© Torben Weiß |
Ja, die schönen Erinnerungen kommen zurück. Wenn Torben morgens den Schnee vom Zelt klopfte. Wenn man nachts im Rucksack nach der langen Unterhose kramte, um sich morgens im Nieselregen Schafswurst und Bohnen zu kochen.
Jetzt sind wir wieder da. Es ist Herbst, aber die Jahreszeit gibt es in Island nicht so richtig. Die paar Bäume sind längst kahl. Es ist schon kalt, aber es wird noch einige Stunden hell. Wir sind wieder mit dem Zelt unterwegs. Nur diesmal ohne Auto …
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It‘s Iceland, again. The wind let‘s our collars flutter and the memories come back. Last spring, Torben and I have been blasted over the mountain road to Seydisfjördur by an uprising snow storm. One hour later, the road was blocked – and the way to the ferry home. The tent swelled to a sail before we even unpacked it. What followed was an unpleasant night, packed in the front seat of a tiny car. The next day, our car was covered by a thick layer of ice on the one side, on the other one a heavy bank of snow had risen up to the top.
Yeah, the nice memories come back. When Torben shook the snow from the tent in the mornings. When you searched for your long underwear in the middle of the night. Just to boil sheep sausage and beans in the drizzle at dawn.
Now, we are back. It‘s autumn, but that season does not really exist in Iceland. The few trees already lost their leaves. It‘s already cold, but there are still some hours of sunlight. We are sleeping in a tent, again. Though, this time, we don‘t have a car …
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