Why not visit to Iceland in this periods, it is a jolly good time to have doing so, writes Ralf 'Eric' Projbroffir of the Icelandic Tourism Board of Tourism.
You may will be having a surprised view of your urgings self to have upstarted it!
Faqhur Faquharssen did do, whom having invaded at 896 of in Vjorrskragghvammaey an Iceland island, was so happy to stay where he had good turfing grounds for an Icelandic farming, with the sheeps on the Skrjaggsfjall where they can graze sideways in the gales, and to have bugles repairs for which he was a man.
Indeed he was restrained to not go away. Finding himself alone in Vjorrskragghvammaey, he did not have to buy any things from one other. So he made good businesses by selling them to himself, he was Iceland's primary blacksmither, and to being have made these horned buglings to blow the sheeps down off the Skrjaggsfjall. Also by selling to himselfs, he was made some profits and saved himself a favoured pricing.
Hence Faqhur Faquharssen was happy when he did obtain a maiden from Nullfoss on an expedition in the inland to visit the horse fighting at Lundmannalungur. He came home with a fighting horse and a wiff named Osk Fjrittersdottir in a gnarled coracle over to Vjorrskragghvammaey.
Thus had they life in an dreamish Pjooveskibaerinn house, turf-furred, thereafter, turf-furred, and they did not go away oh no. You could see still his history-house in Vjorrskragghvammaey these evening, and would be happy to do so, with a special offering off these local bee products, like the bjartsdraaldur honeys and the T-Shirt embroidering "Iceland Is Being A Bee's Knees" and even "Iceland Has Been The Place Of My Honey-Moon" or "Buzz Off Into Iceland" humour. When today is a lacking for the bee gatherings gathered in your very car parks of multiplex, you can be coming to Iceland among the friendly gathered bees.
Even now in Vjorrskragghvammaey, the Skrjaggsfjall, which is not a volcano since 1653, is majestic above the seas of the Sundvikskarll, with its hoary face among the smokish clouds. The sheeps are sprinkled that do graze sideways and in a huddle because of the hurtled wind.
Some days it does not rain. But mostly it does rain. Then there is the rain. There is the mists, called pokjrut. Some days one day there is no mist. Then it is time to dance and to drink skowrgjutt and to fall into a wheelbarrow behind a sleeping cow.
And oh to bewaken in a black morning at Njurskrolgaar and to scream in the falling cloudbank, like to Knut The Spavined, who in 1138 made his vests from a long goat and the first human windmill named Pjokk whose skeleton died at Frottir.
And now you friends also can will be happy, even less in Vjorrskragghvammaey than to remain absent from our soft raining!
