Thorrablotted Out

The daylight is making visible progress: I can now just about make out my hand in front of my face as I trudge through the darkness to the morning meeting each day. 9 o'clock isn't pitch black any more!  And really, with a gain of 6 minutes a day, the increase in light is quite significant.  Now if the thick blanket of clouds which has settled over Sólheimar for the last two weeks would shove off, we might actually get some sunlight around here...

I'm sure you've all been awaiting tales of last week's Þorrablot, so I'll keep you in suspense no longer.  The ceremony was fun (as it was entirely in Icelandic, we passed it nodding and grinning obliviously, as has become our custom), our performance proved non-fatal to all in attendance (if you're interested the song is called A Sprengisandi and is about getting lost in the desert in the center of Iceland), and the food was...interesting.  Since the whole month is Þorra, these ceremonies will be happening all over for the next few weeks, and they all have a similar structure.  Most involve large amounts of alcohol, but ours was better behaved (though if we had imbibed enough, the evening might have been easier to understand; Icelandic is apparently one of those languages that is best spoken when tipsy).  They did have cans of Viking beer, but it was only 2%; poor show for Vikings, really...

The Master of Ceremonies was the same universal cheesy jokester with a large smile and a repertoire of absurd dance moves. Highlights included "That's Amore" - Icelandic rendition - and an Icelandic party song the meaning of which escaped me, but which involved linking arms and swaying, á la "Rock the Boat".  I'm sure the sentiments were similar. 

You completely can't tell we're miming...

But then the MC ominously broke into English and announced, "Welcome to our Rotten Food Fest!", and the real task of the night began.  The buffet was arranged around a Viking longhip with little gnomish talismans scattered here and there.  The gnomes would have been a bit disconcerting themselves, had I not been distracted by the large pile of sheep jaws they adorned.  These Icelanders don't joke around.

But hey, you only eat rotten shark in Iceland once, right?  I live in hope... So I selected a small svið (boiled sheep's head), some súrsaðir hrútspungar (ram's testicles, boiled in lactic acid and pushed into blocks), and the infamous kæstur hákarl (putrefied shark).  Much of the distinctive taste comes from the traditional preservation methods used: smoking, drying, or pickling.  The verdict?  I'll let Will's face speak for me...

The tastes were kind of indescribable, but to put some words to the expressions people made, I'd say:

•  Sheep's head: a big mouthful of smoky, rubbery skin
•  ram: smelled disconcertingly sweet, like berries; tasted like something you just shouldn't be eating, like earwax
•  rotten shark: smelled like really really really stinky cheese; tasted just kind of wrong

After experiencing them first-hand, I can say the traditional Icelandic dishes are an acquired taste.  But not acquired the way Guinness or red wine is acquired: drink your first few and you'll get into it; I'm pretty sure the only way to get used to some of this stuff is to live in the raw elemental wastelands of Iceland for a few generations with nothing else to eat.  Most natives love the stuff, but I can firmly state that I am not a native.  

"Say sheeeeep"

As a non-native I'm quite enjoying our Icelandic language classes, although they just further illuminate what a difficult, albeit fascinating, language Icelandic is.  Icelanders are very proud of their language, and they set up an Icelandic Language Committee to make "authentic" Icelandic translations for new words that come out in order to preserve the integrity of the language.  However, there are only so many completely new words you can create, so they'll often use old words that have gone out of the vernacular, at times with quite humorous effects.  For instance, gemsi used to mean a young sheep, but since the word is a bit archaic, it's been recycled to mean "mobile phone".  They also have some interesting compound words: the word for "computer" in Icelandic is tölva, which is a combination of töl ("number") and völva ("witch" or "fortune teller").  I always knew there was some shady black magic going on in the back end with my laptop... My supervisor also taught me my first Icelandic swear word yesterday: andskotans, the equivalent of "bloody" or "hell", which literally means "Anti-Scottish".  The Irish, however, are very well-liked.

On an unrelated note, I'm doing some research into biodynamic farming to enrich my internship, as some of the techniques have been incorporated into the nurseries here, and organic farming also leans quite heavily on it.  I won't go too much into it at the moment, but the basic philosophy behind it comes from a man named Rudolf Steiner, an Austrian philosopher who founded anthroposophy.  Anthroposophy itself can get a bit out there for the casual reader, as it's a spiritual movement, but the ideas when applied to farming actually make a lot of sense.  In the '20s, when farmers were concerned about the constantly decreasing yields from overworked soil, Steiner introduced the idea of biodynamic farming, which sees the farm as a connected entity and recognises the interdependence of soil, plants, and animals on the farm.  Among other things, he called for the use of animal manure as fertiliser and the reintroduction of certain minerals leached from overused soil by specially structured compost treatments and through planting complimentary crops.  For instance, a companion planting method used by Native Americans centuries ago uses beans, corn, and pumpkins in the same field.  The beans put nitrogen back into the soil, the corn provide support for the growing crops, and the pumpkin provides ground cover to keep the other plants moist.  Pretty simple; very effective.

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I discovered there's a horse farm about 20 minutes down the road from Sólheimar, so I was able to get some equestrian zen over the past few days.  There's only one breed here, the Icelandic horse, and it's over 1000 years old.  All other breeds are banned because the authorities are afraid the introduction of a foreign illness would wipe the whole population out.  The horses here are quite small and stocky, with a good thick coat on them, and a penchant for chewing on zippers and hair.

We the interns have finally gained our freedom by all chipping in to rent a car for the month, so our first road trip is this weekend!  With a bit of luck, we'll be heading to Vik in search of frozen waterfalls, arch rocks, and a bit of craic.

More photos here.