We’re planning to have the picnic excursion on Sunday, August 19th. It’s the only post-wedding day that everyone will be here, so hope for good weather.
Actually, this summer has been unprecedentedly fine. So fine that rivers are running low; outdoor plans should therefore happen without a hitch. We think a drive along the south coast is the way to go, maybe with stops at Hveragerði and Seljalandsfoss, explanatory waving in the direction of Surtsey to heighten the disquietude of those not already paralyzed with volcano fear, and lunch at Skógafoss. Drag the little orange dude into the map and you can see ground-level photos.
I once read a cookbook titled Unmentionable Cuisine. A survey of all the most disgusting traditional recipes from around the world, its entries came mainly from historically poor countries whose people had no choice but to eat whatever was handy, no matter how barfalicious.
Þorrablót, the festival of traditional food (‘everything grey and sour,’ says a friend), is in January so you’ve already missed your big chance to binge. But no worry – you can get it at the grocery store.
And once you’ve mastered hákarl, you can graduate to casu marzu.
So Iceland has this perfectly demented overproduction of music. You’ll have the chance to sample some for free the evening of the wedding, since that will be Culture Night (“Menningarnótt”) and free performances happen all around town.
Some big names and personal favorites:
Björk
No! I haven’t met her.
Sigur Rós
These post-rock peri-emo oddballs with their extraterrestrial-ecclesiastical meditation/freakouts put on the most amazing touring show I’ve ever seen. We’ve got tickets for November. Heima is their tour documentary/scenery movie.
Hjaltalín
These guys spliced chamber music with pop and actually made it work. Also, stand in awe of the blond guy’s hair.
Svavar Knútur
Strange-haired troubadour w/ ukelele veers between sad introspection, grammy’s traditionals, and occasional barnburning crowd-pleasers.
Mugison
Iceland has blues. This guy’s pretty good. So’s his dad.
Gabríel
Iceland has hip-hop. The lyrics veer toward ‘shy love’ rather than ‘urban murder.’
Páll Óskar
How to explain Páll Óskar? He’s mainly known for his heavily produced electronic dance music, a genre whose inherently overwhelming gayness is further amplified by his stage manner and costumes. These incline to ordinary street clothes made from drag-queen materials, like his track-pants-and-hoodie made entirely of silver sequins. The surprise is that his lyrics are affecting, his voice supple, his range actually sprawls all over the stylistic map, he’s a tireless promoter of local music and outspoken on human-rights topics.
Múm
Originally an electronica outfit, a complete change of lineup has led them into a sort of delicately beautiful zone.
Have you heard North American vacuum cleaners are, in order to convey an impression of power, built to run far louder than they need to? Similarly, Nordic people feel that washing machines just can’t be doing their jobs if they aren’t front-loaders that run for at least two hours. So if you're staying at Raggi’s and using the washer in the basement, block off some time.
Electric dryers: almost unknown here. Instead, the laundry room is hot like Venus and you hang the clothes up there. It’s a consequence of geothermal abundance. Did I mention they dump hot water directly into the sea to make a swimming beach?
If you and your stinky socks are staying downtown, and you don’t want to pay daffy hotel-laundry prices, your choices are two:
The Laundromat Cafe at Austurstræti 9. This a fun restaurant with a children’s play area downstairs and an actual laundromat. You can wash clothes, eat lunch, and people-watch simultaneously. The food is inventive and good, though there is some risk between ordering and eating that continents may drift visibly.
Oh, probably. It’s out of our hands, so don’t worry about it. Bill, Laurie, and I were on a trip a couple of years ago when Eyjafjallajökull (pron.) blew and it took us a week or more to re-route. On the other hand, the next year Grímsvötn (pron.) barfed even more ash into the sky, but favorable winds caused it to not be a problem.
On the third hand, every time Eyjafjallajökull erupts, the much larger Katla erupts a few months later. On yet a fourth hand, it's now way overdue and so perhaps nothing may happen. On a fifth and final hand, some seismic activity was recently reported near Katla, and when it goes, it can go very big. So can Grímsvötn, which is connected to a fissure system called Laki.
The system erupted over an eight-month period between 1783 and 1784 from the Laki fissure and the adjoining Grímsvötn volcano, pouring out an estimated 14 km3 (3.4 cu mi) of basalt lava and clouds of poisonous hydrofluoric acid and sulfur dioxide compounds that killed over 50% of Iceland's livestock population, leading to a famine that killed approximately 25% of the island's human population.[4]
The Laki eruption and its aftermath caused a drop in global temperatures, as sulfur dioxide was spewed into the Northern Hemisphere. This caused crop failures in Europe and may have caused droughts in India. The eruption has been estimated to have killed over six million people globally,[5] making the eruption the deadliest in historical times.
... The meteorological impact of Laki continued, contributing significantly to several years of extreme weather in Europe. In France a sequence of extremes included a surplus harvest in 1785 that caused poverty for rural workers, accompanied by droughts and bad winters and summers, including a violent hailstorm in 1788 that destroyed crops. These events contributed significantly to a build-up of poverty and famine that may have contributed to the French Revolution in 1789.
Why does all this happen? Because the country straddles two tectonic plates. It’s is being yanked apart.
So the the land is physically very young and geothermally active. On the one hand, you get free hot water, steamy landscapes, the bizarre chance to scuba in the rift, and the ability to grow bananas at the Arctic Circle. As you drive around the country, the young basaltic geology and rural heritage combine to produce a common sight I call “cute little farm on the Moon.”
The volcanic threat, though, will turn this into “cute little farm in the Apocalypse.”
Frankly, though, I’m much more worried it’ll rain. Bring an umbrella and a plastic poncho.
Photographers speak of the golden hour, the sixty minutes before sunset when the light is honey-hued and rakes horizontally across the land. Ideally flattering both for portraits and scenics, this light is what camera-smart people will plan their shooting around.
The golden hour here – Raggi and I are in Mosfellsbær right now – lasts about three hours. That’s why you have to bring a camera. At one AM (jet lag!) it is still twilight.
It’s the freaky latitude that produces the bright nights. It’s disorienting. You glance out the window and think, “Looks like about six PM” when actually it's ten. On the other hand, the two advantages are
a) you can go out for a scenic drive and there’s no need to plan to be back before dark, because there’s no dark.
