Don't Forget to Gullfoss

The last stop on our tour of Iceland's "Golden Circle" was the double-whammy falls at Gullfoss.  

There's no need to insist on their spectacularity; we'll just show you pictures.

Bubbling Up

Unlike, say, Þingvellir, our next destination does not require elaborate explanation.   But if anyone tells you that Icelandic didn't lend any words to English, you can tell them about Geysir.

ðe Þing About Iceland

You might think that a country of fewer than a half million souls, completely exposed to the cross-winds of the global economy, would be in danger of losing its language to the encroachments of the English-speaking world that encircles it.   And, in fact, proficiency in English is so universal in Iceland that we stopping asking if people spoke it before launching into a conversation – it began to seem more annoying to ask than presumptuous to assume.

And yet fear not for Icelandic.   The local tongue seems well attached to local brains, thanks to their saga-filled isolation.    Everyone else’s brain is another matter.  Even fellow Scandinavians professed to be mystified by a language they implanted on the island a thousand years ago and then forgot how to speak themselves.   Icelandic turns out to be not your grandfather’s Nordic language.   More like your great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great- great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather’s.   Or something like that.  You get the picture.

For us, trying to decipher Icelandic was a little like reading Beowulf in the original Old English (a language which it apparently resembles).  And there is surprisingly little in the way of parallel translations in some places where you would expect them.   For example, if you’re trying to catch a flight, it’s helpful to know that you’re looking for the flugvöllur, because while the road signs may include a tiny silhouette of a jet, they don’t say “airport”. 

So good for the Icelanders.   Let the tourists get lost and stay another day – it’s a wonderful country.   If you drive around enough reading signs aloud for your own amusement, you might even be tempted to sort out the nuances of the Icelandic alphabet.   In addition to the usual gang of umlauts and accents, there are several special characters, including no-brainers like “æ” but also some true challenges like “Þ” and “ð”.   The latter two are different ways of making the “th” sound.  This shouldn’t be hard for English speakers, who famously make far greater use of that diphthong than most inhabitants of Planet Earth.  But in our own minds – excluding linguists -- we are hardly (if at all) aware of the difference between the “th” sound in “breath” (Þ) vs. the “th” sound in “breathe” (ð).  

But if you want to talk about Þingvellir, the hallowed Icelandic ground where the AllÞingi, the ancient Icelandic parliament first met in 930 A.D., you obviously need to try.  

 

Þingvellir National Park is about 45 minutes northeast of Reykjavik (by car).   By boat and Icelandic pony, it must have taken a lot longer, which makes it even more impressive that the entire adult male population of the island used to gather there to listen to an annual recitation of the laws, cast a few votes, drink whatever would ferment, and occasionally drown a few recalcitrant citizens in the river.

On arrival in the park, we were greeted by a vast plateau of rock cairns overlooking Þingvallavatn Lake.   Hopefully these were of recent vintage, rather than archeological relics, because Miles and Leo knocked a few down while trying to improve them.

 

 

Still, they were not easily discouraged.

 

 

And they eventually got their act together.

 

 

Þingvellir also happens to lie along the Mid-Atlantic Rift, which according to the guidebooks and DVDs in the gift shops is "tearing Iceland apart" at a rate of 1.5 cm a year.

 

 

The Rift is unmistakably visible and very impressive.  However, it does not seem to threaten Iceland's geographic unity in any meaningful sense.   It seems to be creating more Iceland. 

 

 

The early Icelanders had good reason to choose this dramatic spot for their assemblies, all  Þings considered.

 

 

 

 

The Blue Lagoon

It may not have been what Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins had in mind, but at least you can bring your kids to Iceland's version of the Blue Lagoon.  

It is not a natural wonder in the strictest sense, since it took a human-engineered geothermal plant to combine a hot spring vent with nearby seawater.  

The lava and ash that covers a vast area south of Reykjavik did the rest, providing a rich mineral base and a milky hue to the runoff.

Only in Iceland can you turn the runoff from a power plant into a tourist attraction.

Miles and Leo quickly habituated themselves to the soothing opacity of the waters.

 

So, in their own way, did Mommy and Daddy.

Miles established himself as a man-about-pool.

It was fun for the whole family, although only Mommy and Daddy were big enough to partake of the luxurious floating massages.

Miles, however, had his own plan.

Chillin' with the Reykyavikers

If you're going to arrive in a country at 6:30 in the morning with two jetlagged kids, you could do worse than Iceland. For one thing, it hasn't been truly dark around here for about a month.  And Reykjavik's legendary nightlife is not friendly to sleep anyway.  So clearly we were not the only people walking around looking like last week's donuts.



Fortuitously, we arrived on Independence Day, marking the astutely chosen moment in 1944, 11 days after D-Day, when Iceland slipped free of then-preoccupied Danish yoke. By the time we rolled into Reykjavik, the festivities were in full swing. We, on the other hand, were not.

    

A short nap later, however, we ventured forth into the center of town, full of Nordic folk parading, flags waving, and would-be Bjorks wailing. The Icelanders quickly confirmed their reputation as an admirably eccentric bunch, capable of generating a high per capita level of entertainment.

The most curious thing we noted, however, was how warmly dressed everyone was.  Sure, it was slightly chilly for June -- as most of us know it -- about 50 degrees Fahrenheit.  But looking at how the Icelanders were bundled up, particularly the children, you'd think it was 50 below.  Surely, to a people that lives through a near-Arctic winter, this should have seemed like a balmy day, right.  

   
Maybe it's just a well-ingrained Icelandic habit of preparing for the worst.   Either that, or they just don't have any other kind of clothes.

Except maybe these.

What Can We Say About Icelandair?

Most airlines are engaged in a form of commerce; they provide transportation, food, entertainment and pillows in exchange for progressively smaller sums of money.  

Then there's Icelandair.  Sure, they'll

take your money and move you and your bag to and from Reykjavik.  But fundamentally this is less an airline than a flying tourist bureau and language lab.  

Most non-Scandinavian passengers get on the plane knowing next to nothing about their destination, and Icelandair has only seven short hours to change that.  They make the most of them. 

Every scrap of printable surface in the aircraft -- from napkins and headrest covers to the lids of the in-flight meal boxes -- is inscribed with whimsical lessons in Icelandic vocabulary. 

The in-flight entertainment seems able to  accommodate virtually every Icelandic film ever made, with room to spare for recent Hollywood hits, while documentaries scour every corner of this geothermal superpower.   Whale-watching brochures line the seat pockets.  Each in-flight food item

is named for "common natural phenomenon in Iceland" -- including, apparently, "Fabrikkusmáborgar meo fabbrikkusósu" (translated as "3 mini burgers with Factory Sauce").  

The unrelenting and supra-liminal message of this sermon (Visit Iceland!) is being delivered to a choir that, 30,000 feet over Baffin Bay, could not possibly be more committed to doing so. 

Ready to Roll

The Falvys have never traveled this light, not even for a weekend. 

After all the planning and anticipation, now it's all in the hands of Icelandair. 

The boys are locked and loaded.