As far as James was concerned, from our very first google forays into the subject of “Iceland with kids,” the holy grail of this trip was the Family Fun Park. There, it was rumoured, kids could drive real, albeit kid-sized cars, on real roads. By themselves.

This wondrous place – aka the Fjölskyldu-og-húsdyragar∂urinn -- is attached to the Reykjavík Zoo, which is out in the Laugardalur Valley, further from downtown than one might manage on a scooter or in a stroller. So it was time to brave the bus system.

According to the guidebooks, getting there is a doddle: all you do is catch Bus #14 and Bob’s your uncle. Exact change please, and kids ride for free, unless you’re smart enough to buy a Reykjavík Tourist Pass, in which case you all ride free.

Look, I’m a navigational whiz and fearless user of public transport, but by the time we’d missed one bus, waited twenty minutes for the next, gotten off, gotten lost, and circumnavigated the park before finally locating the gate of the well-hidden Family Fun Park & Zoo, even I was wishing we’d forked out fifty bucks for a taxi. (We did eventually get the hang of the route; I’ll post more detailed instructions in the next instalment for anyone who’s intrepid enough to use this blog as a guidebook).

Entry was ISK550 for me and 450 for James - one of the few times we had to pay for him, as kids are usually free up until the age of 12. We bought ride tickets as well, 1500 for ten, assuming we'd need 'em for the cars. But you can’t get to the cars without going through the zoo, so that’s where we started. It's a humble, domestic affair, showcasing common Icelandic animals, which is to say mainly livestock. There’s a dapper little reindeer with an impressive rack (that's him - or her? - on the left), a few unhappy seals in a too-small tank, and a whole farm’s worth of small, edible creatures: sheep, chickens, bunnies.

We watched a mother cow trying to have a quiet lie-down while her enormous calf clambered over her head, pestering her to stand up for one more feed.

Look at the poor dear. I know how she feels.

 

We ventured into a shed that housed a dozen snoring piglets and their exhausted mother. I know how she feels too, but at least the lucky sow had a stall to herself. (Sensing a theme? Why no, I was having a fine old time ferrying two boys and all of their gear  - two umbrellas, the folded-up-scooter, everyone's coats, drinks, and spare snacks - around the zoo, although if I had spotted the Icelandic horses in time I would have drafted one as a pack-pony).

These little piggies had a curious feature on the wall of their shed. It was labelled “Snudduhorn,” and appeared to be a set of reindeer antlers garlanded with pacifiers. It looked very festive, like something from a Japanese shrine, but what is it for? I’d guess public renunciation of the habit, like a binky fairy but a tad more pagan. Toby was impressed. He thought it was a dispenser.

(Aha! Worked it out via google and some translation software. Apparently, children on the verge of giving up pacifiers are encouraged to donate their used dummies to the baby reindeer who might, you know, "need" them. A painless and happy ritual for many kids.  For others, no doubt, the beginning of a lifelong fear of zoos. And reindeer).

We sheltered from a rain shower in a small tent of science exhibits – a giant bubble maker, a chair with a seat of nails – and then rode a small carousel decorated with terrifying scenes from the sagas. The cars were still further on, past a small café, where I persuaded James that we should really stop and fortify ourselves before getting behind the wheel.

A burger, a grilled cheese sandwich, one coffee and two kökö mjölks set us back $25 and twenty five minutes as we waited for the food to arrive. I’m all for slow food, but were they making the burger from scratch --  from that pesky calf, maybe? Lunch arrived on the dot of half an hour, to highly skeptical looks from the boys. The burger had no fries, and the cheese toastie was a curious object, warm ham and melted cheese miraculously welded together between two slices of soft white bread, garnished with sweet brown mustard. Toby refused it absolutely. I ate it on principle, having paid good money for it, but a toasted ten dollar bill would have been tastier...

At last it was time to go and find the cars. By this point James was practically levitating with excitement. The fun park proper is over a little bridge from the zoo, and as we crossed the bridge into big brother heaven, little brother conveniently conked out in the stroller. And there were the cars. Not just cars, but trucks! A filling station! Working traffic lights!

And how many tickets will it cost us to drive? None! Zero! Zip! And is there a time limit? No! You can drive as long as you want to?? Hours of excruciating patience rewarded in an instant. He was behind the wheel before I could even park the stroller...