Skiing… Icelandic Style

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Another weekend spent in the company of my handsome Viking in Reykjavik, Saturday was spent mooching about town; including a trip to the most happening mall of Reykjavik, Kringlan, with his teenage son, then it was time to purchase some serious Icelandic style hiking boots for me. By Sunday the Viking was restless and in need of an outdoor adventure, it was time to hit the slopes. So we headed off to Iceland’s number one skiing area, Bláfjöll Ski Resort, which is just a half hour drive away from Reykjavík. Bláfjöll is popular with tourists and locals alike  and has spectacular views and varied landscapes… like everything in Iceland… there is no guarantee it will be open…. it is open when snow and weather permits… and like most things in Iceland there is a handy website telling you if it is open!

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Behind the larger mountain lies Reykjavik

Of course the Viking was born into a snow drift, with little skis attached… and as such skis like a pro…. I on the other hand am a little more akin to Bridget Jones on skis… the words grace and natural prowess don’t spring to mind… saying that I can get down the hill without injuring too many people and generally do an interpretation of parallel skiing. Luckily for me, the Viking had restrained his urge to go skiing off-piste… which also involves climbing said mountain with skis strapped to your back…luckily he is cluey enough to realise such an outing with me would probably end up involving search and rescue… enough said. We picked up our lift pass tickets from a servo (service station for any non-Australian readers) on the way up, and then wound our way up through the mountains to a parking lot, a couple of lifts and a wooden building. I went and waited in the incredibly long queue for ski hire, while Jón and his son went out and slipped in a few runs before I managed to get equipped and ready to take on the Icelandic slopes. Straight up the chair we went. The views from the top were outstanding and it was stunning to look back towards Reykjavik from the top of the mountain. It was not a perfect day conditions-wise with the wind icing up some of the snow, and without there having been a fresh dump in the last few days it was a little icy (which made me feel at home). After a couple of hours I had had enough and headed in to check out the canteen in search of hot chocolate. It was a pretty basic affair…. hot chips, donuts and the typical Icelandic hotdogs were on offer… what I did like, was there was a microwave and a bunch of sandwich toasting machines supplied for people to bring their own food and heat up! It didnt take long for Jón’s son Dofri to join me, and we waited with our hot chocolates for the intrepid Viking who refused to leave the mountain until the very last lift had closed.

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