Down from the mountains

Another fine morning on the farm! It took only a moment to pack up, and then I had to zig-zag all over the property to find someone who would accept my money. I finally found an old man tending some laundry machines, in a battered wooden building at the end of a long gravel driveway. He spoke only a few words of English but we communicated enough to establish that the price for overnight camping was about six dollars’ worth of Icelandic money.

I handed him a bill and he handed me some change. The price was so low I felt compelled to push the change back into his hand and say “keep it”, but we had enough trouble communicating as it was, and he might have been offended. He seemed more interested in getting back to his laundry than in being paid.

I rolled back onto my route. I had to backtrack by about a mile to get to highway 1, and the intervening road was dirt and gravel. The previous night I hadn’t been able to see much, but now I could gaze at a rough expanse of rocky plain that I’d assumed was farmland, but in the cold daylight was clearly not suitable for crops.


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