Iceland review - 2002, Qupperneq 37

The tableland of Vindheimamelar resembles a besieged castle where it rises from the
plains of Skagafjördur. On the greensward below, white tents and herds of horses float
in the mirage as if a Mongol horde had pitched camp and was settling in to starve out
the defenders. Among the tents fly the pennants of the various clans: argent horse-
shoes on white, a white horsehead on a sable field, and a flaming red banner above a
ring of camper vans, bearing the black motto Faxi. Here Iceland’s numerous riding clubs
have raised their standards, ready for the fray.
For six days, from Tuesday 2nd to Sunday 7th July, the horde will occupy the site of
the National Horse Championships, or Landsmót, in Skagafjördur, north Iceland. It will
take all six days for the contestants to compete in the various events, show their breed-
ing horses and, last but not least, catch a glimpse of this year’s guest of honour, Britain’s
Princess Anne. On the evening of the penultimate day, HRH the Princess Royal will ride
in the vanguard of the grand parade, mounted on the champion stallion Töfri frá
Selfossi. Then each club will raise its standard and its members will ride, 100 strong, in
a broad cavalcade after the royal horsewoman. For many this will be the high point of
their week’s sojourn beneath the waving banners on the grasslands of Skagafjördur.
Those who imagine that a six-day-long Icelandic horse show bears the slightest
resemblance to genteel race meetings or show-jumping events abroad, with smartly
dressed spectators and outrageous hats, will have to think again. This is a siege. Instead
of a racecourse or arena with white-washed jumps, manicured ditches, neatly clipped
hedges and covered stands, the former seashore at Vindheimamelar is an extensive
gravel bank, reclaimed with grass, a sort of miniature table mountain. On top are a
kilometre-long track and two smaller rings where horse-lovers gather to watch the
events in the open air, at the mercy of the elements. For six days. During this time both
competitors and spectators live like nomads of the steppe, for only a handful are lucky
enough to have secured a roof for the
night in the neighbouring district. Of the
ca. 10,000 people who attend the show,
some quarter are overseas visitors, and
they have been luckier than most. Local
farmers have vacated their own beds for
these foreigners, people with summer
houses have rented them out at extortion-
ate rates, but it’s still not enough. The
Swedish flag flaps above a city of canvas in
the midst of a sea of Icelandic tents, indi-
cating the presence of yet another nomad
tribe. Jeeps with Finnish number plates
roar around the showground; like the jeeps
of the Icelandic horse fraternity, some are
Japanese, some British, but most are
American – for excepting their four-footed
friends, there’s nothing Icelandic horsemen
love quite like an American jeep. For six
days these 4WDs will occupy the site,
loaded with food stores, whisky and tack.
For six days their owners will await the
results of the Landsmót – and the arrival of
Princess Anne.
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