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Travel to Iceland during the pandemic

The changing rules

The Icelandic government has acted quickly and effectively throughout the coronavirus pandemic. Regulations have changed fast to address changes in the infection rate and if you’re planning a holiday, you need to do so on a flexible basis to adapt your trip to those varying parameters.

 

When I booked my flights I planned to visit Iceland in September; I’d already had to switch my flights from Gatwick to Luton after easyJet altered their schedules. In June, when I made those arrangements, it was on the understanding that I would need to either quarantine for 14 days or take a single COVID test on arrival and then, so long as my result was negative, continue with my holiday. The test was originally quite expensive but was later reduced to about £50. In the grand scheme of things that wasn’t excessive.

At the end of July, the rules were changed. A second test 4-6 days later would now be required at no extra charge. While testing in the capital was easy to arrange, my itinerary placed me on the other side of the country. The regional health care centres that had been set up had shorter hours and as a consequence, I would need to be a little more flexible. Adding an extra level of inconvenience was the fact that I was due to fly out on a Monday which meant if I couldn’t arrange a test on Day 4, I’d have no way of being tested on day 5 or 6 as weekend appointments weren’t available.

 

Compulsory quarantine

Then late on Friday August 14th came the announcement that from August 19th, all arriving passengers would be given the choice of either a 14 day quarantine or taking a COVID test, quarantining for 5 days and then taking a second test. At the time it was unclear just what the restrictions on movement for those five days would look like. By the time the government website was likely to be updated, I’d probably be stuck with it, or be forced to cancel.

I decided to bring my trip forward to depart in mid-August instead of September and thus avoid the need to quarantine. A few hours on the computer that weekend and a slightly condensed itinerary (to reduce the amount of time in Reykjavik) left me with a ten day trip during which I could pretty much cover the same ground as before.

 

What was the testing process like?

Passengers on our early morning easyJet flight were invited to disembark row by row. Instead of the usual jockeying for position, this staggered approach meant that there was no queuing in the terminal building. Each person, continuing to wear the mask they had worn during the flight, was called in turn to one of a bank of cubicles for their test.

I was invited to sit and to remove my mask for the test to be administered. The throat swab was done first and was relatively comfortable. The second, a swab to the top of the nose, was more intrusive and made my eyes water. But like the vaccinations for tropical diseases I’ve had in the past, such medical procedures are just part and parcel of travel.

 

Awaiting the result

In all I was off the plane and out to the rental car centre in well under an hour. The rental was ready and with paperwork filled in and a socially distanced handover, I was soon on my way. I’d made the decision to avoid Reykjavik this time. Though the number of coronavirus cases in Iceland has been very small, the majority have, not unsurprisingly, been in the capital region. Instead, I headed east. It was within the regulations to stop at a supermarket, though visitors at that time were asked to keep clear of restaurants and other busy places until their test result came through. In most respects my holiday continued as normal and I was free to book tours.

 

I drove on for a socially distanced hike at Seljalandsfoss waterfall. I’d been there on my wedding day in 2014 but it wasn’t practical to visit the almost concealed falls nearby. This site would usually be busy in August as it is one of the few waterfalls you can walk behind. However, this year numbers have been considerably lower. My negative test result came through by text around 4 hours after I had been tested, which was a relief. Despite having no symptoms and being cautious at home, there was still that tiny chance of being asymptomatic.

The problematic second test

Four days into my trip I’d reached the tiny village of Borgarfjörður Eystri down a gravel road and over a mountain pass in the East Fjords. The nearest test centre was at Egilsstaðir, in a temporary structure beside the main supermarket, but as I’d planned to stay the next night in Seyðisfjörður, another village in the same region, that wasn’t a big deal. The test centre was open mornings only, so I could call in and get tested, spend part of the day hiking in Stuðlagil canyon and then head out to Seyðisfjörður by mid-afternoon.

 

There was just one small spanner in the works: the Icelandic authorities suggested it wasn’t possible to take the second test until you had received an official barcode. This would come through late afternoon. By that time, the Egilsstaðir centre would be closed and by the time the next closest testing centre opened, it would be Monday afternoon. By then, I would be somewhere on the road beyond the centre in Akureyri and the remote West Fjords region.

A face to face solution

I decided the best thing to do would be to go to Egilsstaðir anyway and discuss it with them face to face. By then, four days and one hour had elapsed since my first test at Keflavik. At first, I was told it wasn’t possible to test without a barcode. When I explained that the following Wednesday (day 9) would be the next time I’d be close enough to a test centre to avoid a 6 hour round trip drive, they had a look on the computer to see if the system would allow a test to be registered. Fortunately, it could and I was identified via my passport number rather than the missing barcode. Incidentally that barcode eventually came through about 5pm.

 

Holidaying almost as normal

Mostly I’d chosen ensuite hotel rooms for this trip, whereas in normal circumstances I’d have probably opted for guesthouses with shared bathrooms to save money. I decided I would feel more comfortable being the only person to use the shower and toilet facilities and considered the extra cost worth the additional peace of mind.

Different hotels operated slightly different policies for breakfasts; in many cases the breakfast buffet was still put out, but with separate sittings and fewer tables to spread guests as far as possible. Masks were not necessary in public areas, but the use of hand sanitiser and sometimes also gloves was encouraged. I chose to eat picnic lunches most of the time, though the lobster rolls from the van at Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon were too tempting to pass up.

 

The sunny and surprisingly warm weather meant I could also eat al fresco most evenings on terraces or outdoor patios. I ate in just a couple of times, once in a restaurant that had just two tables. The absence of North American tourists coupled with the presence of Spanish and Italian tourists meant that when eating early (as is my usual preference), places were largely empty. Given that hand sanitiser was absolutely everywhere (even in remote long drop toilets on nature reserves) and staff were enforcing social distancing, I felt safe all the time.

Sightseeing in a pandemic

One of the big advantages of choosing Iceland over a city break destination is that most of the visitor attractions are out in the countryside and away from people. I did have a couple of disappointments: the Elf School in Reykjavik has closed for the duration of the pandemic and a Eurovision-themed walking tour I’d planned to do in Húsavík was not operating. I also found that several places had shorter than expected seasons, such as the Keldur turf houses, now part of a farm museum. But the ride I booked with Glacier Horses operated as normal, the horses enabling social distancing with no need for masks.

 

I did take two boat trips. The first, a Zodiac excursion out onto Jökulsárlón, required the use of weatherproof gear and lifejackets to be worn throughout the trip. The latter were disinfected after each boatload of passengers returned but I didn’t see similar measures being taken with the suits. In contrast, on the whale watching trip in Húsavík, the company made it clear before payment was taken that no additional gear would be provided. Lifejackets were stored on board and accessible to passengers but no one wore one. As it was relatively mild and calm weather, I was fine in my own winter jacket and waterproof trousers – in fact, I didn’t even need those out of the wind.

 

I also couldn’t resist the geothermal baths that Iceland is so famous for. On previous trips I’d visited the Blue Lagoon but this time it didn’t fit in with my plans. Instead, I enjoyed visits to the Mývatn Nature Baths and also GeoSea in Húsavík. The latter in particular blew me away with its breathtaking location overlooking Skjálfandi Bay and a setting sun reflected in both the baths and the sea.   

 

Would I do it again?

As someone who loves to plan trips meticulously – a hang up from travelling as a teacher when trips had to be scheduled in peak season – it was quite a big deal to be so spontaneous. Iceland once again didn’t disappoint, and to be able to travel in such glorious summer weather minus the usual crowds was a huge privilege.    

 

To keep abreast with current visitor regulations and procedures, visit covid.is where you’ll find more details of testing, what you can and cannot do while in quarantine and up to date case numbers by region.

Horse riding in Iceland: Glacier Horses

A review of Glacier Horses; I booked with them at the very reasonable rate of 11000 ISK (just under £60) for a 1.5 hour ride.

One of my favourite things to do while on holiday is to ride a horse. I’ve ridden a bit, but would still class myself as a novice. That said, seeing the countryside on horseback is well within my capabilities – so long as the ride’s limited to a few hours or so. This was going to be my third trip to Iceland but the first time I’d had the time to ride. Originally, I’d planned a September holiday, but in this new era of viruses and government quarantines, the whole thing was brought forward and the trip shortened by four days. I had thought about riding near Húsavík, in the north of Iceland, but it was looking difficult to fit in all the things I wanted to do up there, not least whale watching.

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I had spent the day hiking in Skaftafell, part of the  Vatnajökull National Park, drawn by a desire to see Svartifoss. This beautiful waterfall was even better in real life than it had looked in the photos I’d seen online, with basalt columns like chubby sticks of charcoal framing the foaming cascade. You can imagine I was in a great mood as I drove back along the ring road towards my hotel, not least as the weather had delivered almost cloudless blue skies.

As I rounded a gentle bend, the glacier on my left, a sign caught my eye: Glacier Horses. That was one of those serendipitous moments that make a holiday special: I had more time to ride during this part of my trip, making this the perfect place to do so if they could fit me in. On reaching the hotel, I had a look at their website and dropped them an email about a ride the following afternoon.

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I was impressed at the speedy response I received from Sophia and the following afternoon parked up in a farmyard at the end of a gravel track. I was greeted by a very friendly dog and very soon after, Sophia who would act as our guide and the other rider who would be coming out with us. Sophia explained how we would saddle up and get acquainted with the horses. Beginners (and those like me who hadn’t ridden for a while) would be especially reassured by this opportunity to test their newly acquired skills within the safe confines of a corral.

Sophia had paired me with a beautiful mare named Fluga. She was definitely a head-turner, a spirited horse but very gentle too. At first she took a little bit of getting used to as she didn’t need as firm handling as the horses I’d ridden back home, but we were soon in sync and ready to really enjoy the ride. One of the reasons I’d been so tempted with this particular location was the incredible backdrop from the glacier itself and riding out with a view such as that was a real treat.

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With Sophia leading the way, we headed out into the countryside, fording a couple of small streams, crossing grassy meadows and even cutting through what South Iceland would call a forest. We would probably term it a thicket, with low-growing birch trees that took on more of a shrub form than a tree, I’m guessing because of high winds and chilly temperatures. Regardless of what you call it, the place was very pretty apart from the occasional darting sheep that had been spooked by our arrival. Nothing fazed Fluga though.

We stopped briefly for Sophia to pick a few berries for us to try. They were delicious and I couldn’t help noticing how much smaller and more flavoursome the wild blueberries were compared to those back home.  The remains of a long-abandoned turf house also made an interesting diversion. And all the while we had that fabulous view in the background of one of the tongues of ice that drop down from Europe’s largest glacier. It really was a magical place.

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One of the reasons I was so keen to add Iceland to the list of places in which I had ridden was because of something called the tölt. This is an extra gait that is peculiar to this breed; there’s another, dubbed “flying pace” that seemed more than a little ambitious for anyone but an expert in the saddle. At home we have horses that walk, trot, canter and gallop. For a beginner, even a trot can feel a bit bumpy. Not so the tölt, described correctly as a four-beat lateral ambling gait. If you’re no equine expert and that doesn’t mean anything to you, it basically equates to “engage armchair mode”. This YouTube video helps explain it:

You shorten the reins a little, sit back in the seat and the horse does the rest. The speed increases, but the ride actually gets smoother than if you are walking. None of the up down, up down that you get when you trot at home. It’s something that Icelandic horses instinctively know how to do, and I was told it was Fluga’s favourite gait. It is so comfy, it rapidly became mine too. Sophia joked that it was the best treatment she knew for a bad back and I have to say, when we finished up, it seemed like she was right. I can’t wait to go back.

If you’re planning a trip to Iceland and want to ride too, here is where you’ll find Glacier Horses:

Address: Sel in Svínafell, 785 Öræfasveit, Iceland (between Skaftafell and Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon, just south of the ring road.

GPS coordinates: N 63°57´46.0″ W 16°52´39.6″

More information on their website: http://glacierhorses.is/

Trip planning in the Coronavirus Age

It’s less than a month until I plan to be in Iceland. Usually by this point, I’d be a bit excited at the thought of a big trip. This year it’s a little different.

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Iceland will be my first trip since I returned from Russia in March. It’s been decades since I’ve been home for this long. Aside from a scenic drive through the Dedham Vale the other week, I’ve done no exploring at all. Since the UK lockdown restrictions have eased, it’s possible to take a holiday, but I’ve preferred to take a cautious approach, waiting to see what the numbers look like after others have taken their summer holiday.

That may or may not prove to be a good decision. I’ve tried to plan as far as possible to minimise financial risk. As fewer people are travelling at the moment, I don’t think I’m taking too many chances leaving bookings to the last minute. I have almost all my hotels booked on a free cancellation basis which also leaves me free to tweak the itinerary if I want to. I’m holding off on fixing up any tours, concerned that I might not get my money back if I do.

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Iceland as a potential destination was a considered decision. First, the coronavirus numbers there have been low, as you’d expect from a sparsely populated island with  a developed infrastructure. Second, this year would prove a good opportunity to tour at a time when visitor numbers were relatively low again – since my last trip in 2014, the popularity of the country has increased at a rapid rate. Third, the exchange rate has improved slightly on recent years, making this expensive country a little more affordable (and it’s not like I’ve spent much on travel this year!) Fourth, and most importantly of all, it’s a fabulous country but one I’ve not toured extensively, so this is the chance to see the east, north and west of the country, such as Dettifoss, pictured below.

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It was back in June when I booked my flights, choosing easyJet from Gatwick as the closest option. A week or so ago, I was starting to think about car hire and for some reason decided to check the flight times via easyJet’s website rather than from my emails. It was lucky I did, as the schedule had been altered and now flights to Keflavik airport from LGW aren’t starting until October. The website actually reads “no flights available” – the word cancellation isn’t used anywhere.

To date, I haven’t received notification from easyJet that the flights are cancelled. I think this is poor; the situation’s not likely to change and so giving travellers more time to adjust their arrangements would be the right thing to do. I’ve decided to be proactive, while alternative flights are available, though in practice that means travelling from Luton instead. I’m not too happy about that as it’s not a great airport and also parking is more limited. But more significantly, easyJet’s behaviour has knocked my confidence in them as a carrier and I think that will influence me in the future. Given that the Luton parking has to be prepaid, I’ve decided to make the arrangements as late as possible so I don’t end up with a booking I can’t use.

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I have a Plan C: Icelandair from Heathrow – but that’s even further to drive and means I’d be stuck with more expensive parking. In normal circumstances I’d prefer to travel by train to Heathrow but I don’t want to travel by Tube or train unless there’s no alternative. I should add I’m not complaining – after all it’s my choice to travel in these uncertain times.

Government policy has also changed my plans already. I’ve been watching Europe-wide numbers like a hawk, as our quarantine and FCO advice policies are subject to change without notice. But as I work from home and can quarantine with minimal impact, it’s actually Iceland’s policies that might have more of an effect. The rules when I booked my flights were that I would need to pay for a COVID test on arrival at Keflavik Airport. If I were unlucky to test positive, I’d need to go into quarantine for 2 weeks, but this would be at the expense of the Icelandic government.

The policy is now different for those opting for longer trips as I have. 4-6 days after the first on-arrival test, I will need to report for a second one. It’s free, but I will need to take time out of my sightseeing schedule to attend my appointment. Fortunately, this second test doesn’t have to be done at the airport, which is just as well as I plan to be over in the East Fjords by then. I understand why the Icelandic government have taken this step and fully support it.

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Of course I hope that both tests will be negative. I’m not unwell at the moment, I have no symptoms of the virus and for the next few weeks, I intend to remain home unless I really need to go out which should minimise my risk of catching it. I’m fortunate to live in a small village and in a part of the country which at the time of writing (let’s not jinx things) has fewer cases than the England average. But who knows what might happen? My September 2020 trip could well become a September 2021 trip. So I’m trying not to get too excited, in case my plans come crashing down around me. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be desperately disappointed if they do.

 

Loo with a view

Recently, a friend invited me to her beach hut. During the drive to the coast, the subject of toilets came up. A bucket, if you want to know. Ah, she said, I normally warn people before they come that the facilities are what you’d call basic. But you, well, you’ve probably seen much worse, so I didn’t think I’d need to say anything.

She was right, of course. Over the course of my travels I have had more than a few memorable toilet encounters. I’m sure you can say the same if you’re a frequent traveller. But I’m not going to be writing about Montezuma’s revenge and Delhi belly. Those stories don’t need to be shared, for obvious reasons, though unfortunately I’ve experienced both and more besides. Instead, here’s a roundup of a slightly different kind.

Kyrgyzstan

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When it comes to a loo with a view, nothing I’ve ever had the privilege to use beats this basic pit latrine is located at the top of the Kalmak-Ashuu pass leading to Song Kul. Travelling in late May, we were one of the first to drive across the snowy pass, and the only footsteps leading to this most welcome hut were my own.  With beautiful blue skies overhead and a handy packet of tissues in my pocket – it pays to be prepared – surely there are few toilets in this world that compare?

Mongolia

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One of the best glamping experiences I’ve ever had was a stay in a nomad’s yurt in rural Mongolia. It would have been a tranquil spot had it not been for the family’s herd of camels and sizeable herd of semi-wild horses. This was the guest toilet, located further up the meadow. The screen did the job of protecting my modesty from the family members back at camp, but not the curious livestock who popped along to watch me do my business.

Norway

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This toilet, located at the top of Mount Fløyen in Bergen, sticks in my mind for a different reason. There was no view, but who needs one when you and a friend can sit and chat in a loo made for two? It’s located about 400 metres above the town, but there’s a cable car that stops nearby.

Georgia

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Ushguli in the wild Svaneti region was one of the most beautiful places I visited during my trip to Georgia. There wasn’t much in the way of public facilities, particularly toilets, but after the boneshaker of a journey from Mestia on a unpaved and severely potholed road, I didn’t have the luxury of waiting to find something more salubrious. Suffice to say you’ll be pleased you can’t smell this photo, though the cow didn’t seem to mind as he popped his face up through the hole in the floor.

Serbia and Vietnam

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On the face of it, these two countries make unlikely bedfellows, but both trips involved toilet visits that required a great deal more balance than I can usually muster. In Serbia, the bus station toilet was in a right old state, and I had to balance with two rucksacks, one front and one back, whilst trying not to topple into the hole. The Vietnam experience was very similar, but substitute a moving train for a bus station. Balancing on slippery foot panels as the train jerked and jolted was not the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

New Zealand

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Many of us take our toilets for granted, but for a while in Christchurch, New Zealand, after the devastating earthquake in 2011, residents were asked not to use their indoor loo until the sewers could be fixed. Instead, this collection of photographs on the back of the toilet door in the city’s earthquake museum shows just how imaginative Kiwis can be when they have to be.

Japan

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I’ve never been quite as delighted with the toilets as I was in Japan. Aside from the one in Kyoto station, which was a extraordinarily basic squat toilet, they were a veritable cornucopia of surprises. With buttons to heat the seat, spray water, deodorise and even play music to mask the sound of your tinkles, I promise if you go, you’ll be in there a while just as I was.

Chile

Chile Volcanoes of the Altiplano

The polar opposite was a pile of stones that masqueraded as a toilet in Chile’s altiplano region. Returning from a bus trip that had taken me to El Tatio, a high altitude gesyer field, I was caught short. Literally, as it turned out, as only someone half my height would have been hidden from view by the pitifully low wall of stones. Instead, what my fellow tourists were treated to was the sight of my naked derrière. Thankfully there’s no picture to record my blushes, which I guess is the advantage of being a solo traveller.

I guess it says something about the kind of traveller I am that I can’t find you a picture of a swanky toilet somewhere all glitzy and glamorous. But where’s the fun in somewhere like that when you can go in a hole?

Travels with Einstein

We recently lost our beautiful Einstein at the grand old age of 13 and almost a half. He was our first dog and we were determined he would share our lives and our love of travel. From the very first time we put him in the car, he was content to be with us – and from that point on, determined to look out of the back window to watch what was going on.

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At home, he was fascinated by traffic, spending hours stock still at our living room window watching the cars go by. When Edison came along a few years later, he was never permitted a front row seat in front of the window – not that he was unhappy with the sofa perch. When we moved to the country, Einstein missed his cars – birds and squirrels just didn’t have the allure of headlights and tail lights, no matter how much fun they were to chase. But on car trips, he got a taste of the life he’d left behind, and even as his arthritis made it harder and harder to sit up for lengthy periods, he’d still try to stay upright as long as he could.

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As an 8 week old puppy, he’d travelled well on his journey to Essex from Cambridgeshire, falling asleep on my lap as we sat in the back seat of the car. But even a small dog needs to be restrained to be safe, so we popped a puppy crate into the boot and started to take him out for drives. Most of the time he was fine, though once, on particularly windy roads heading for Burnham on Crouch, the motion got the better of him and he vomited all over the crate, himself and the boot of my car. Fortunately, such travel sickness was short-lived and we were able to take him on longer journeys.

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Aged 7 months, he had his first holiday, to Cley-next-the-Sea in North Norfolk. We stayed in a pet-friendly room at Cley Windmill and all was going smoothly. Not that we travelled light – by the time we’d packed his food, bed, toys, treats, puppy crate and play pen, there wasn’t much space for our own luggage. But dog-friendly though Cley Windmill was, it had a strict rule that pets weren’t allowed in the breakfast room. We popped him safely in the playpen and nipped out for a bit.

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By this age, Einstein was used to being left for short periods of time, but despite the familiarity of his playpen, the new sights and smells in the room were too tempting not to investigate. As we ate breakfast, we heard woofing and joked that it couldn’t be Einstein, as he didn’t bark. We returned soon afterwards to find a room scattered with chewed up tea bags and individual milk cartons punctured by teeth. He greeted us with a waggy tail and the evidence stuck to his fur.

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It would be the first of many UK holidays with him. He hiked the Dorset coast path to Durdle Door, climbed up to the Cow and Calf rocks in Ilkley and rode steam trains in Somerset. Except for one memorable incident in Boscastle where he tried, lead still attached to a cafe table, to go and say hello to a rather attractive Dalmatian bitch, he was the model traveller.

It was time to broaden our horizons. A trip to the vet and a bit of paperwork rewarded us with a blue pet passport. My parents had a holiday home near the Mosel in Germany so it was the perfect place for a trip. That house became Einstein’s home away from home and we spent many happy days wandering the countryside and villages of this pretty region. There was something about him that turned heads, and we never got very far without someone making cooing noises as they stroked his soft fur. The Germans let him go just about anywhere – even inside the wine shop at Zell, though I held my breath as that swishy tail got frighteningly close to some potentially expensive breakages.

Confidence growing, we booked the overnight ferry to Santander and set our sights on a holiday in Spain’s beautiful Picos de Europa. Most dogs on the route were used to travelling with their owners, many to holiday homes further south. But unlike them, Einstein didn’t relish the thought of being stuck in a kennel while we were downstairs in our cabin. When I arrived on the dog deck with some toys and a blanket to make him more comfortable, I discovered my husband in the kennel and the dog trying to escape it. The outdoor part of the dog deck proved much more to his liking, if a little windy.

The trip would be fun, but not without a few trials. On his first day on Spanish soil, Einstein managed to injure his paw somehow. Milking it for all it was worth (as would be his custom), we spent the week lifting him in and out of the car, yet as soon as a nice beach or meadow walk was on the cards, not to mention the sight of ice cream, the paw was miraculously healed.

Most of the time, Einstein walked nicely, though having crossed a precarious bridge to one side of a river one day decided it was all too scary to walk back again, much to the amusement of the watching crowd. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d die of embarrassment at his antics, though mostly closer to home, like the time when he pulled me over in a very muddy Hockley Woods and I was forced to do the walk of shame across a busy car park.

Probably my favourite trip with Einstein was when we went to Austria. We had a lot of fun walking in the mountains, particularly when we didn’t get lost. Getting there by car was a bit ambitious – when Einstein got the cramp at a motorway service station just outside Munich in the pouring rain I didn’t think we’d get there at all – but all was forgiven when we arrived to much fuss and special treatment, not least from my doting parents.

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I love how dog-friendly Austria is. Einstein behaved really well at the WildPark Tirol where herds of deer and plenty of other wildlife roam unenclosed. When I’d asked were dogs allowed, the cashier had looked bewildered that I’d even needed to ask. The woman manning the cable car near Sankt Johann took a little more persuading to bring the cable car to a stop so Einstein could be lifted on (he got spooked by the movement, bless him) but soon came round when she saw how cute he was.

Trips abroad were a little trickier when we got Edison, logistically speaking and thanks to Edison’s general state of abandon and loss of self-control around any kind of hotel breakfast buffet. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop us from exploring our own country with the pair of them. Einstein’s final holiday was to the beautiful Forest of Dean. He couldn’t walk far by then, but managed to enjoy the view from Symonds Yat, a visit to Goodrich Castle and one final steam train ride. I hope we’ll have many more happy holidays with Edison and who knows, we might even venture across to the continent again one day.

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Rest in peace darling boy and I hope you’re enjoying one big holiday (or watching the traffic) in doggie heaven.

Einstein 11.2.07 to 30.6.20