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Highlander Basha - 8ft x 5ft Tarp

Highlander Official Specs:

MA100

Colours: DPM Camo onlyBasha is made from 100% Nylon with a double sided PU coating and fully taped seams, waterproof to 2000mm, double stitched loops. Ideal as a versatile shelter, sleeping bag cover or emergency stretcher.Size: 8ft x 5 ft Approx.

What is a basha?
A basha is another word for a tarp, and both the word and object originated from Britain’s colonial times in India.

Disclaimer
This isn’t the first Highlander product I’ve reviewed here, so I should mention that I don’t work for them, and they certainly aren’t paying me to write good reviews. Although if they wanted to, I wouldn’t say no.

The first important point to mention with this basha is that is weighs 480-500g. That is lighter than any competitors I’ve seen - the Australian Hootchies at £60+ is 680g, and the British Army version 960g. The Highlander bashas come with stuff sacks that are big enough to fit 20m of paracord, and four guy lines in them along with the basha itself. The weight is the key, because in many situations where you intend to use a basha, you’ll probably be travelling light, and you never know when that extra 500g of C4 you can pack with this basha will come in handy. Because they are small and so light, the natural question is to query the build standard of the item, and its water resistance.

The build isn’t bombproof. I’ve had mine pitched in numerous shapes in various strengths of wind, and some of the stitching in the loops came out. For this reason I can’t say this basha is the most solid you’ll ever find, but I must add that it never threatened to blow away or come apart. Basically, it took winds with gust speeds of I think over 30 mph to cause any damage at all, which isn’t too bad. Half an hour with a sowing kit and you can fix it up so that a force ten gale won’t break the stitching.

Water resistance. The actual fly sheet itself does seem to be waterproof, I haven’t found any leaks to date. However, the seam running from side to side, half way down, has. Cleverly, the seam doesn’t run along the length of the basha, so water won’t drip onto your face while sleeping. As it runs across the width of it, drops will land on your waist instead, which is definitely preferable. Saying this, it is to be expected that in heavy rain the seams on something that is 2000HH leaks a bit. It’s possible that my leakage is down to something uniquely wrong about my basha, but I couldn’t tell you for sure.

A nice feature of the Highlander basha is that there is a row of poppers down the sides. This gives two options. You can either pop two bashas together to get a bigger shelter, or pop one to itself to get a semi-waterproof bivi bag, stretcher, or sleeping bag cover. I haven’t actually tried any of these, and although useful sounding, most people probably won’t either.

One reason for the feather-like weight of this basha is that it is 5 feet wide. This is a foot thinner than many bashas on the market, and does mean that you’re that bit more exposed out in the field. If you know how to pitch your basha however, this isn’t much of a problem. Here are some suggestions:

When you have two or more tents:

This simple set up provides cover for two people using two walking poles, with some paracord to tie them down. If the walking poles are at the right angles, this shelter will prove shockingly wind resistant. It could easily be made with four walking poles, but having something rock solid to anchor to makes it easier to pitch.



When you have one tent:

I used this to sunbathe in Iceland, and keep the wind off at the same time. The picture nicely illustrates the seam position on this basha. It was also here that the stitching broke, but as you can see it is pretty much a sail, so perhaps it shouldn’t be much of a shock. If you want to do this, take spare tent pegs to stake the basha into the ground at its bottom, otherwise the wind might sneak underneath.

This was a minor construction project to get into place, but luckily I didn’t have anything better to do at the time. What it shows is that someone who previously had no idea how to pitch a tarp can do something very useful with one spare guy rope, and 20m of paracord. This gives you somewhere to sit up straight if your tent isn’t really tall enough to do it easily. Again, spare tent pegs make this sort of lunacy possible.

When you have no tent:

To start with, I must apologise for the shaky photography, but it was 4:01am (no, really) and I was seriously tired putting this up. When put up properly, this is a bivi shelter, and I did go on to sleep in this with my bivi bag. Although shockingly pitched, I got a good nights sleep. Ideally, you would want to do this in a wooded area where you’d use trees instead of walking poles, and raise it off the ground a bit on one or both sides. In the pictured situation, I could have done with an extra foot of width as it was a bit cramped, but raised off the ground it wouldn’t be a problem.

When you want to have the best nights sleep in the world (and still have no tent):

See my beginner hammock article for more on hammocking, and yes, this picture was taken in a pub garden. It also demonstrates one vital aspect about using a basha between trees. Don’t pick ones that are too close together, or you won’t be able to get the basha taught and nicely set up. In this instance, these trees were the only ones I could use, but you can see how much the basha is dipping. This did mean in the stormy night this picture was taken after, it flapped around noisily. It did kept 85% of the rain off somehow though. Was a fun night, it was like riding a rollercoaster in your bed while people tip buckets of water over your head.

How to pitch a basha:
You don’t actually need to know any fancy knots to put up a basha – if you can tie your own shoe laces you will manage. I did learn the Evenk quick release knot, as seen on Ray Mears (google it) to tie one end, but you wouldn’t need to.

Before you even get to your place of camping, pack the basha so it’s ready. That means putting your paracord (or whatever you’ve got) through the loops going down the middle. You can also attach guy lines to the corners if you want.

Of course, the number of way you can use a basha are limited only by your imagination, so I’m not going to tell you how. That’s what the internet is for.

I paid £25 from an eBay shop for mine, don’t go over £30 ish. This makes it cheaper than the British Army basha, and exactly half of the weight.

Conclusion
If you’re in the forces, you might want the heavier issue basha. But if you won’t be using it every night, or need room for that extra 40mm UGL round, then this is perfect. It’s light, versatile, and will give you some peace of mind when off the beaten track. Highly recommended.

If you want a top of the range basha, get an Australia Hootchie. It’s almost identical, but will make you feel smug and important.

Mammut Inflatable Pillow

The Mammut inflatable pillow costs £8 from Millets, and was my attempt to find something other than piles of clothes to put my head on while camping. Deflated, it packs down extremely small into its own little stuff sack – its 2/3 of the size of a tube of Pringles.

It is also fairly comfortable to sleep on, its shape does fit your neck if you sleep on your back. The problems are twofold.

One: £8 is a lot to pay for something you don’t need, especially when you can get similar pillows at half the price. When I bought this I didn’t see a price tag, but if I had, I wouldn’t have bothered. That’s not an excuse by the way, it’s just the reason…

Two: when you’re lying in your tent trying to fall asleep, the last thing you want is noise. If the fat guy in the tent ten metres away is snoring, he’s probably keeping you awake. What won’t help, is if every time you so much as think about moving your head, your bloody pillow squeaks and groans like a rusty gate. If you have industrial strength earplugs or happen to sleep deeper than the wreck of the Titanic, this pillow will do you well. If you are a normal person however, stick to sleeping on folded up t-shirts and jumpers. Or alternatively, bring a proper pillow.

Highlander Hydration Source System - 3 Ltr Water Bladder

NATO Stock Number: 8465-99-842-7034
Capacity: 3 ltr
Compatibility: Highlander TT bergen

You are probably thinking that this looks like a DPM’d (Disruptive Pattern Material, or camouflage…) Camelbak, or an expensive looking hydration bladder. Firstly, this is a Source system, which is different to Camelbak. The difference appears to be that you get no taste tainting as you seem to get with Camelbak, and that Source is cheaper. Also, the German and Irish armies have switched to Source systems rather than Camelbak, and it originates from Israel – where they know a thing or two about exercise and hydration issues in the heat.

The advantage of this piece of kit over your cheap £5 bladders is that these are often clear or that blue colour. The sun can warm them up and cold air can cool them down, and eventually they can spoil. With the Highlander though, a cold drink will stay cold for hours and hours even in heavy heat, while if you fill it with warm tea (although don’t put anything boiling in it) it will stay warm even if the outside temperature is freezing. The cheap bladders also have to put in something, while as I’ll mention below, this doesn’t. On top of this, the instructions state that it will clean itself by the movement of water within it. I’ve had mine for over a year and used it very often, and it still remains taste neutral and clean.

The three litre capacity is handy, and the hose is very easy to use. You twist the cap and pull it out to get at the water, which can be done simply with your teeth. One very minor point is that the water in the hose is exposed to the elements, and can heat up and cool down in a way that the main part of the system won’t. There is a sort of dust cap that slides onto the mouthpiece to keep it clean and stop it leaking, and this is very useful indeed. Personally, I can’t be bothered with the twisty part of the mouthpiece, and leave it in the ‘on’ position, so I just have to pull the bit in and out to get at the water.

I have seen one of these at a music festival (presumably containing beer), but as it’s very difficult to completely empty these in the short term at least, you should be careful what you do put in them. Unless you want a faint taste of beer in your water when you’re half way up Ben Nevis, I suppose.

At the top of this review I said that this piece of kit of compatible with the Highlander TT Bergen. It can clip onto the side of the bergen just as a daysack would, and the hose is long enough to reach your mouth from this position. Review of Highlander TT bergen. Alternatively, it comes with straps so that you can wear it like a backpack. There is Velcro on each strap that you can use to secure the hose into place, and the straps can be hidden inside the back of the system’s case to keep them out of the way. There are also two carry handles that make carrying it when full easy.

Mine cost me about £15, but I can’t seem to remember where from. If you want one, google the NSN at the top of the article. There is a newer version out:
http://www.highlander1.com/military/PLCE/TTH2C-DPM-BLADDER-PACK.html
but I suspect its 99% the same as the one pictured here. If you see something similar with a Camelbak sticker on it, expect to pay £40+ for the privilege.

Conclusion
Fantastic. Costs more than the cheapest alternatives, but with the extras it has I think its value for money, while it is better than its more vaunted rivals. It’s an item that you can do without, but nonce you’ve got it you’ll wonder how you managed before. I only got mine after a sixteen hour slog, through ankle high water in the rain, over the Brecon Beacons… where I had to stop every five minutes to get my bottle of water out – annoying the people I was with who didn’t have to stop as they had water bladders.

Highlander TT Bergen Review

Available Models:
TT100 = Olive model
TT100C = Camo model

Official Specs:
120 Litre capacity. (100L in the main bag, 10L each for the day sacks (the side pocket attachment thingys))

900D fabric.

Two large zipped removable side pockets.

Adjustable chest and waist stabilisers.

Padded hip belt.

Airmesh funnel back ventilation system.

From the Highlander website (forgive their grammer):
“These packs has been designed and tested in conjunction with the British soldiers that use them. We drop tested the fully loaded bags onto concrete from ten meters. Strategically placed bar-tacks provide exceptional construction strength. Infra Red Reduction treatment applied to the polyester Kodex fabric and Nylon webbing. Thick Polyurethane lamination adds unparalleled strength and makes the fabric highly waterproof. Designed to allow the easy attachment of accessories and kit.”

My Experience

While I haven’t dropped my bergen from a two storey building to test its strength, I have used it enough to say something about it. Firstly, for people new to bergens, they are not waterproof. They are quite resistant to rain, and it takes a good three hours of torrential Peak District deluge to get through mine, but it will let the water in eventually. If this does happen, don’t expect it to dry too quickly, but this is why people use waterproof bags inside their bergens, or covers over them.

I took this picture of my nearly full bergen with a 2ltr bottle beside it to give you an idea of scale.

One big positive for this piece of kit is the comfort factor while carrying heavy loads. The shoulder straps are a bit wider and more padded than a number of civilian style packs I’ve seen, and it’s easily adjustable to get a good fit. The airmesh system does actually mean your back won’t get as sweaty as you’d expect, as the padding is thick and effectively works by keeping contact between back and bergen to a minimum. The waist strap is also chunky, and far wider than the thin little strips you often find on civi packs. This spreads the weight of what you’re carrying (it should be on your waist and not your shoulders/back) over a wider area, which makes it easier to haul loads.

A partial view of the airmesh system & some of the straps. Not a great picture, but it was 1am on the morning and I was tired. Lets just say the Arctic Circle was under 100 miles away.

All the adjustable parts and buckles are big, and therefore friendly to freezing cold hands, which is important for those using this right around the year.

Airports have a reputation of chewing up and spitting out rucksacks, and the many straps on this bergen mean its vulnerable to being torn apart by a rogue conveyor belt. I bought a massive, thick bag to stick my bergen in when I fly, which means it will arrive in one piece. It can also help to hide your bergen if its in camo, as some people might think you’re some sort of redneck gun nut. If you’re going to certain countries though, I wouldn’t take anything that’s camo - unless you are actually taking part in a military coup, in which case you’ll probably be wanting it.

The place where I got mine from for £55, http://www.theblackpaw.co.uk/ is currently being renovated, so I can’t see if their price is still this low. This site: http://www.campingandmilitary.com/acatalog/IRR_Rucksacks.htmlis selling them for £115 which is quite a lot higher... For a rucksack of this capacity a hundred quid isn’t particularly unusual, but the £55 I spent made it a 100% bargain. I’ve seen this Bergen for between £70 and £90 which I think is reasonable. Also, I so far haven’t actually seen the olive version anywhere, but that’s probably because I’m not looking very hard.

I also bought the Source Hydration System (basically a camelback water carrier) that is designed to fit with this bergen. I fit mine to the side of the bergen, where a day sack would go, but it can go wherever you want really. A review for this is here.

Conclusion:
My overall recommendation on whether or not you want to buy this bergen will largely depend on the price you can buy it for. It will, 90% of the time, be cheaper than the “standard issue” bergen, but then if you’re a cadet it might be exactly what you are after. You should check, if you are buying online, whether the day sacks are included, as these can cost you £15 - £20 to get separately (mine came with them - and the yoke to stick them together). Essentially though, this is a very solid piece of kit that does its job very well, and if you can find it at the lower end of its price range, it offers insane value for money.

Knotlow Farm - Peak District November 2008

Knotlow farm is 6 miles East of Buxton along the A515, just outside the village of Flagg. We arrived after dark on a cold Friday night deep into a wintry Peak District November. A surprising lack of traffic meant the most exciting thing to report from the journey was Steve taking his Sat Nav too literally, and turning right exactly when it told him to. Twice. This wouldn’t normally be funny, but the last time we visited this campsite, he took the same wrong turnings down the same wrong roads for the same stupid reason.

The boring but necessary campsite details:
Tents are £5 per night.
Toilet facilities are basic but functional. The ladies get more toilets then the gents do, which I discovered after venturing into the female section… for research purposes only, you understand…
The actual site is half flat and half sloped with a good covering of grass, with room for anything up to 20 ish tents; see picture. And yes those are arrows in the bag of wood.

The site can get crowded during the summer, but when we turned up, we were the only ones there (that caravan was empty). Hardly a shock, considering the weather forecast. The two best points about the site are: campfires, and its 365 days a year opening period.

After arriving, we pitched tents with rapidly freezing hands and quickly got a fire going. Nothing interesting happened.

Saturday was cold. The forecast was for a high of 2 degrees, and a low of -2 during the day, which explains why no one else was retarded enough to be on the campsite. Being the most retarded and strange of the three of us, I got up early and spent three hours firing steel arrows across the campsite from the caravan into a bag of firewood.

At about 11:30, my fingers had started bleeding, and Steve and Tania finally emerged from their bright orange tent. Deciding what to do for the day went roughly like this:
Me: I’ll go for a walk, and you two can do whatever you want on your own.
Steve: We can go shopping in Buxton
Tania: I haven’t got any money, so I don’t want to go.
Steve: I do.
Tania: Well I don’t, I’m going with Clive.
Steve: Then I’m staying in bed.
Clive: You might as well have stayed at home. Come for a walk.
Tania: You told me you needed to get fit, Steve.
Steve: Meh. Can’t be arsed. Tania, you’re not well enough to go.
Tania: Well if I don’t go, what are we going to do?
Steve: Stay in bed.
Tania: Then I’m going.

To be fair on Steve, he did give Tania all his warm clothing and force her to take plenty of food and water (probably because he knew it was all going into my rucksack).

The idea of going on a walk was to keep warm, and get back just before dark to start the fire up. However, I ignored the fact that I have underestimated the length and difficulty of walks on 100% of occasions – but sure in the belief that this time the walk really was three hours and 8 miles long, we got going.

We walked along the valley of a river I can’t remember the name of, around a hill I can’t remember anything about, and past some people I couldn’t much care less about. The path along the river was in places submerged, something to keep in mind after heavy rains.

Despite the suggestion of this picture that Tania’s map reading landed her in nothing but deep water, we only got lost once, which is a personal best. Although this is probably down to the fact that it wasn’t me reading the map, so I can’t really call it a personal best.

Anyway, after walking through a herd of cows that got Tania screaming like, well, a girl, we reached the last leg of the walk as the night closed in. 3 hours this wasn’t. 8 miles it certainly wasn’t. As the light faded into a chilly evening, we plunged through mud, and ducked and weaved past stray thorns until we could no longer read the map. Fortunately, the path became so easy to follow that a blindfolded fruit bat in a Tescos organic shopping bag could have managed it, and so we got back to the car without losing any eyes.

Then began the Long Night of the Icy Terror. Returning to the campsite at around 6pm, the temperature gauge on Steve’s Landrover read -0.4. At this point we all exchanged worried glances. The sky was as clear as an Alcohol rehab clinic on the 31st of December, and seeing the stars wasn’t enough to brighten our prospects of living through the night.

Soon enough we had the fire going, and Steve started making soup after about half an hour caught in a cycle of, “I’m too hungry to move to get the food, but I need the food to move.”

Seeing as we had a whole night sitting by fire without the supervision of responsible adults, there was bound to be a list of immature, dangerous, pathetic and in hindsight, unfunny, events. Here is this trip's list:

The obvious one - burning our rubbish, including plenty of plastic. While this was out of laziness because the bins were almost seven metres away, the real effect was that as the fumes drifted through our thin brains, we couldn’t feel the cold quite so much.

Using £3 Tesco gloves to move wood around in the centre of the fire. The lesson here is twofold: plastic gloves melt, and the middle of the fire is hot.

Using a long stick of kindling as a handle to slide inside the hollow part of a slow burning log (one that is alight), and running around the campsite shouting that you have the Olympic torch in your hands.

Taking off socks, and holding them over the fire to see how much steam comes off them. This was done to dry the socks, and not because me and Steve are actually six year old children.

Placing a glass bottle of Bulmers cider on the fire on my side – three feet from my face - “to see if it will explode.” Well, Steve, it bloody well does, and I still have the cuts on my hands from where I somehow managed to shield my face at the last second. Never put glass in the fire. The other stuff we did was cotton-wool safe compared to this, and after nearly losing both eyes, we put an end to the fucking about and went and checked the Landrover’s temperature gauge.

It was only 11pm, and it was -5.4. When Steve returned from checking this, he sat by the fire and shivered for a full 3 minutes until he’d warmed up. Realising how cold it now was, we shelved plans for getting drunk due to the cooling effects of the alcohol. Steve’s water bottle, left in his tent, demonstrates just what we were up against.

Yes, that is ice, and this is after he’s tried melting it over the fire.

Just before midnight, the act of going to the toilet became an act of reckless bravery due to the risk of your urine freezing on the way out. Steve mounted one final courageous expedition to his monster truck to see the temperature before we all went to bed. The pictorial evidence is below:

If your computer is shit and can’t even load small pictures, it said -6.4… keeping in mind that the inside of a Landrover is not exposed to the wind. After swearing a lot, and bidding a last, final farewell to each other, it was time to sleep for possibly the last time.

Editor: This is where the diary entry stops, as after writing this on that cold Saturday night, the author froze to death along with his friends, and had to be extracted from his tent using a pneumatic drill the next morning. The rescue team noted the following:

“Despite the warmth of a reindeer skin, a sheepskin, and indeed a number of King sized duvets, there was no chance of survival for people as bewilderingly unintelligent and reckless as these. Upon entering the site we found the water frozen in the pipes (see picture below), and three inches of ice on one of the tents that eventually had caused the roof to collapse. We can only conclude that the casualties here were part of some sort of mentally challenged camping group, but the motivation for their apparent suicide remains unclear.”

Editor: I feel that I should point out one thing at this stage. It was either the above bullshit, or a sentence describing yet another poxy £600 Landrover breakdown on the way home. What would you have done?

Sherwood Forest Videos Part 2

We were troublemakers...

Chris dies by the fanclub...

Sherwood Forest 2008 Videos

Chris in Action:

Rich the Russian:

Steve's Mud Recovery Day

Video 1

Video 2

Video 3

Video 4

Iceland - June 2008

This is a series of entries describing our recent holiday to Iceland. There will be plenty of pictures, taken by me ( and maybe 1 of Steve's).

Day 1

The plan was for me and Steve to hire a car in Iceland and drive around the ring road for ten nights in June 2008. What actually happened wasn’t anywhere close to this. Hopefully this is a slightly useful tourist guide to south western Iceland.

Things started well enough as we arrived at Stansted on time with our 18Kg rucksacks full of camping equipment. Steve’s was searched straight away, although after having a laugh at his supply of pot noddles, the guard found that it was only his cooking pots that had set of the alarm. At customs Steve was pulled up again and searched, although this time one of the staff spotted his tiny Linux laptop and spent 20 minutes talking to him about it. Luckily we weren’t running late…

Iceland is a three hour flight away, and using Iceland Express, the journey was smooth and comfortable. The plan left on time and landed on time, and I’m fairly sure that one of the stewardesses on the plane was one inside one of the booklets you get stuffed in the back of the seats. As we sighted land, we spotted snow covered mountains and glaciers straight away, beneath only a few wisps of white cloud. The weather looked good, and we hoped that it would last, as most stories of Iceland’s weather contain gale force winds and driving rain.

It was after the brief bump of the landing at Keflavik airport that things started to go wrong. One thing to note about Keflavik airport is that there is a duty free shop in the same area as the baggage collection, so you can load up on affordable alcohol before you start your holiday. The car hire area comprised of six small desks of different companies in a corner. The first, promisingly called, ‘Budget,’ had no cars available, so we went to the next. It should be mentioned that before we left we knew that all car hire companies in Iceland say they only accept credit cards and not debit cards. This is important, because even though we knew this, and had no credit cards, we still thought we’d be able to somehow get a car. The second company got as far as quoting a price before asking for a credit card, which was a shame. As I leaned on the baggage trolley while Steve went to the third desk, I had a vision of the future and started remembering all the googling I’d done in case we couldn’t get a car. It was then that I realised I hadn’t done nearly enough, and had been gullible enough to believe Steve when he’d said everything would work out. Steve was turning a bit red, and looking a bit flustered as he returned from the desk. He shook his head at me and went to the next. Bugger. Same result. The last two were no better, and Steve walked back,
‘Looks like we aren’t getting a car.’ Crap. Although Steve’s next contribution was,
‘We could just go home,’ I couldn’t help finding the situation quite funny, and I tried not to smile too much.

Standing at the airport at 16:40 with no car, accommodation or clue about either, it was crisis time. Deciding we’d need somewhere to spend the night that wasn’t the floor of the airport, I found a leaflet stand and raided it. We looked for a hotel or B&B in Reykjavik, as we’d be needed somewhere to figure out what to do for the rest of the holiday. Steve wanted to go outside because it would be cooler, so I thrust a leaflet into his hand and got him to call the number on it. There was no answer from this particular hotel, which was a shame as it had free internet, so Steve tried the next one. This hotel, the Smari, http://www.hotelsmari.is/en_default3.asp?strAction=getPublication&intPublId=69
had a room and so we took it – it also offered free internet access, something we’d probably need to plot our next move. Relieved to have somewhere to go, some of the tension went and we moved on to the problem of travelling the 45km from Keflavik to Reykjavik. Steve wanted to take a taxi because it was the method of transport that would involve him having to do the least, but 45km in a taxi was such a daft idea I laughed it off in case he was too serious about it. Instead we boarded the Flybus, which leaves from the airport regularly to take passengers to the capital. It only cost 1300Kr, or about £11 one way. This might not seem overly cheap, but this was Iceland, and a taxi would have been a little bit more…

We bought our tickets from the kiosk – you don’t buy tickets on the bus – and entered the melee around the coach door. Steve went straight on, leaving me behind to worry about getting our massively heavy bags onto the coach before it got full and I got left behind. I pushed people out of the way with the trolley and threw the bags into the coach myself, not waiting for the lethargic bag handler to do it. I looked around quickly for somewhere to leave the trolley, but the coach was filling up and I really needed to get in. I just pushed the trolley away and jumped onto the coach, my plastic bag of vodka and cigars held protectively to my chest. Steve had taken the first empty seat he’d seen (he probably couldn’t be bothered to walk further down the aisle), ignoring the last remaining two seats next to each other, so I sat in them by myself.

The coach journey was through some beautiful rocky landscapes, often likened to the moon, but I was too busy thinking to really notice it. There was a bit of pressure with a nine day holiday left to rescue, so not the best bus trip ever.

The best thing about the trip was driving through Hafnarfjordur and seeing part of the Viking festival that takes place in June every year. Stopping at a bus stop, I looked out of the window and saw a small park. Fifteen 8-12 year olds were lined up in two ranks facing another group of kids of the same size. Both groups were armed with an assortment of wooden swords, axes and shields, and on a command from a nearby adult, they charged at each other with bloodlust. It looked like an outtake from Lord of the Rings, as thirty children beat the hell out of each other with sturdy wooden weapons. I used to get told off for doing things like that – and that was probably the best fun the 10 year old boys there could ever have. If you have a hyperactive kid who likes a good fight, take him here to work off a lot of steam. Just bring bandages and plasters.

We arrived at the bus terminal, the BSI, which is next to the domestic airport in the heart of Reykjavik, sometime after 5pm. The coach driver told us we’d need to get a taxi to our hotel, but we spotted a Budget car rental building at the BSI and Steve went to try his luck. I had to stay with the bags as they were a bit heavy to carry in their airplane travel bags (mine) or wire nets (Steve’s). I’d thought about using a bus to get around the ring road, but Steve wasn’t going to want to carry his bag around 24/7, as we’d have had to with the bus, and I wasn’t too keen on that myself. Yes, I know people hike with more, but we both had 4-6Kg hand luggage bags as well, and Steve can’t climb up Ben Nevis without a bag, let alone with 25Kg on his back.
I saw a Yaris pull up and for a second thought Steve had managed to get a car – but the woman who got out wasn’t Steve. I waited for a while before he did return, on foot. A taxi to the hotel then (after I’d pillaged the BSI of one of every leaflet they had).

The hotel was back along the route we’d taken into the city, but there wasn’t a lot we could do about that, and had to pay the £25 taxi fee for the 7 minute ride. Just think about what the fare from the airport would have been…

As we checked in, the Macedonian handball team walked in, looking exactly like the Macedonian football team (who I thought they were for a while). Collapsing onto the hotel bed was a welcome feeling.

Using leaflets, and the list of campsites I’d brought along from England, we found the only campsite in Reykjavik and rang them up. Luckily they said space wasn’t a problem, so it looked like we might have somewhere that wasn’t £100 a night to stay for the rest of the holiday.

Day 2

I woke up at 7:30, as the curtains weren’t really thick enough to keep out the sunlight, but Steve didn’t get up for another 2 hours. Not bad for him… The breakfast buffet was a European affair, lots of meat and cheese in freshly baked rolls, but as I’d been up long enough for it to feel like lunchtime by the time we got there, I stuffed my face happily. I also walked out with a couple of rolls for later on that day, in case we didn’t manage to find a shop. That morning felt like a good one, there wasn’t any of the stress from the previous day, and the sun was out in a nearly clear sky. The high for the day was 12 C, but it felt warmer.

We arrived via taxi at the Youth Hostel that had the campsite as its back garden. The taxi driver, as with yesterdays, had been to Cambridge and knew more about it than we did. He also suggested that we might want to visit a certain waterfall on the south coast as you could walk behind it – which sounded worth doing. The campsite was about £98 per person for eight nights – a slightly better deal than the hotel had been. The facilities were good and clean, and the camping area was large (probably 2 acres) with plenty of empty space. We pitched our tents at the back where no one else was (as we don’t like people) and raised my tarp up between the doors of our tents to keep a dry area clear if it rained.

Steve, as soon as his tent was up, went to sleep after telling me that he hadn’t slept for 36 hours, and had a sleeping pattern of 3 days on, 3 days off. That meant he was going to sleep for the next 3 days! At least it gave me time to look at the wad of leaflets I’d collected from the airport and youth hostel.

Down the gentle hill of the campsite, and beyond a hedgerow, there was a football stadium and a smaller pitch. In the afternoon we found out that Icelanders like their football as much as anyone else. Thumping drums pounded along without respite for the next 2 hours, with bouts of singing and chanting accompanying what must have been an important game. Except that it wasn’t being played in the stadium, but on the smaller pitch beside it. There was a 200 seat stand, and this was full-ish, but the noise they made wasn’t far off that of an England friendly. I couldn’t get in because of some large steel gates, so I wondered off to have a look at the city. The first thing I stumbled into was what turned out to be a place where woman used to come and do their washing. There was still a little geothermal pool where they once would have done this – steam rising slowly up into the wind. It was all a little spooky though, as a statue of a washerwoman who fell in and drowned looms over the area broodingly.

Even though it was only 12 C, I was able to walk around in nothing more than a t-shirt until about 7pm, as the clear sky let the sun beat down all day – and night. It’s 10pm as I write the notes for this, and it is just as bright as it was at 6:30pm – which is the time that it feels like. A little duller than the midday sun, and a bit cooler, but still light.

We just tried out Steve’s duty free alcohol, a pitch black spirit called Opal, a 27% ‘VodkaSkot’. As I poured the liquid into my cup – or frying pan – I could see not so tiny bits of black stuff floating around, the grit in the picture is not from a dodgy photo.

The smell hits you at the instant the bottle is opened – it smells of Tunes. Then you taste it, and it tastes like cough mixture, with an aftertaste of Tunes. It’s really not nice. But then again, 4 shots worth cleared by blocked nose for the next few hours, so I guess you could drink it for medicinal reasons. I think the vapours from it are some sort of laughing gas though, and we were both sent into a fit of laughter after drinking it. The bottle probably warned of side effects, but as we couldn’t read Icelandic, we had to hope that the flashing blue and yellow lights weren’t too unusual. With tomorrow being Iceland’s National, or Independence, day there will be more drinking to come. Let’s hope we survive.