Treehouse

A beautiful construction in the heart of Reykjavik!

I asked the owner of these houses (both the treehouse and the big, pretty white number that the hanging bridge links to) if it was ok for me to take a picture of this fantastic abode and he, very proudly, answeredJá, auðvitað, or "yes, of course." I can honestly say that if we'd had a tree like this and if Dad had built us a treehouse (which he could do with ease) I would have spent all of my time in it with my kitty, some cookies and a good book. Actually, I still would today!

Anyway, kudos to the builder of this childhood dream, located on the corner of Baronstígur and Laufásvegur, or just by the number 26 on this map.

Also, please visit The Travel Cooler, a very sweet web site dedicated to informing the cooler traveler about the world at large. If you stop by now you'll see on their home page that they've taken a little interview with me. This is the direct link to the interview for when my mug is replaced by a new one on the home page, bu definitely spend some time on this site...Anni and Dawn have gathered together some very good reading and excellent pix.

Dr. Spock

Our good friend Arnþór Snær, or Addi, or Chico Rockstar, took this photo at the infamous Aldrei fór ég suður or "I Never Went South" (or more stylishly, "I Never Went Down") rock festival in the northwestern town of Ísafjörður ("Ice Fjord"). This festival is kind of the antithesis to Iceland Airwaves, even down to being held at opposite times of the year. It has a "you want rock, come and get it!" feel, demanding that attendees hop on planes and boats and things to get to the isolated nothern fishing town that sponsors it. I'm sure the town was turned lopsided by the influx of power chords and guitar solos that churned throught the Easter holiday nights this past weekend, and that, I'm sure, was exactly the plan.

This shot is of Óttar Proppé, a friend of mine, who's by day a mild mannered buyer for a bookstore (and has even been interviewed by BBC World Service Radio for his opinion on the state of literature sales today) and at night the spandexed singer for at least two bands that I know of (including Dr. Spock.) Another classic case of an overtly multi-talented Icelander...

By the way, I occasionally get emails from people I call Icelandophiles, i.e. who are interested in visiting or moving here and are looking for information about our lovely Lava Rock. With their consent I'm going to post their emails to me here on this blog so that others can possibly help them out with their questions. Here's one from Fernanda in Brazil:

Dear Maria,

I'm one of the readers of your blog, I've first discovered it in internet looking for information about Iceland. I'm in love with Iceland and the idea of going there as soon as possible for few months. I'm 24 years old, brazilian and since 2 years ago with residence in Barcelona - Spain. I'm journalist and came to Spain to study documentary cinema. I'm wishing to go to Iceland on next april or may with my camera and computer. I still don't have a clear idea about my project, but I'm sure I'll enjoy to film (and live) in Iceland. My main doubt now is about work. I've been teaching portuguese here and I was wondering how hard would be to find a job as portuguse/spanish teacher in Reykjavik. You're English teacher, right? May be you could tell me something about the subject...

Kind regards,
Fernanda Baldissera

And here's part of what I wrote back to her:

Thank you for writing, Fernanda. I love getting emails from people who seem drawn to Iceland! I have to keep this short right now, but I wanted to let you know that there is a strong Spanish/Portugese community here...small but strong. I even know a Brazilian or two! Your best bet right now would be to check out the International House ( www.ahus.is/) here in Reykjavik. It is a great resource for people new to Iceland, and might be a way for you to find something for yourself to do while here.

Fernanda's email is feca_b@yahoo.com if you would like to (respectfully) write to her about her imminent travels to wonderful little Iceland.

Left

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...

Message

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.

Creature

Oh, the amazing things one finds out in nature...

Hraun

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.

Snudda

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...