Iceland review - 2002, Síða 40

38 ICELAND REVIEW
stand something about the “elite” stallions – both those currently in vogue and those
sires long-departed to some equine Elysium in the sky, to judge from the pious expres-
sions of the breeders as they recite their mares’ bloodlines.
VIPs and partygoers
The time for the grand parade draws near. Princess Anne has slipped away to get
changed. Perhaps in one of the nomad tents. She is not the only one. Whether due to
the lure of the Icelandic horse, the royal presence or the upcoming parliamentary elec-
tions in the spring, Icelandic cabinet ministers have flocked to the meeting. Even the
Fisheries Minister has allowed himself to be dragged away from the docks and mounts
up in classic riding gear. The Minister for Agriculture is already in the saddle. Two rid-
ers from the VIP guard, dressed in the colours of the Icelandic flag, stand beside a sad-
dled horse, awaiting the Minister for Education. He arrives at last, kitted out in extraor-
dinary attire which is clearly intended to strike a patriotic note but actually looks more
like a cross between an old police uniform and the Faroese national costume. Princess
Anne has chosen a sober grey jacket. When she dismounts, Töfri rubs his bit against her,
leaving a green smear down her side. The onlookers are devastated. “Horses have no
sense of occasion,” is her laconic reply to the apologies of the Icelanders seeking to
excuse their compatriot’s unfortunate lapse in manners.
Far from the VIPs, to the west of the showground, the tents of teenagers and fun-
seekers cluster on the banks of the Svartá river. Many of these will go through the
whole meeting without so much as a glimpse of a horse. For here it is party time, with
techno music booming from car radios and ghetto-blasters throughout the day. But as
evening falls, everyone heads off to the showground where the entertainments are in
full swing. A bonfire blazes up in the mild weather of Friday evening; Skagafjördur
petition, race meeting and agricultural
show rolled into one. The exceptional
length of the meeting is dictated not least
by the length of time it takes to show off
the horses which are not competing in any
particular category other than that of
being themselves. These are the complex
and long-drawn-out breeder’s shows, of
interest only to the initiated. These shows
are for the true herdsmen, the breeders
who have dedicated years of their life to
preparing for this moment. They have
made it through the preliminaries, shelled
out large sums to have their mares covered
by top stallions, hired riders, invested in
land, hay, horse-boxes and American jeeps
– knowing that it may all come to nothing
on the day. Their horse may fail on some
minor point of conformation, judged not
to have a sufficiently well-turned hind leg
or sloping pastern.
Not unnaturally, feelings run high and
disputes between judges and breeders can
be heated. To comprehend the depths of
the nomads’ feelings, you need to under-
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