Tuesday, 27 March 2007


Abandoned at Heiðmörk

Out in the wilderness of Heiðmörk, a park once out in the countryside outside of Reykjavik and now just skirting the newest suburban developments, Valentina and I spotted this poor left-behind suitcase propped nicely up against a bent old sign. You've just got to wonder...

Friday, 23 March 2007


Thought I'd bring us back to the city for a few. The note in this car says:

Forbidden We use this door all day -- EVERY DAY

I was intrigued enough by the sight of this piece of paper in the windshield to go back to the car and find out what was written on it. My curiosity only grew when I read the note: What door? Where? What exactly was forbidden? Did the owner of the car own the note or take the note? Did this have anything to do with the fact that the car was parked askew on a sidewalk in front of a residence? Within seconds I had decided it did, and scripted out a scenario in my head that included a little sex, a little violence and a lot of mystery. I took the photo, pleased with myself, and while I walked away the whole incredible fabrication dissolved, leaving me with nothing to show for my fantastic imagination than this picture.

Wednesday, 14 March 2007

Wednesday, 7 March 2007


Another fantastic lava formation brought to you by Nature, courtesy of Iceland.

By the way, this thick carpet of moss, so soft to lay on and warm, took an unimaginably long time to grow as lush as it is. It's a special part of our island world, a sign of constancy and soft complement to the harsh black rock it lies on. Treat it with care...it's most certainly older than you are.

Tuesday, 6 March 2007


Some poor child has lost their snudda, or pacifier, or dummy as the British call it. The word snudda is actually the kiddie version of snuð, and is even more often pronounced dudda by it's toddling advocates. Valentína's grandmother Ólöf, who was raised as a county doctor's child in the north of Iceland, near Akureyri, does not consider snuð and it's variations to be fine enough for her household, and calls them instead poot (phoenetic spelling.) This word was used while she was growing up, and she thinks it must be a Danish word. Dansih, you see, was spoken in most better households in the north of Iceland, at least on Sundays, until three or four decades ago. The Danes who had ruled over Iceland until the early par tof the century had been the merchant and educated class, for the most part, and speaking Danish was a sign of quality. Now Ólöf is far from being a snob, but she is a classy lady, and this simple word, poot(I unfortunately don't know how to spell it in Danish), was a small sign of class.

This is also one in my ongoing collection of photos of forgotten things. More to come...

Friday, 2 March 2007


I suppose you could say this image represents hope. Hope that Springtime will come once more. A nice thing about Icelanders, or at least about the current leadership of the city of Reykjavik, is that making an often dreary landscape a little bit more pretty is a priority. And by dreary I mean city-in-the-winter dreary, a cold cement leafless drab that basically happens anywhere above the 40th parallel north. With that goal in mind, the City of Reykjavik has gone ahead and topped midtown lampposts with these very fantastic flowers, in yellow and red. In another part of the city, by Hlemmur, the flowers are not just buds, but are opened as if feeling the warmth of some distant sun. The blossom-topped posts rise high as a kind of offering to the gods for the return of the summer season, and definitely add a touch of magic to our very chilly city.