Let Us Eat Cake

Blonduos is the closest town to Helga’s farm. The small town sits where the mouth of the river Blanda meets the bay of Huna (Húnaflói). In the summer, the river sparkles blindingly as if flows over the catchments and empties into the deep cobalt blue of Húnaflói. Huna means young bear. The area is named … More Let Us Eat Cake

Horse Lessons

  As much as I talk and write about horses, I’m not much of a rider. I can’t claim the crown of being a horsewoman. I ride too infrequently and never get to know one horse long enough to really learn to speak horse. This has left me a perpetual beginner and an eternal learner … More Horse Lessons

Me and My Plokkfiskur

Plokkfiskur—not a pretty word, not as fun to say as fiskeboller, but it is easy to make and very satisfying to eat. A classic Icelandic dish, it translates as fish stew, but it’s not a stew in the traditional sense.  I ordered it on my very first trip to Reykjavik at a restaurant on Austurstraeti. This … More Me and My Plokkfiskur

Burial Rites

Review of Burial Rites by Hannah Kent (This review is cross-posted in The Literary Cafe, a blog for book enthusiasts.) I first heard the story of Agnes Magnusdóttir on my last trip to Iceland in June. Our host, Helga, arranged a concert for us in the church where two flutists played a dozen songs. Some … More Burial Rites