Biggin Hill Memorial Museum

My sister is visiting from Canada, which is a great excuse for some days out. We have often driven past the museum at Biggin Hill Airport and we decided to visit. I’m not entirely sure if it was the best afternoon we spent together.

Driving into the museum car park was probably the best bit. You can see the old buildings, red-brick huts where it’s easy to imagine airmen living during the war, and a couple of fighter planes. Biggin Hill was one of the main RAF bases in the second world war and being so close to London it saw lots of action. We hoped the museum visit would include a chance to see inside the huts, to imagine the lives of the young airmen, to relive the tension of living in such a place. It did not.

The car park was full of vintage cars when we arrived. We decided we would have a proper look at them at the end, and hurried into the museum. There was a shop just inside the door, and a man selling tickets. It cost £6.50 each, which seemed a bit expensive, but the man offered to explain about the exhibits which added value.

Engine with the remains of the wooden propellors showing.

The man told us that the average time a pilot spent at the base before he died was 11 days. Eleven days. I don’t know if that’s accurate, but it’s shocking. They were boys really young, some of them only 19 years old. They were given planes they didn’t know how to fly, and sent off to fight. Some of the deaths happened after the planes were upgraded to having retractable landing-gear, because the pilots would forget to lower it before landing. Some of the deaths were because the fuel tanks were under the seat of the pilot, and shrapnel, or pieces from a shattered propeller, would explode the fuel. The first exhibit was an engine, and we looked at the remains of the wooden propellers. Later, they used metal ones but although these were more durable they would also cause sparks and potentially explode the fuel tank. (If I was a pilot, I would be more worried about sitting above a potentially exploding fuel tank than the enemy trying to kill me.)

The museum is small. Basically just one large room. There are a couple of films playing—one film of elderly pilots talking about their days flying from Biggin Hill, and one a clip of actors showing how pilots spent their days while waiting for a raid. The first film was interesting, and we heard about the pubs the airmen visited, and how they coped with so many deaths (they didn’t think about it). The other film was less exciting: there was a countdown, showing how long to the next raid; the pilots played cards or read, or smoked while waiting. Then the bell would ring, they would leave everything, and run towards their planes, desperate to get them in the air before the enemy planes appeared and bombed them. A life full of boredom and extreme stress.

The walls of the museum were covered in memorabilia. Gas masks, and uniforms, and photographs. It all very felt very homely, very real. These were real people, working to win the war.

The main part of the museum is the memorial chapel. This was slightly interesting, but it was built after the war, and really was more a place for people to remember the dead than part of a museum tour. The young pilots never sat there, that wasn’t the place they prayed desperate prayers to God, it wasn’t the place they remembered their friends, the place they gave thanks for returning after a mission. It felt more like a school assembly hall.

The gardens (mentioned on the website) were small (and not worth mentioning on the website). The really interesting-looking red-brick buildings were not part of the museum. They were sealed off, not even available for a photograph. We left the museum to find the vintage cars had all driven away, which was bit of a shame.

Is the museum worth visiting? Yes. Is it worth £6.50? Not in my opinion.

We went home for tea, and as I watched one of my sons playing croquet in the garden with my sister, I was very thankful that we are not at war.

Thanks for reading. Hope you have a fun week.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com

Magic Water

Posted by anneethompson

Do you know much about homeopathic medicine? I didn’t. In fact, I mistakenly thought it was the same as ‘herbal remedies.’ It’s not. I encountered it recently when Husband returned from the vet after taking old dog for her vaccinations. Kia is a German Shepherd Dog, and GSDs usually live for 13 years, but often die after reaching 10 years due to their deep chests often causing twisted stomachs. You might remember that Kia also suffered from this a few years ago, but we managed to get her to a vet in time, and although her recovery seemed to last forever, she survived. Kia is currently 15 years old.

The vet congratulated Husband on Kia’s age, and asked how she was doing. She is doing well. Her age means she mainly sleeps, and I have bought a big comfy bed that sits in the middle of the kitchen floor, so Kia can lie all day long and watch everything that happens. A few times each day I take her outside, we walk up to check the poultry, she greets the cats, and sniffs for foxes, then she returns to her bed. Her world has shrunk, but while she can see me, she seems content. Mostly she sleeps.

However, age in dogs brings problems. The main problem is to do with the messages from the brain, which I think are carried by a substance called ‘myelin’ and with age, the spinal column becomes crusty and this blocks the messages. (This is a very rough layman’s explanation, so don’t quote me!) The first sign is lack of feeling in the hind legs, then ability to control poop, and finally wee incontinence. The vet asked where we were up to. Kia cannot feel much in her back legs, and is a bit wobbly when she gets up, and I have to ensure she is exercised at appropriate times so she toilets outside, as otherwise we have accidents. But we’re doing okay so far.

The vet then mentioned that he also studied homeopathic medicine, and he had something which a previous client had given to her dog, and she had raved about how much better her dog was in just a week. Husband bought some.

I was presented with the dark bottle, and told to give it to Kia twice a day. I was also told it shouldn’t be placed near the microwave or mobile phone, as they can alter it. This made me suspicious, so I asked a few people and did some online research. I learnt the following:

*Herbal remedies are medicines made from herbs. They need to be regulated, because ‘essence of herb’ might be dangerous, and they contain substances which might be helpful, but might also interfere with medicine from the doctor, so some care should be taken. I suspect, as medicines from the doctor are simply chemicals, and essences from herbs are simply chemicals, that some of them are effective.

*Homeopathic remedies are altogether different. They date back to the 1700’s, and some people credit Socrates (much earlier, obviously) with first exploring the idea. The principle is that if the body has an ailment, you find a plant that causes that ailment and then administer a hugely diluted does. This enables the body to recognise what’s wrong, and thus fight the problem. A little like vaccines work, but they help the body fight a germ, homeopathic remedies treat an illness. The remedy given to Kia was based on hemlock.

The problem with homeopathic remedies, as far as I can tell, is that they are diluted, shaken, diluted again, over and over, which means that there is no discernable trace of anything left in the water. Some people believe the ‘shape of the water’ has changed; I find this difficult to believe. People do report being cured, but this is confused by the placebo effect, because when someone believes they are being cured, the brain is hugely powerful and is able to change physical responses–even though the problem might still be there. So, not cured.

My research led me to believe (and I might be wrong, so form your own view) that the homeopathic remedy was basically ‘magic water.’ It was not going to alter anything physical in Kia. However, it also wouldn’t hurt her (it was just water). I therefore agreed to administer it, as long as she was happy to take it, and we could see what happened. I expected no change, Husband was hopeful.

I kept a mental note of whether (1) Kia still dragged her back legs after walking for 5 minutes, whether (2) we still had unexpected poop in the kitchen occasionally, whether (3) she staggered when she first stood up. Husband felt that her legs were straighter, and she was walking better. I noticed no change whatsoever in the above three things. After a week, I stopped administering it.

I have not, however, thrown away the dark bottle. Afterall, sometimes in life it’s nice to know you have a bottle of magic water…even when you know it doesn’t work.

Hope you have a great week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
*****

Holiday with the Sibs.

Posted by anneethompson

Holiday With The Sibs

I went on holiday with my siblings. It’s the first time in decades that we have all been together, without our spouses, for a few days of reminiscing. If you follow my blog, you will know that Uncle Frank died a few weeks ago, and my cousin wrote to say that she was taking her mum to Cromer. My other cousins all agreed we would try to be there at about the same time, and on a hot July weekend we met in Cromer.

Cromer is where my family always went on holiday when I was growing up. Set on the North Norfolk coastline, I have many memories (not happy ones) of horizontal rain and wind that was always cold. Always. The sea was rough and grey, and I learnt to swim in it, gulping salty mouthfuls as the waves washed over me. It’s a wonder I didn’t die of typhoid. I believe it’s a lot cleaner now.

We used to camp, which is not my favourite thing. This time my siblings and I stayed in a hotel—The Cliftonville—with Mum and Aunty Margaret. What fun! The hotel looked on the website rather like an old people’s home, but it was cheap, so we booked it anyway. When we arrived it was under renovation by new owners, and it was all rather lovely. I thoroughly recommend it if you visit Cromer, very comfortable and the staff were amazingly helpful.

My relatives however, camped. Some were in caravans or motorhomes (the older generation) and some were in tents. We all met up each day on the beach in Runton, at the bottom of the ramp behind the big black rocks. The weather this July was hot—I don’t think I have ever been in Cromer when it is hot. The beach was full of families, and dogs, and old ladies in deckchairs. You could tell the regular visitors, because they sat behind windbreaks, a tradition borne from experience. But they didn’t need to, any breeze was a welcome break from the sun.

We sent the days simply talking; remembering past events and people, reliving happy moments. Cromer hasn’t changed much, but there were a few new things—like goats (bagots) which now live on the cliff edge, and the steps to Granny’s caravan have now washed away, and so have the steps to the picnic field, so the routes down to the beach are fewer, and people willing to walk can have a private pitch between Cromer and Runton. The military pillbox on the beach has sunk, we used to be able to go in there when we were young (it always stank though). The boating lake has gone, and most of the shops have changed owner, and Banksy has painted a picture on the concrete wall.
But our own graffiti was still there—we carved our names in wet concrete 40 years ago, and you can still see the shape of the letters, though Bessie’s[1] footprints have worn away over time. The slot machines were still there, and many ice cream shops, and the painted beach huts, and the fishing boats, and the pier.

A Banksy picture, a bit washed away but still pretty cool!

Look carefully and you can spot the beginning of ‘MARK’ and ‘ANNE’ written in the cement.

We popped in to one of the many antique shops, and found shelves of old books and stacks of papers from before we were born. I bought some from 1936, but my brother did better because he found some from the war which describe the liberation of the camps. They were only £2 each, and I wished I’d bought more. There were commemorative mugs, and medals which were shockingly cheap—only a few pounds for a medal marking 15 years in the red cross during the war.

We ate fish and chips, and ice creams, and walked along the pier—because you have to do those things in Cromer whether it’s sunny or raining. It’s nicer when it’s sunny. Actually, everything was fun, especially the talking. There we were, three pretty-old-now siblings, reliving our past. Not something that happens very often, but definitely worth making time for.

Then I returned home, to find out how Husband had coped with the chickens and ducks and cats and dog. All was well, and I tried to thank him, and to explain what we had done for the weekend, but I couldn’t really, there wasn’t much to tell. We had just talked.

Thanks for reading. Hope you find something nice to talk about today.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com

[1] Bessie was the family collie dog, and she ran all over the wet cement when we wrote our names. She died in 1985.

The Tiny Bridesmaid

Posted by anneethompson

Weddings

I love weddings, don’t you? They can sometimes be a bit long, all that waiting around for the photographs and not enough comfy seats—but mostly they are full of people promising to love each other, and lots of pretty stuff. I enjoy looking at pretty stuff.

I recently went to a wedding. I wasn’t an invited guest, but I have watched the bride grow up, so I asked if she would mind if I snuck into the back of the church to watch. She didn’t mind, so I donned some suitable clothes, and joined the smiling group at the church.

It was a Catholic church, and I’ve never been to a wedding at a Catholic church, so I was interested that the priest served communion mid-service, and there was an amount of bowing to the altar that tends to not happen in protestant churches. Other than that, it was the same really.

Of course, the absolute best thing was the tiny bridesmaid who changed her mind about wanting to be a bridesmaid as soon as she arrived at church. She must have been about three years old, and she appeared at the back of the church with the bridal party. I was right at the back, so had the perfect view as she was directed to walk down the aisle, basket of petals clutched in her little hands, a halo of flowers on her head.

She walked a couple of steps, decided that this was not something she wanted to do, and ran back to the doorway. A grown-up bridesmaid whispered encouragement, trying to persuade her down the aisle, but she was having none of it. First she shook her head, then noticing the flower-headdress, she yanked it down so it sat round her neck like a noose. The adult pulled the flowers back up into her hair, and tried again to send her down the aisle. A small boy, dressed the same as the groomsmen appeared. I think he was the ring-bearer, and he obviously sensed something fun was happening. The children looked at each other, mutiny afoot.

Another bridesmaid appeared, possibly the mother. She wasn’t taking any nonsense, she grabbed a hand of both children, and sounding terribly jolly, said they would all walk down the aisle together. Off they went, past me, hidden from sight as they hurried to the front.

The bride (brides are always beautiful, always) and her father appeared in the doorway. They hesitated, and suddenly the small bridesmaid reappeared, running full pelt back up the aisle, heading for the bride (or the doorway, hard to know). Before she reached her goal, a man—I assume her father—shot out from a side aisle and scooped her up. I didn’t see her again until after the service, when she had managed to lose the basket of petals, and the headdress, and her shoes. She was very cute.

I was therefore, full of wedding thoughts this week. This was excellent timing, as my daughter ‘popped round’ with her boyfriend, to tell me they are engaged. How exciting! Her fiancé had asked Husband’s permission ages ago, but he hadn’t told me, so the news was a complete surprise and very lovely. I am going to be the mother-of-the-bride. What a thrill. I hope I manage to fulfil the role better than the little bridesmaid did…though I cannot hope to look as lovely.

Thanks for reading. I hope you have some lovely events this week too.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
*****

****

Lavender Fields

Posted by anneethompson

We went to the lavender fields. It was a sunny morning, every year I mean to go and forget until it’s too late, so I phoned my mother, and off we set. Google maps promised it would be a quick 28 minute journey, and the roads looked okay, so what could go wrong?

A closed road threw us off route briefly, but Google maps seemed to cope, didn’t swear (like some people do when you ignore their directions) and the new route seemed fine. Except we came to a very narrow lane, and a lorry unloading, and two school mini buses that couldn’t squeeze past… I was also worried because I knew that one route went via the motorway, and I need to psyche myself up before driving on a motorway, I cannot just casually roll onto one and zoom along a couple of junctions before diving off again, like most people seem to do. There is wailing involved when I drive on the motorway. And often swearing. (And my mother was in the car, so neither of those would be appreciated.)

Eventually we found the farm. The small yellow car that had been glued to my bumper in the narrow lane also turned off, so I let her pass first, then parked in a different place. I felt she may have wanted to make comments about my driving. (To be fair, I had several comments about her driving, but I couldn’t see anyone would benefit from the exchange.) Mum was still chatting cheerily, oblivious to the stress/near-death experiences we had recently shared. She headed off for the washroom, and I noticed she had dressed to match the lavender. I hoped I wouldn’t lose her.

The farm is pretty. It’s set in the hills, and there were cows, and fields of purple lavender stretching to the horizon. Some people had booked a tour, and were trailing behind a 12-year-old in wellies (everyone tends to look like a 12-year-old these days). We took some photos, and Mum said we must bring my sister here (probably because she takes better photos than me—she uses a camera rather than a phone for a start). I agreed. Mum asked what kind of cows they were, but I didn’t know. Brown ones? We looked for a tea room, but there wasn’t one, only a van selling drinks in paper cups, and there was nowhere comfortable to sit, so we didn’t bother.

I bought some pots of lavender—three different types according to the labels, though I wonder if that was accurate as two looked identical. One was called ‘fathead’ which made me chuckle. The perfect gift for someone who I don’t like much. It has chubby flowers. I like lavender, mainly because neither slugs nor chickens like eating it (most of my plants get eaten).

The shop also sold lavender stuff (obviously). Bags of lavender, glass bottles of lavender perfume, purple soaps, crockery with lavender flowers painted across the surface. They also, bizarrely, sold frozen food from the COOK chain. Not sure why. Perhaps after trailing behind the 12-year-old in wellies, people are too tired to cook dinner, so they do a roaring trade in beef casseroles and lasagne. I wasn’t tempted though.

We shoved my plants in the boot, and drove home by a new route. It was just as bad as the first one, and I know there is an easy way, past the Sainsbury’s where I shopped when the family were small. Never mind, we made it back okay, and Mum didn’t stop chatting, which is a good sign (she goes silent when she’s noticed my driving…I think she’s praying). I’m going to plant my new lavender now.

Thanks for reading. I hope you find some good routes this week.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Thank you for reading.
anneethompson.com

Reykjavik Holiday Diary 4

Posted by anneethompson

June 12^th, Whale Watching

Reykjavik harbour has several companies offering whale watching tours. Each one had marvellous photos of a whale’s tail next to a boat of excited tourists. But I had learnt from the puffin trip, that sometimes you are not as close as you think you will be, and clever photography can be misleading. Also, were these the best photos from 3 years ago, and the chances of seeing a whale today very slim? We went to ask.

The first learning point is that ‘whale’ includes dolphins and porpoises. They are, apparently, toothed whales. Therefore, a guarantee to see a whale, might actually be to see dolphins—not a lie, but not what I hoped for. We decided to book with special tours because we could look on their blog, and each day they wrote which whales they had actually seen. We knew humpback whales were in the area, we hoped we’d be lucky.

We arrived at the harbour, and exchanged our prebooked tickets for boarding passes. A bit odd, as we then walked 100 yards, and gave the boarding pass to the tour guide. We were offered sea-sickness pills. I am never sea-sick, but there was some pressure to take them, and I decided it would be daft not to, so I took them but Husband (who does get sea-sick) did not. Such is our marriage…

When on board, we were then advised to wear warm overalls. I had already dressed warmly, but decided to take their advice (good move). They had a supply of overalls below deck. I then rather resembled a whale myself.

We set off. A tour guide came on deck, and told us all about whales, and how to look for them (look for the rise of spray, the blow, when they come to the surface). She explained that there was no guarantee that we would see whales, but assured us it was likely.

The sea was choppy, but not especially rough. A few people looked a bit green (obviously hadn’t taken the pills) but no one was actually ill. After a while, we were told the guide had spotted ‘the blow’ and we were heading towards it. Then I saw it too. Such excitement! The trip was instantly worth the money.

The boat stopped, and wonders, a flipper came out and smacked the surface of the water. It was like being waved at. I made a sort of involuntary “aaagh” noise like you do when fireworks go off. Then the whale dived, and out came the tail, the iconic view, right next to the boat. Fabulous.

We continued on, and spotted two more humpback whales. We, of course, had neither binoculars nor camera with zoom. I grasped my iPhone and snapped as many photos as I could. The whales were so close to the boat, I was sure my pictures would be tremendous. When I looked at them later, they had captured waves, and nothing else. Husband’s were slightly better, so look closely and you can just about see bits of whale. It was better in real life.

Whales are huge, and wonderful, and it makes me sad that today they are killed for food. Our guide told us that whale meat was never an intrinsic part of the Icelandic diet—they occasionally ate the meat from a beached whale, but whaling was not in their history. Today, whales are caught in Iceland. The meat is sold for export (to places such as Japan) or served in restaurants to tourists. Since Covid, restaurant freezers are full of unsold whale meat. I’m hoping this discourages further whaling. There are better things to do when in Iceland than eat whale meat, alive whales should be worth more.

Hope you have a good day. Thanks for reading. Take care.
Love, Anne x

I tried to learn 2 Chronicles 7:14 while in Iceland. How much of it have you managed to remember? Read it again to refresh your memory:

(NIV)

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.

(OHB)

וְיִכָּנְעוּ עַמִּי אֲשֶׁר נִֽקְרָא־שְׁמִי עֲלֵיהֶם וְיִֽתְפַּֽלְלוּ וִֽיבַקְשׁוּ פָנַי וְיָשֻׁבוּ מִדַּרְכֵיהֶם הָרָעִים וַאֲנִי אֶשְׁמַע

מִן־הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶסְלַח לְחַטָּאתָם וְאֶרְפָּא אֶת־אַרְצָֽם׃

(CCB)

而这些被称为我名下的子民若谦卑下来，祈祷、寻求我的面，离开恶道，我必从天上垂听，赦免他们的罪，医治他们的土地。

anneethompson.com
*****

Reykjavik Holiday Diary 3

Posted by anneethompson

Friday June 10^th

I needed recovery time after the trip to see the puffins (see last blog for more details). I did absolutely nothing all morning, except a quick trip to the supermarket. I realised that many of the vegetables and fruit are grown in geothermal greenhouses. The heat is pumped up from underground, all that the plants need is a bit of light, and tadaah! Icelandic strawberries are a thing. According to my sister, Icelandic chocolate is also a thing, so I bought some to give as gifts when we get home.

We drove to see a recent (2021) eruption at Fagradalsfjall, about an hour from the city. The volcano had been dormant for 800 years, though the geologists had guessed it might erupt when they started measuring new activity. I expect being a geologist is rather an essential job in Iceland. The puffin island has a whole town that was covered by lava in the 70’s, which has now become bit of a tourist attraction. I’m not sure what it must be like, living somewhere that you know is relatively unstable. Perhaps you simply don’t think about it.

As we drove towards Fagradalsfjall I could see the mountain, it looked as if a giant had tipped black oil all over it, lines of black running down the sides. We parked in a grey gravel carpark, and began to follow signs. But the walk to the lava was long and steep, so we gave up.

Drove to where the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates meet. This is so not something that I understand—I remember the theory, that the earth is covered in massive plates of rock that are moving too slowly to see, and that when they rub against each other we get earthquakes—but faced with two walls of rock, my head cannot quite link the two. The area looked like a moonscape. More grey rubble.

We saw more hot springs, and a lava cove with great waves crashing onto them. Iceland is fascinating, but there’s nothing cosy about it.

Saturday 11^th June

Spurred on by the excitement of seeing tectonic plates meeting, Husband suggested we drove ‘The Golden Circle.’ This is named after a waterfall, and is a circular route (obviously) that passes a few major highlights. It’s an 186 mile loop. I worried about whether there would be toilets, and decided not to drink anything all day.

First stop was Thingvellir National Park. (This is an anglicised spelling, as it actually begins with a strange p/b letter.) The park has the first parliament (which we didn’t see) and another rift valley between plates, which was very dramatic and was used in The Game of Thrones. We saw Oxararfoss waterfall, plus some toilets and expensive parking.

We drove across the plain, with snowy mountains in the distance, while Husband muttered about the speed limit. At Haukadalur geothermal field we saw all the interesting hot springs/bubbling mud stuff that we have seen previously, but slightly bigger and better organised in terms of paths and signs. I stayed on the walkways this time. There was also a geyser, Strokkur, which erupted every 10 minutes. It was a large pool of water, steam floating on the surface, and it sort of ‘lifted’ for a moment, before erupting in a giant plume of boiling water. Amazing.

Click on the image to see the video.

We finished our drive at Gullfoss, the ‘golden’ waterfall. It was huge, a great mass of water tumbling into a valley.

There were carparks, with toilets, at every stop, so dehydration was unnecessary.

Hope you have all that you need today. Take care.
Love, Anne x

I tried to learn 2 Chronicles 7:14 while in Iceland. How much of it have you managed to remember? Read it again to refresh your memory:

(NIV)

(OHB)

מִן־הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶסְלַח לְחַטָּאתָם וְאֶרְפָּא אֶת־אַרְצָֽם׃

(CCB)

而这些被称为我名下的子民若谦卑下来，祈祷、寻求我的面，离开恶道，我必从天上垂听，赦免他们的罪，医治他们的土地。

anneethompson.com
*****

Reykjavik

Posted by anneethompson

Reykjavik Holiday Dairy

Day One: Arrival Day

Unpacked our stuff at the Airbnb, then went to find a supermarket. Everything is very expensive, and as we speak no Icelandic, it was quite an adventure. A man overheard us debating the milk, and kindly showed us which one was semi-skimmed (yellow top). I later overheard some Americans trying to find ‘half-and-half’ and mistakenly picking up baby-milk. “That’s breast-milk!” one exclaimed, which made me laugh.

Wandered round the waterfront. The air is cool and clear. There seem to be a lot of tourists, a lot of gay couples, lots of Viking stuff, a lot of pink hair. The painted houses are rather cheerful. They have big blank windows, which I don’t understand in a country that has constant summer daylight (when I would want thick curtains) followed by almost constant winter darkness (when I would still want thick curtains). I find it confusing; the houses and shops look the same. Sometimes I think I’m looking into a café window, and I realise I’m watching a bloke cut his toenails in his lounge!

We ate lamb burgers in Fjallkonan, a buzzing restaurant full of chatty people. Excellent food, comfortable chairs (it matters!) It cost £60 for two burgers, one beer, and a sparkling water. Not a cheap city.

Day Two: Drive from Reykjavik

Terrible night’s sleep due to constant daylight. Need to invest in some eye-masks. Got up 6am, read Bible and had coffee, dragged Husband out for a run.

Showered—it stinks of sulphur. The hot water is pumped straight from the ground, which makes incredibly cheap heating/hot water systems. But it’s smelly. Hoping I get used to it; holding my breath for the length of the shower was a near-death experience. Maybe will buy an oxygen tank and mask when I buy the eye-mask (though Husband is bound to make comments). However, the cold water in Iceland is good, very pure, and perfect for drinking straight from the tap. Don’t waste money on bottled water in Iceland.

Decided to go for a drive as the weather forecast is wet. Driving here is fairly easy as long as you remember which side of the road to be on. Good quality wide roads (not like the warrens of Madeira). There are several gravel/unmade roads, but our hire car agreement doesn’t allow us to use those (for which I am grateful). We drove towards Glymur Waterfall, stopping to eat a picnic lunch on the way. Husband made comments about the bread knife (I don’t like making sandwiches, easier to do it at the time). Ate looking at black mountains with white patches of snow.

Drove NorthWest to Kolbeinsstadhir. (Icelandic is a bit like Welsh, every word is crammed full of consonants.) Stopped to look at some thermal water. It was shut, due to Covid, but we ignored the sign and walked up anyway. There was a hot spring, which was piped, so looked a bit like someone had randomly put a tap in the middle of wasteland. There was steam. Husband was more impressed than me.

We saw several herds of horses. Icelandic horses are a thing. They are classified as horses (though I’m pretty sure they are ponies really) and they’re very pretty. If you remove one from Iceland, it’s not allowed back, which keeps the line pure. Some restaurants serve horse meat, but I like to think the beauties I saw were kept for riding.

We got home about 4:30pm. I saw lots of very flat plains, black mountains, spectacular waterfalls, and thousands of blue lupins. But not many trees. There’s a saying: “If you see three trees in Iceland, you’re in a forest.” Or a joke: “If you’re lost in a forest in Iceland, stand up!” I guess repeated lava flows doesn’t encourage long life for trees, and the earth below the surface is too hot for deep roots. There were trees, but not many, and none were ancient. I still prefer Scotland for scenery.

Dinner at Messinn. I started with a dirty plate, and was then given a sticky menu, so not a great start. But they served traditional fish stew, with potatoes and vegetables and hunks of lava bread. Lava bread is good. It’s rye bread, and the dough is cooked in a pot in the hot ground. I thought it tasted a bit like malt loaf but without the fruit, and it was nice with butter and a cup of tea. But they also chuck lumps of it into their fish stews.

Thanks for reading. In my next blog I’ll describe the most difficult walk of my life, going to see a puffin colony. Hope you have a good week.
Love, Anne x

The verse I tried to learn in Iceland was 2 Chronicles 7:14. Have you managed to remember any? Read it again to refresh your memory:

(NIV)

(OHB)

מִן־הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶסְלַח לְחַטָּאתָם וְאֶרְפָּא אֶת־אַרְצָֽם׃

(CCB)

而这些被称为我名下的子民若谦卑下来，祈祷、寻求我的面，离开恶道，我必从天上垂听，赦免他们的罪，医治他们的土地。

anneethompson.com
*****

Running in Reykjavík

Posted by anneethompson

While we were in Iceland, we tried to run each morning. I never changed my watch (Iceland is an hour behind of English time) so it was easy to get up early. Iceland is a country of flat plains and steep mountains. The city is built on a hill, and I don’t run on hills. Luckily, our Airbnb was near Hijomskalagardur Park, which was flat, so we could could walk down the hill, do a lap of the lake, and run/stagger home. The park had ducks (always good) and swans, lots of interesting statues, and a view back up the hill of the city. In the distance were black mountains with patches of white snow. Wherever we went in Iceland, there were always black mountains with patches of white snow. Panda mountains.

I loved the statues, and made up stories about them as I ran. I took photos to show you:

I loved this one. Make of it what you will, but to me it spoke of the burden of having to work in an office.

Beautiful mermaid (with bird on her head)…

Woman uses toilet while wishing her husband would go away! (Reminds me of ‘Out by Ten’. Better read a copy if you don’t understand.)

Big hero with big hammer needs to rest on the strength of a gentle woman.

Man with big shield slays the dragon with his sword and rescues the naked woman (not sure why she needs to be naked) while she keeps hold of her friendly ghost. (I don’t understand the ghost either, maybe the spirit of the slain dragon? Perhaps they were friends and the man misunderstood the situation.)

There was also a lovely view of the city, though you can’t see the black mountains in this photo. They’re off to the right.

While running, I tried to learn some more of 2 Chronicles 7:14. How much can you remember now?

“If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

וְיִכָּנְעוּ עַמִּי אֲשֶׁר נִֽקְרָא־שְׁמִי עֲלֵיהֶם וְיִֽתְפַּֽלְלוּ וִֽיבַקְשׁוּ פָנַי וְיָשֻׁבוּ מִדַּרְכֵיהֶם הָרָעִים וַאֲנִי אֶשְׁמַע מִן־הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶסְלַח לְחַטָּאתָם וְאֶרְפָּא אֶת־אַרְצָֽם׃

anneethompson.com
*****

‘Iceland is Beautiful,’ they said…

Posted by anneethompson

‘Iceland is beautiful,’ they said… ‘Iceland is my favourite country in the world,’ they said… ‘You’ve never been?’ they said, ‘You should plan to visit.’ So we did.

I prepared for our trip by watching Icelandic films, hoping to learn the odd phrase and perhaps see a little of the culture. This was a mistake, as I mostly watched crime films. I therefore stepped off the flight, entered the arrivals hall and was confronted by a line of serial killers holding name placards. Luckily we had rented a car, so avoided all the psychopaths and edged our way to the Avis desk. Avis had queues of people, very little space, and lots of signs about wind (the weather version). Wind is a thing in Iceland.

Known as the land of ice and fire, it should also be called the land of blue lupins. They were everywhere, lining the roads, growing on ancient mounds of lava, covering every hill and plain. Iceland in June is blue. Blue and grey. People told me that Iceland is beautiful, and it’s true that many parts were, but there’s an awful lot of grey. As we drove from the airport the landscape reminded me mostly of the groundwork when a new motorway is being built —mounds of grey rubble. Volcanoes are not tidy, and Iceland was produced by a string of eruptions. I guess there’s no point in clearing up the lava flow, so it sits there, pretending to be builder’s rubble, until the lupins move in to cover it in blue.

We rented an Airbnb in Reykjavik. This turned out to be wonderful, a converted printing works that consisted of one huge room filled with plants and nicknacks, with separate bedrooms and bathroom. It was used in the Netflix series Sense8, though most of the furniture was different.

Reykjavik is more town than city, with mostly wooden houses covered in colourful corrugated iron. It has clean streets, happy people in weird clothes (though to be honest, I think the clothes of most people younger than me are weird) and high prices. Iceland is expensive. The city also has a harbour, and a huge church (which looks like a cathedral) high on a hill, seen above the city.

A cool church building, towering over Reykjavík.

Pretending to be a Viking, outside the big church.

We were told that in June, it would only be dark for a few hours each night, between midnight and 2 am. This was a lie. I got up in the night to check, and it was never dark. Slightly gloomy perhaps, like a grey day at home, but never dark. I took a photo for evidence…

No streetlights needed: 2am and definitely NOT dark.

The June weather was cold, but not freezing. I needed a warm sweater and a coat, but not a ski jacket (which is lucky, as I don’t own one!) A woolly hat is fairly essential, not so much for warmth but more for hair control. Husband declined repeated offers to borrow a hat, and the hair style wasn’t good. As I said, wind is a thing in Iceland.

We saw some amazing stuff while we were there, but I’ll tell you about our trips in another blog. Is Iceland beautiful? Beauty is very subjective, and I never really saw past the grey rocks, the black mountains, and the lack of trees. Especially the trees. Most other people have a different view, so I’ll leave you with some pictures and you can decide for yourself.

Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

I try to learn a little more Hebrew whenever I run (it helps take my mind off the pain!) In Iceland I began to learn 2 Chronicles 7: 14. You could try to learn it too?
*Note to Mother: Please learn the English version and we can make another Facebook video!
I will add it to the end of each Iceland blog:

If my people, who are called by my name, humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways,
then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.
2 Chronicles 7:14

וְיִכָּנְעוּ עַמִּי אֲשֶׁר נִֽקְרָא־שְׁמִי עֲלֵיהֶם וְיִֽתְפַּֽלְלוּ וִֽיבַקְשׁוּ פָנַי וְיָשֻׁבוּ מִדַּרְכֵיהֶם הָרָעִים וַאֲנִי אֶשְׁמַע מִן־הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶסְלַח
לְחַטָּאתָם וְאֶרְפָּא אֶת־אַרְצָֽם׃

Thanks for reading. Why not sign up to follow my blog? anneethompson.com

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Anne E Thompson

Author

blog

Biggin Hill Memorial Museum

Magic Water

Holiday with the Sibs.

The Tiny Bridesmaid

Lavender Fields

Reykjavik Holiday Diary 4

Reykjavik Holiday Diary 3

Reykjavik

Running in Reykjavík

‘Iceland is Beautiful,’ they said…

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