Iceland review - 2002, Page 41

ICELAND REVIEW 39
farmers sing through the night, unmindful of the hay-making; French girls dance with
Danish boys; the nomads relax, beer in hand.
The following evening all is transformed. The milling crowds slosh miserably through
a relentless drizzle, warming themselves from hipflasks. Among them I bump into a
childhood friend. He is on cloud nine, for his mare, Dimmbrá, has reached the finals of
her competition-horse class, as well as the last round of a hard-fought tölt contest ear-
lier in the evening. “Did you see the Princess?” I ask, still giddy from my close brush
with royalty. “Yes,” he answered. “But why should I care about her when I’ve got my
own princess?” His fond eye falls on Dimmbrá.
Kristján B. Jónasson is the grandson of one of those famous Skagafjördur horsemen who held a shel-
tering hand over the Landsmót from beyond the grave. He is also Chief Editor of Forlagid Press.
Translated by Victoria Cribb.
Their horse may fail on some minor point of conformation, judged not to have
a sufficiently well-turned hind leg or sloping pastern.
LEFT: A glimpse of multiple-champion Sigurbjörn
Bárdason in his element.
ABOVE: The patriotic line-up at the Landsmót
closing awards ceremony. Áfram Ísland!
Far from the VIPs, to the west of the showground, the tents of teenagers and
funseekers 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.
34 IR302 - Landsmót bs-rm 2.9.2002 11:18 Page 39