you know how it is when you encounter like-minded people with whom you share a fabulous experience, they remain in your heart forever.

We all rode to a farm nearby.
The weather was warmer and dry and as we left the moon and one planet were visible among the clouds and we saw the sun rise for the first time. I rode Blackie, my little won't-tolt-will-canter pony. We cantered quite a lot.

At the farm we took off the tack and put the horses in little pens.
Some horses took the opportunity to indulge in some mutual grooming...

Some rested their heads and gazed around...

Some chose to roll....

Mine wanted to pose for photos...

I'll miss Blackie.
I'll miss all of the horses.
I'll miss Iceland.
I smiled because that meant I'd had a good time.

We watched a show about The northern Lights.
No, we had not seen them, there was always the last night, you never knew...  otherwise we'd have to take another trip towards the Arctic. I have to say at this point that I've now spent over a month in northern latitudes during the winter and I have yet to see the Northern Lights, even during two trips inside the Arctic Circle,

Next time.

And then we rode back to the farm.
Did we want to 'gallop' our guide asked us? Of course we did. We thundered along and Blackie overtook some of the others because we had, of course, been in training during previous rides and, well, I did let him have his head and encourage him go go fast.

And then it was over.
The horses. The grooming and saddling-up. The rides in the Icelandic countryside. The being a pony-mad little kid again.

      

In Love in Iceland - Day 2

A former colleague, an American guy who lives in Norway, once told me "There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing." Wise words that have become my mantra, among others, and which The Ragazzi will probably have inscribed on my grave stone, along with, "Turn the light off!" and "Can someone please feed the cat?"

The second day in Iceland was wet. Now I am accustomed to wet, I live part of the year in Brittany where it rains from above, sideways and sometimes, it seems, upwards, but the rain in Iceland is very, well, wet and rainy. North Atlantic storms are pretty powerful.

The farm provided orange waterproof trousers and jackets. They were great for those riders who are adult-sized but me, I am built more like an elf and so would have been completely swamped by them. But I had come prepared, I had a waterproof riding jacket and over-trousers, all was well.



In fact my own gear was better than that lent by the farm, as a fellow rider confirmed when. after ten minutes, she was already cold and wet and not happy.

So, the two of us with a guide, rode towards the local small town. In the dark and the pouring rain. And we rode into a small forest that was planted a few decades back as part of the plan to re-forest Iceland, so there were clumps of pines, and beeches and oaks and it was all managed and the trees were thriving with their roots in the warm soil and plenty of rain.



And there was a former Viking house, the walls had remained standing because they were built several feet thick, but the roof had recently been replaced and covered with moss. I couldn't take a picture, it was too cold and wet for me to rummage inside my jacket for my camera. And I was too busy drinking the rain that was pouring down my face.

In Iceland you'll see old buildings that have been empty for years and that are still standing. The reason for this is not that they can't be bothered to pull them down, or that no-one wants to occupy/use them, but rather that Icelanders believe that elves may have taken up residence and you do not want to mess with an elf.

Do I believe in elves? Well, that's a whole other story.

By lunchtime we'd ridden for a total of ten hours. The farm thought it was time for a break. I disagreed, I would have stayed in the saddle all day but perhaps they were wise. We were driven to a swimming pool. An open-air, water supplied from hot springs, steam room stinking of sulphur, swimming pool and introduced to Icelandic relaxation.

The Icelanders are very good about hygiene, of necessity since no noxious chemicals are used in the water, so we were ordered to remove our shoes at the door and to shower naked, and lest we not know which parts to pay particular attention to, there was a picture highlighting feet, under arms and privater areas.

I swim frequently at home, four, sometimes five days each week. And I do like to sit in a sauna, close my eyes and imagine I'm in a Finnish forest, so this was a familiar experience for me. Familiar save for the fact that as I swam lengths in the pool a cold rain was falling on me.

But the best experience, for me, was the freezing plunge pool into which I dropped before leaping out and running to the 38 degree hot pot. I'm a little addicted to this masochistic past-time of alternately heating my body and then fast-freezing it, I'm told that it's good for the immune system, I just love the all-over tingly feeling.

So the people from the farm were right. The pool was a perfect place for the second afternoon.
And I almost, almost but not quite, managed to sleep that night. I think I need more hot/cold dips before I permanently cure my insomnia.

In love in Iceland - Day 1

It was a treat to myself.

Or should I say to my inner seven-year old pony-mad self?

The little kid with the blonde plaits and scruffy jeans who liked nothing more than to muck about with ponies.

I had arranged a Northern Lights Ride with Responsible Travel.

Three days of Icelandic horses.

Perfect!

On the first day I met this guy whose name was the Icelandic version of Storm.

 I wish I'd written the names down but the others in the party (all Germans whose youth and style and general self-confidence made me feel a tad old and silly at times, though the fault was mine, they were lovely), were less horse-mad than me and I had to temper my enthusiasm a little so as to at least make a show of a stiff upper-lip.

Storm was afraid of mounting blocks, which made the first day challenging for me with my arthritic knees. He also seemed to be startled by the sound of ice cracking, which I thought was amusing since he must hear it often, until the guide pointed out that perhaps he was spooked by the elves. More on those guys later!  

Storm and I got along like long-lost buddies. And he even performed a tolt for me which is, if you've never experienced it, like going into fifth gear on the smoothest road in a Ferrari after bumping along in a wheelbarrow over stones. Make sense?

The weather was not conducive to riding, a sharp frost on top of snow. Thick ice that made the horses  slither and slide but never, not once, stumble, and thin ice that broke under-hoof plunging furry legs into deep and freezing muddy water.

The farm lent us warm outer-clothing and I had ski gloves and thermals so I was warm and toasty. And Storm had his double coat of Icelandic hair. 

  

In the afternoon we had new horses. I'll call him Blackie. 

Blackie was a bit of a boy! Not as sure-footed as Storm, not willing to tolt, prone to getting left behind. It was a little nerve-wracking, especially since the afternoon ride was through a fast-flowing icy river and up and down some steep paths.

I started to get anxious. I am good at anxious, anxious having been my constant state for many years.

And then I thought, relax and let it be.
And so when the others got too far ahead and Blackie's bouncy trot was too hard on my back and he got so fast he stumbled, I let him him have his head and he cantered and instead  of being tense and stressed we caught up with the end of the ride with him doing a good impersonation of a rocking horse and me laughing and happy.

And that was a major lesson for me.
The letting go and trusting.

So, seven hours in the saddle over some pretty challenging terrain, a fantastic first day!