Images of Iceland

Larval rocks spattered, 

Strewn across a landscape; 

Green moss, white snow, dwarf willow.

*

Milky-blue water precipitating 

Silica to seal the porous rock, 

Steam rising as it cools in the icy air.

Fins of orca cutting 

The waters of the fjord; 

In Icelandic: ‘high-horned one’.

Snowy slopes of a volcano 

With a cap of ice 

Rising into a white mist of blizzard.

Cone-shaped hill with a crater; 

Looking from its edge, the lava field 

Like sea rolling down to ocean.

Green curtains of light shifting 

Across the night sky 

When cloud breaks beneath the North Star.

Whale Watching

Orca (killer whales) in the Grundarfjörđur, February 2012

The boat edged out into the bay,
Passed the raft of seabirds by the shore
And pressed into open waters.
Still with us there
The fulmars dipping on the waves
The gannets diving
And then the orca -
High fin of the male
Curved fin of the female -
Breaking the surface to breathe.

They come here for the herring wintering in the fjord, following their food like all wild things, while we, well-fed wherever we go, find the thrill of the chase wrapped in thermals and waterproofs, counting the fins: ‘six in that pod, two juveniles ...’.

Soul food for starved sensibilities. Finding a niche in the natural order of things in the mind only, until, returning to land, we resume our place in our sheltered world:

Eat, keep warm, share photographs,
Write it all down from the distance
That comfort brings.

Iceland Journal

Leifur Eiríksson's statue in front of Hallgrímskirkja

A cold day in Reykjavik. Being further west as well as further north, but in the same time zone as Britain, the mornings are darker and it’s still grey and dim when we set out after breakfast. In parts of the city, thermal spring water provides under-pavement heating to keep them free of ice. But down by the harbour and the new concert hall with its multiplicity of glass panes of different shapes and sizes - like mirrors of ice, some reflecting different colours - the walking is difficult on slippery surfaces. Later up on the hill by the basalt cathedral (Hallgrímskirkja) it is still necessary to step carefully. Inside the cathedral, the sparse decorations and the open space above give an impression of pointed arches and an austere but also gothic-like feel. The bright chrome pipes of the organ protrude dramatically out of the walls adding to the starkness of this very plain yet striking place of worship.

A lift takes us to the top of the steeple and a viewing platform to look down at the layout of the city. Further off the dome of ‘The Pearl’ provides another viewing point from above the ring of huge insulated tanks from which hot water from thermal springs is pumped around the city and beyond to heat houses and other buildings.

Outside I pose for a photograph in front of the statue of Leifur Eiríksson looking west across the Atlantic to the America that he reputedly visited from Greenland long before its ‘discovery’ by Christopher Columbus. Opposite we take coffee at the Café Loki with a panoramic view of the Cathedral through its upper floor windows. I thought this ironic. But the street plan of Reykjavik is a compendium of norse mythology and story. Odinn, Thor, Frey, Freyja, Baldur and others all have their streets, roads and gates. As do Njáll, Grettir and numerous other characters from the sagas. Although it seems that an early christian bishop, Jón Árason, did away with the names of the days of the week still used in English, the gods have claimed the streets instead!

Most of the manuscripts of the sagas are held in the Árni Magnússon Institute on the university campus. But it is closed on the day we are in Reykjavik. Disappointment is partially alleviated by the fact that a special manuscript exhibition is being held at the Culture Museum. Many of the manuscripts had been kept for centuries in farmhouses until Árni Magnússon sought them out and took them initially to Denmark. A vellum page of one of them is peppered with holes so it could be used to sift flour. Strange how notions of value change with changing times and then change back again. While it is the larger, illustrated early vellum pages that attract attention as exhibits, I was also struck by a later paper book of Njáls Saga painstakingly written in small script.

As darkness falls on Reykjavik our thoughts turn to a journey out to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula for the next few days of our visit to Iceland.

Icelandic Saga

Fǫgr er hlíđin, sva at mér hefir hon aldri jafnfǫgr sýnzk, ..... ok mun ek ríđa aptr ok fara hvergi.


(Fair is the slope, so fair as it has ever seemed to me ..... and now I’ll ride back home, and not go anywhere.)

So said Gunnar when, about to ride away from his homestead at Hlitharendi after being outlawed. He looks back and decides that he cannot leave the place he loves. By staying he knows he could be killed by his enemies and the decision leads to many more deaths than his.
I am led to reflect on this scene from the Njal’s Saga as I re-read some of this great literature in preparation for a visit to Iceland in a few weeks. We hope to see the Northern Lights (hence the apparently senseless visit in the winter rather than the midnight sun period in the summer). I also hope to get a look at some of the manuscripts of the sagas on display in the museum in Reykjavik.
Gunnar’s inability to ride away in spite of realising the fateful consequences of his decision is one of the great statements of attachment to place. In a culture of viking forays to far-flung places he nevertheless feels bonded to his home so intensely that he has no choice but to remain there. In spite of the wise ministrations of Njal, after whom the saga is named, the ensuing blood feud follows tragically in the wake of Gunnar’s decision to stay and Njal himself is burnt to death in his house.
In the saga it is a twist of fate that leads Gunnar to stay. He is on his way abroad. His horse stumbles and he falls off and finds himself sitting looking down at his home. In context his decision is seen as heroic rather than sentimental. But for me the scene is as much about attachment as it is about determination.
I’ve always felt the pull of the North in spite of the sunshine and food of southern climes. But previous trips to places like Norway have always been in the summer. Winter will be a real challenge to any sentimental attraction, in fact my response might well need to be heroic!