Renting a Cabin in Iceland
Last December my friends and I wanted to spend a long weekend, like all our other weekends, dressing up in onesies and playing drinking games. Instead of doing this at home, we thought we’d stimulate a long-struggling economy by renting a cabin in Iceland’s wilderness
Our chosen lodge was ridiculously affordable – costing us only USD$800, which worked out at the hostel-esque rate of $25 per night each. This price-point was accurately reflected in the location, but we managed to make no-man’s land work. Granted, it was an hour’s drive from the nearest attractions and two hours in a white-out to Reykjavik, but time flies when you’re drink driving and there’s a lesbian porno being reenacted in the front passenger seat.
After arranging an off-the-books payment, I met up with the owner at a local gas station to grab the keys. Wendy greeted me with the kind of bear hug you’d give a prospective daughter in law and proceeded to compliment me on my good looks and the length of my boyfriend’s legs. She assured me we would find everything we needed in the cabin, from condoms to vintage whiskey. Her exact words: “There are no neighbours in this month. You do anything! Make noise! Run around naked!”. I became prematurely envious of the teenage years her seven-year-old daughter will soon hit.
Upon entering the cabin, Wendy’s love of all things equestrian soon became apparent. Clearly not a member of Sweden’s ‘Horses Do Not Exist’ movement, she had left us a bountiful selection of equine fiction and decorated with IKEA’s collection of pony wall stickers. On a serious note, it was awesome. Perhaps not the height of sophistication, but the deck was enormous, you could easily get 20 people around the dining table and the living room setting was aptly arranged for either an orgy or a game of king’s cup.
As the only couple in the group, we shot-gunned the master bedroom, which came complete with its own balcony and playpen. Next door was a fairly sizable room with two single beds and adequate floor space to accommodate the entire contents of two suitcases. Let it be known that each and every miniscule sound can be heard between these two bedrooms (the entire house really). There may as well not be a wall. Every time we fucked was like an orgy for all the sex noises being mocked in the adjoining bedroom. To tell the truth, I didn’t mind it half as much as they did.
The double bedroom downstairs was the largest, and most conveniently located next to the bathroom for all the midnight chundering that took place. However, those unfortunate enough to end up in the fourth bedroom should have probably been staying rent-free. Not only did they bear the brunt of any headboard banging from the master bedroom, but the levels of sulfur in their en-suite rivaled those at Dante’s Peak.
We were promised a hot tub and Wendy delivered. Already boiling and bubbling on our arrival, we jumped straight in with a few bottles of gin to keep our upper bodies warm. The seats were slightly too low to keep your ponytail out of the water and the eight of us were a little cramped, but our little Jacuzzi played a vital role in the trip – even doubling as the couple’s therapy room.
I will forever consider this cabin my Icelandic home away from home, and highly advise renting one similar should you ever venture over to the land of ice. One day I plan on returning to live off the land for a few months as the next step in my eternal efforts to both become a size 6 and have an Eddie Vedder song written about me.