It has been fairly fine recently, but it is just a little less than a month to the winter solstice. The sun gets up very late now, shuffles in her slippers and dressing gown to the doorstep to collect the milk and newspaper, casts a few elongated rays on the landscape and then goes back to bed. The local children go to school in the dark and come home at twilight. Icelandic time is the same as Greenwich Mean Time - all year round - but there is actually a time difference of about 1 hour and 30 minutes, so 'true' noon is at 1.30 pm.
November began in truly wild form with a 60-hour blizzard. An icy, northerly gale drove fine snow horizontally night and day, starting (appropriately) at Hallowe’en. Sometime during the first day (1 November) I walked the mile to the general store to get a few groceries. The automatic, sliding doors were closed and covered with snow and ice, but the side door was open. Trailing puddles of meltwater, I stocked up on bread, milk and other necessities, paid and ventured out again for the trek back to my lodgings. This time, the wind was full in my face so that snow gathered on my beard and my breath and snot froze in icicles from my moustache. The pavements were covered in snow and sometimes blocked by drifts, so I walked along the road instead. My main concern then was that I might get run over by a car, for I could not easily see where I was going and doubted that I was very visible to drivers. Nevertheless, I was soon back in the warmth of the guest house, feeling a tiny bit heroic but resolving not to go out again until the gale subsided.
But it went on... and on. Every time I looked out of the window, it was the same scene of snowflakes flying horizontally, hour after hour until the window eventually became too covered to see out at all. The psychological effect surprised me. I was overcome by an unaccustomed lethargy and apathy, unable even to get on with my translation jobs properly. Despite being indoors and warm, the very sight and sound of the blizzard seemed to pummel and numb the mind as much as if one had been physically battling the teeth of the gale. It occurred to me that I might have to give up on the whole adventure if this was what winter held in store; after all, I have to make a living. Finally, however, the wind died down, the snow thinned to occasional flakes and I walked thankfully down to the museum, where I met Siggi and Jón Jónsson (see picture). We drank coffee together and I mentioned the peculiar lethargy that I had experienced; they reassured me that this was common with the first snowstorm of the year. It affects Icelanders just as much, for they too feel inclined to huddle under a duvet and do nothing. After the first one, they told me, it gets easier and everyone goes about their business as near normally as possible. And that has indeed proved to be the case.
To help combat the stale feeling that the season brings on, Jón Jónsson has also started organising one-hour fun walks every Tuesday starting at 12.00 from some local meeting point. I have gone on two so far (missed the last one as I was away) and we were blessed with good weather: clear, calm and freezing (-3C on the first). As we walk the local minor roads - once the main highways, despite being no more than rutted cart tracks - Jón points out features such as the ‘Walrus Rock’ or ‘Eagle Cliff’ and tells us stories associated with them. My favourite story is of a farmer who was conveying a large tub of sheep’s blood back to his farm from the slaughterhouse. Somehow he managed to drive his Landrover off the road and turn it over completely. Unhurt but covered in sheep’s blood from head to toe, he made his way on foot back into Hólmavík. Understandably, there was not a little consternation when people saw this gory apparition coming down the road!
It was on one of these walks that I saw a whale in the fjord for the first time. Yesterday I even spotted one from the window of my lodgings as I was writing this blog. It is, of course, a highly controversial issue that Iceland has resumed commercial whaling. The species that is hunted is the Minke whale, and this was probably what I saw in the fjord. The meat is widely available in Iceland and although I would prefer to see an end to all whaling, I decided to try a whale steak – just for once - to see what all the fuss is about. The meat is quite similar to beef in texture and in flavour. I wish I could have brought you a photo of the whale in the fjord, but it was a fleeting glimpse and at some distance. May it remain so for its hunters.
The opportunity to eat whale (in a restaurant, as opposed to hiring a boat and faring forth across the fjord like Captain Ahab) came with the arrival of a long-awaited conference in Reykjavik on 12 and 13 November. “Gods and goddesses on the edge: myth and liminality in the north” – it sounded like a dream come true for a magician in the northern tradition, so I had booked my place in September and now the time had come to make my way back to Iceland’s capital. As ever here, travel plans have to bow to the weather so I opted to go down early, taking a lift with my friend Ingibjörg. There were three reasons for this decision. Firstly, I don’t like driving. Secondly, Ingibjörg’s car has winter tires with spikes on. Thirdly, Bjössi had taken back the Vitara for his own use (can’t say I blame him, I didn’t need it often) but then had a slight mishap involving a collision with thick ice when fording a stream. Ice giants 1, Vitara nil. The broken front bumper was repairable, the punctured petrol tank less so.
Thus I arrived in the evening of Wednesday, 10 November at my friend Sam’s apartment in the heart of Reykjavik. It seemed strange to be amid the bustle of a city again. When I went out, I actually had to wait for a gap between the cars in order to cross the street. Not that I had to wait long: Icelandic drivers are remarkably considerate towards pedestrians in comparison with their West European counterparts. If they see you trying to cross, they will slow up and give you the chance. Twice I walked down the middle of the road in Bankastraeti (Bank Street) thinking that it was a pedestrian area, eventually becoming aware that a car driver was patiently waiting for this ignorant foreigner to get out of the way; no honking of horns, no loud revving, no shouting... I simply stepped aside with a wave of apology and wished that everywhere in the world could be like this when vehicles and footgoers have to mix. There weren’t all that many pedestrians on the street anyway, for the most part. Wind chill factor included, the temperature was about -10C, so Reykjavik’s denizens scurried about their business and spent as little time as possible outdoors. Sam didn’t have an internet connection at home, but with his help I found that there are many small, cosy cafés where, for the price of a coffee (including as many refills as you want) you can sit comfortably and check for email messages on your laptop.
One afternoon, while reading and enjoying a quiet pint at the ‘English Pub’, I noticed that a small demonstration was taking place outside the Icelandic Parliament building opposite. On enquiring, I discovered that they were protesting against the closure of hospitals outside of Reykjavik. The parliament building is a modest affair situated in the heart of the city and the protesters were right outside the main entrance. There was only a minimal police presence. Eventually, the minister in question came out to the front steps to give his personal reassurance that nothing had yet been decided and the issue was still being debated. I hasten to add that not all demonstrations outside the Alþingi have been so small or good natured. In these difficult economic times for Iceland, some of them have involved thousands of people banging for hour after hour on drums (or anything to hand), lighting bonfires and generally making their unhappiness known to the politicians. Of course – as anywhere in the world – the ‘rent a mob’ element was also there and the police were deployed in full riot gear on those occasions.
The conference was interesting and very well attended, although there weren’t as many references to Nordic magic as I had hoped. Despite that, it was an excellent opportunity for networking, meeting friends again and generally talking with other people who have a similar line of interest. For those who wanted to attend, there was a 3-course dinner after the conference. At ISK 5,500 (about £30) per person, I thought it was extremely pricey for what we got (wine was not included), but it gave me more opportunity to talk in depth with other participants. After the dinner, many of us went on to enjoy relatively cheap beer at a bar in the centre of Reykjavik and, as I wove my way back to Sam’s place at 4 am, I saw the streets full of people for once despite the cold. Presumably they, like me, were too full of liquid anti-freeze to care.