I had not ridden a horse since I was 9 years old, in summer camp; it was the sort of thing one did only at summer camp I left it at that.
One day, about 50 years later, Sarah asked me if I’d like to go to Iceland for a long weekend. She was going horse-shopping with her friend, Holly, and while I did not have to ride a horse, I could come along, as they say, for the ride.
Well, why not? In my career as a documentary film maker, I’ve done a fair amount of international travel yet this was one place that I had not only ever been to but had no intention of ever visiting. Sarah and Holly had gone on some riding “treks” and I either stayed at home or was traveling someplace else.
It could be fun. And I was reassured several times that I did not have to ride.
We arrived in Iceland really early in the morning and after going swimming in a huge pool in Reykjavik we got on a flight to the end of the earth in the northern edge of Iceland to a name that I could not, at that time, pronounce or remember. It turned out to be Siglufjordur and we rented a car from a local cop and drove to a farm where there would be a woman who was going to show horses for sale.