For about the past two weeks there’s been this ridiculously annoying HUM in our toilet whenever we flush it. It lasts for as long as it takes for the water tank to fill, then stops. During the day it’s not too noticeable, but if one of us happens to go to the loo during the night it’s like the entire building is vibrating. It’s embarrassing.

So YT finally got proactive today, hauled out the yellow pages and called a plumber. For the record, I looked for the number of the immortal plumber, hoping to entice him in for some edifying conversation, but clearly he’s become so popular that he no longer sees the need to advertise in the Yellow Pages. In lieu of that I picked the first ad that caught my eye, featuring a very robust-looking lumberjack-type guy wielding his tools. That’s my man, I thought, and dialled his number in similarly robust fashion.

He turned out to be an absolute deadbeat. If the sound of his voice was saliva it would have dribbled. I hadn’t spoken three words before he asked me in his saliva-dribbling voice if he could call me back in five. Surprisingly he did, but the minute I mentioned the word ‘toilet’ it was: “Uh, we’re really busy right now, call me back in two weeks.” Yeah, right. Whatever.

So, on to the next ad, which had no rugged lumberjack plumber in it, but in which the guy on the other end seemed infinitely more amicable, you know, as plumbers go. He said he was real busy right now too but that he’d pop round after work to have a listen to our toilet. ‘Yeh, right,’ thought I, not believing for a second that he’d stick to it. BUT just to be on the safe side, I called EPI and told him that at least one of us had to be home, there was a plumber coming over with a stethoscope.

I had a meeting to go to at six, but took my cell with me and had it on the table in front of me, on silent, just in case. Even though I had no faith the plumber guy would show up, but you know, JUST IN CASE. Halfway through the meeting, my cell starts flashing. Sure enough, it was the plumber guy, claiming he was standing outside our front door, wondering why nobody was answering. And I’m like, WHERE THE HELL IS EPI??

Turns out EPI was having a very loud jam session with his good buddy Eric Clapton in his playroom, the one you can’t get into without walking sideways because there are so many guitars filling it. So I called EPI’s cell [I’d left the meeting by then and was standing out in the hall, frantically working the remote control, a.k.a. cellphone] but nobody answered so I called our home phone number but nobody answered there, either. ARGH! The plumber who I thought would DEFINITELY NOT show up was standing outside on our doorstep, nobody was home, and no doubt the toilet was singing a fricking aria in the bathroom. So I called the plumber back, all humiliated, convinced we’d never, ever be able to get another plumber to come to our home ever again … and he’s like, “It’s all good. I’m in.”

So turns out EPI had finally heard the doorbell and let him in, with old Eric Clapton blasting out of the stereo and AAH [getting all dolled up for her final school dance of the season] fresh out of the shower so the bathroom was filled with steam. So EPI leads our VIP into the bathroom and flushes the toilet with flair … and – wait for it … wait for it – there was NOTHING. Not a single hum. Not even a vibration.

Evil, evil toilet.

So EPI did the only sane thing under the circumstances – he started humming. Like the toilet. Hummmmmmmmmm! … hummmmmmmmm! … perfect pitch and everything. And the plumber just sort of stood there and stared, probably wondering what sort of lunatic asylum he had landed in. At which point [according to EPI] he started furiously rattling off all the possible reasons for our [non-existent] humming before quickly grabbing the ISK 2,000 he said he’d charge and bidding a hasty retreat.

Meanwhile, EPI has decided to embark on a new career – he figures he’d make an excellent assistant professor in the Faculty of Plumbing at the Icelandic Technical College, making toilet sounds for plumber candidates to analyze. As for our toilet – well, it started singing again just after the plumber left.

WEATHER!

Started off amazing, like yesterday, but as the day wore on it gradually clouded over and by early evening there was a damp kind of chill in the air. Incidentally, the Reykjavík Arts Festival kicked off this evening, and you’ll never guess who is a special guest: Dr. Ruth!! [don’t ask me why.] She was interviewed on Kastljós this evening and showed that she is still in top form. Did you know, for instance, that after age 50 women need to use lubricant and men can no longer swing from chandeliers? Cor! I didn’t. Right now 6°C [43F] and sunrise this morning was at 4.12, sunset at 10.38.

Went to the end-of-the-year showcase performance by students at the National School of Dance this evening, held at the Reykjavík City Theatre. My youngest stepdaughter was performing … it’s her last show at this particular venue as she’ll graduate at the end of the fall semester and these performances are generally only held there in the spring. Anyway, as I sat there I started to get yet another case of the warm and fuzzies about living in Iceland because … THE TALENT. It’s amazing how many talented people there are in this country and how freely and exuberantly they display that talent. I mean, we’re a nation of 300,000 people, f’rcryingoutloud, and yet you NEVER sense that in the creativity of the people here. It would be so easy for this city or this country to be like any old outpost of the same size where people have no hope and no faith in their own resources or their own creativity, but instead it’s the opposite. In Iceland, virtually everyone is creative, and virtually EVERYONE believes they can do anything, even conquer the world. And as I sat there and watched these kids so full of energy and promise and just giving their all to what they were doing, I just thought YES! Just … YES!!

SCORCHER!

People: I got my first sunburn of the season today. It was fantastic. Went out to meet some colleagues for lunch and we ended up at the amazing Jómfrúin, which had tables set up out on the sidewalk. We were there for just over an hour, and I have a very fetching, sunburned half-moon on my chest matching the scoop neck of my American Apparel top. And it was HOT. At least 17°C in the sun. Right now it’s 8°C [46F], the sun came up at 4.15 this morning, went down at 10.35 this evening.

I’m feeling exceedingly smug and self-satisfied at the moment: through an ingenious act of cunning I managed to save myself ISK 10,000 [USD 126 / EUR 81] by a] buying a new pair of Asics running shoes on eBay, b] having them shipped to my stepdaughter in New York City, c] having the woman for whom my stepdaughter works as an au pair bring them to work on a predetermined day, d] having my father, who was there on holiday and staying near where she works pick them up, e] having him subsequently deliver them to me at home here in Iceland.

It’s all about networking, you see. Networking and planning. Oh, and visualizing success. Every day for two weeks I sat in a lotus position and pictured those shoes running towards me, running running across the land and over the sea, until they finally landed on my doorstep, rang the bell and handed me a symbolic check for USD 126. And my faith never wavered.

Anyway.

My father also came bearing a gift. A souvenir, if you will.

No doubt the more astute amongst you will recognize this as a peanut butter and jelly spreader, specially colour-coded to prevent error, and now that I have one, I seriously cannot imagine how I managed to survive all those years without. I must confess, though, that I was slightly taken aback by my father’s, um, thoughtfulness - that is, until he explained what was going through his mind as he chose this gift. You see, after I had moved to Canada as a child, I came back to stay with him every summer, and it seems that during those first few visits I was quite taken with the type of cuisine served in Canada, more specifically with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and insisted that peanut butter be added to the household grocery list. I don’t even know if peanut butter existed in Iceland in those days [it does now, but you hardly ever see it - it’s not a staple] and I can imagine my poor father threading the grocery stores looking for it, because that’s the kind of guy he is. Meanwhile, I had no recollection of any of this - clearly the impression made was more superficial than initially presumed.

But I treasure the gift, nonetheless.

HOW GORGEOUS WAS THE WEATHER TODAY?

Very. Primarily because it was calm and still - and as I keep saying, when there is no wind here in Iceland the weather is ALWAYS gorgeous. The sun made an appearance late in the afternoon and YT headed for a walk into town, metaphorically soaking up all the budding green everywhere. I planned to buy myself a dress [see how summery I am feeling?] but I could not find a single dress that cost less than ISK 28,000, and the only one I found that I might have wanted cost ISK 34,000 [USD 353 / EUR 228]. So much for that, then. I may be crazy, but I’m not insane. Current temps 8°C [46F] and the sun came up at 4.18 this morning here in the capital, set at 10.32.

Mindful of the fact that my favourite number is eight, and knowing that we have tickets to see Eric Clapton later this summer, and currently being immersed in Clapton’s autobiography, EPI is delighted to pass on a fascinating tidbit to our YT:

EPI: You’ll never guess: the Eric Clapton concert is on 08.08.08.

YT: No!

EPI: Sure is!

YT: Wow. What a great number. [pause.] Apparently that’s the second-most favourite date to get married on, after 07.07.07. I read that somewhere.

EPI: Yeah?

YT: Maybe we should have waited. [pause] Do you think you could divorce me so we can get married again?

EPI: [thinks] … No.

YT: Why not?

EPI: Because.

YT: Because what?

EPI: It could be a trick.

YOU’LL BE RELIEVED TO KNOW THAT WE SURVIVED THE WEEKEND

It was supposed to be all awful weather this weekend, as in: DON’T LEAVE TOWN IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE. Meanwhile, the weather has been perfectly amicable, even if the sun hasn’t been shining constantly [ok, hasn’t been shining at all]. Methinks we Nicelanders are getting so spoiled with global warming and everything that if there are clouds and rain in cards for the weekend, it’s automatically a disaster. It was supposed to be stormy, too … and it wasn’t. In fact there was hardly any wind. EPI and I took a long walk today out by the lighthouse at Grótta [3.52 km, 41.54 minutes, 11:56 min/km pace, 191 calories to be exact, according to my neat little Nike+iPod gizmo] and it was just great. Temps right now are 9°C [50F], wind is non-existent, and the sun is about to go down. Sunrise was at 4.22, sunset at 10.29.

A couple of months ago, when I was feeling a bit directionless in terms of this blog, I sat down and had a good long think about what I wanted to do. It seemed to me that I’d become increasingly removed from my original intent when I started, i.e. to write about what it is like to live up on this little North Atlantic rock known as Niceland. While my guiding principle has always been to post whatever I need to rant I’m enthusiastic about at any given time [which obviously accounts for the broad subject matter in this space] I still felt like I needed, not only a focus for myself, but also some sort of middle ground where the increasing number of Icelandophiles who read this blog could find something to their liking.

Enter my new idea. Every week or so I’m going to post a regular item called MY ICELAND, in which I feature something that I feel is quintessentially Nicelandic. It might be an object, a custom, a quality … it may be something that makes me nostalgic, like things I used to pine for when I lived abroad, it might just be something that people who live here – including me – take completely for granted, but which nonetheless is unique to this culture. This will be filed under its own MY ICELAND category, accessible to any existing or future readers. And – for the record – it will be completely subjective, meaning I won’t be posting the things that other people consider THEIR ICELAND, although, as always, I encourage your input in the comments section, or via email.

AND SO, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO…

My first piece of Iceland is this:

I ask you: is there any other country where the flight crew addesses the passengers over the loudspeakers with: Góðir farþegar, velkomin heim [Dear passengers, welcome home], as soon as the plane has landed? Something about that gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling every time. Perhaps the emotional significance I attach to it is a throwback to all the years when I lived abroad but felt uprooted and displaced. I don’t recall ever hearing another Icelander comment on this and would, in fact, be really interested in your input [- á íslensku ef það er auðveldara]. In any case it was always such a great feeling to land in Iceland and hear those words – welcome home – even though at the time Iceland wasn’t my home and hadn’t been for years and I had no conscious intention of making it home. It was sort of like a warm embrace. Home.

Of course when you look beyond that, you see that the significance of this little custom is inextricably tied to the Icelandic language. It assumes that if you understand Icelandic – a language spoken by so few people – you’re automatically home, with your tribe. Which is why so many people always cite the language as the major defining aspect of being Icelandic – the language defines us, as a nation. But that’s a subject for another post, perhaps.

MEANWHILE, IT IS OVERCAST AND BLUSTERY

With the odd showers, but relatively mild temps. We’re in the midst of a long holiday weekend here [Whitsun – what’s it about? – haven’t a clue] and I expect a lot of people bailed on camping and the outdoors on account of the weather, opting instead for cleaning out the garage and such. We’ve opted for a dinner party [my eldest stepdaughter finished her VERY LAST EXAM OF MEDICAL SCHOOL last Thursday [!!!] and is off to Bali in a couple of days to celebrate with her co-students]; temps right now are 10°C [50F] and sunrise was at 4.25 am, sunset scheduled for 10:25 pm.

So, old John Fogerty is giving a concert here in a week or two and yesterday Fréttablaðið published a short article detailing his backstage requirements. Excerpt:

Forgerty has simple wishes regarding backstage accommodation. He wants two rooms for himself with tidy [!] showers, a sink and a water closet. Fogerty also wants good Internet access, two ivory-coloured bars of soap, a television and an X-box game console, in addition to a good selection of films and games. He asks for one medium-sized table, two smaller tables, eight comfortable chairs, two large mirrors and twelve dark towels. Fogerty does not want to see autograph-hungry fans and it is specially written in his contract in capital letters that he wants a large, clean [!] washing machine backstage, in addition to a dryer that he alone will have use of.

Ahem. Fogerty’s “simple wishes” notwithstanding, I must say that I tripped over the part about the two ivory-coloured bars of soap. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist [at least not a rocket scientist that has spent any length of time abroad] to figure out that John Fogerty has probably expressly requested two bars of IVORY SOAP.* A brand that, incidentally, is not available in Niceland. Pity the poor concert promoters. After scratching their heads in wonderment over Fogerty’s stipulation that the two bars of soap be ivory-coloured [like, aren’t 98.8 percent of all bars of soap ivory-coloured?] they will undoubtedly go out and buy the best ivory-coloured soap that they can find. Which, despite their best intentions, will not be IVORY SOAP.

Let’s just hope old Fogerty doesn’t throw a tantrum. Or - worse - refuse to wash himself.

HELLOOO SUMMER!

Today was a stupendous day, the first really superexcellent day of the season. Just an occasional hint of cloud cover in the sky - otherwise deliciously deliriously sunny. And warm - I was at the pool this afternoon [which was packed … overheard in the hot pot: ‘… seize any bit of sun - got to get that winter out … ‘] looked up and saw the thermostat was at 15°C, w00t! Plus there was hardly any wind. Flaked out on a sun bench and drifted away in spirit to sunnier climes. Ahhhh. We’re due for rain and storm during the upcoming long weekend, though. Right now 7°C [45F]. Sunrise last night was at 4.35 am and sunset was at 10.15.

* Clearly Fréttablaðið was a bit perplexed as well, for they saw reason to publish an excerpt with this very point on their front page. Ouch!

New look – again!!

I loved the rotating header on the previous theme, but I hated the way the content was cramped into a narrow column in the middle. I had planned to widen the column but then discovered that it wasn’t possible without a PhD in php, which I will probably never have. Solution: a new theme, that I hope will give my content some more breathing space. And with rotating images instead of headers.

Just – please – don’t let me turn into Michael Jackson!

So, dreamy prince Frederik of Denmark and his lovely wife Mary are currently on a royal visit to Niceland and are being trailed by a herd of photographers and film people eager to commit their various antics to celluloid [visiting schools, pretending to be fascinated by the old parliament site, being dragged around the Manuscripts Exhibition, attending lectures [him] and checking out Nicelandic design [her], etcetera]. As I’m sure all of you know, Iceland was previously under Danish rule and a lot of people consider the Danish Royal Family still to be inextricably linked to this country. Personally I consider all things royal – Danish or otherwise – to be frightfully dull and stiff [barring the scandals you read about in gossip columns, of course, heh], a belief that was further reinforced a few years ago when I was peripherally involved in a visit by a member of the British Royal Family to Niceland. EPI and AAH and I actually had the ‘honor’ of meeting this blue-blooded individual in person [gasp!] and even touching a real-live blue-blooded hand [double gasp!] and let me tell you, I haven’t been the same since. More to the point: I will never be photographed with such a rigid, semi-horrified expression on my face again, ever. BUT I DIGRESS.

Not that I want to bad-mouth Frederik and Mary – they are a gorgeous couple, almost too good to be true, like a fairy-tale prince and princess, you know, kinda. And apparently they’re big stars in Australia [from whence Mary comes, as I’m sure you’ll all know] – at least that’s what the posse of six or so Stralians that awaited them outside the Culture House the other day to get a glimpse of old Mary told Kastljós. In between persistent giggling they went on about how incredibly lucky they were to be in Iceland to be able to get so close to them because Australians actually make special trips to Denmark to try to see them, whereas here in Niceland you just have to show up at the Culture House and stand outside the door and they practically trip over you when they come out.

So here’s a hot tip for all my Australian readers: THEY’RE HERE AND THEY’RE OPEN FOR VIEWING. Only HURRY because they’re leaving tomorrow.

AND THEY HAVEN’T HAD VERY GOOD WEATHER

Still pretty dreary out there, except of course that all the clouds and rain serve to draw out all the green on the ground and on the trees, so yay for that. Also a big plus: there’s hardly any wind, making this the perfect weather for running, which is just what I’m going to do right now, as soon as I’ve pressed publish. Right now it’s 9°C [48F] here in the capital, and the sun came up behind the clouds at 4.38 this morning and is due to go down at 10.12 this evening.

A veritable GAS! craze has gripped Nicelandic society, with the cops’ GAS! GAS! GAS refrain from the other day being the expression du jour. It’s everywhere. First there was that hilarious ringtone, then it started appearing in newspaper ads for gas barbecues, and during a recent celebration downtown [First Day of Summer or May 1, can’t remember] popular rock band Sprengjuhöllin started shouting it in the middle of one of their songs, and the crowd went wild. It’s effectively replaced the most popular phrases thrown around in Niceland over the past couple of years, namely ‘Sæll!’* and ‘eigum við að ræða það eitthvað?’** - both expressions frequently – and incomparably – uttered by a total loser of a character in the sitcom Næturvaktin [The Night Shift] that absolutely everyone loves up here [think ‘The Office’ set in an all-night gas station]. So completely has the GAS! expression infiltrated Icelandic society that people are reportedly shouting it at home if they’re in a bad mood, in order to disperse the rest of the household peeps.

Gasman himself has remained decidedly mum about the craze he so unwittingly unleashed; however, according to today’s Fréttablaðið a bunch of sites have already been established in his name, on MySpace, Facebook and such. I can’t decide whether I should laugh or cry about this total absence of respect for authority amongst the irreverent Icelanders, although I’m leaning heavily towards the former. There’s something excellent about living in a society where something that is supposed to evoke the greatest fear instead evokes the greatest hilarity.

Or maybe there was just laughing gas in those cans.

IT’S BEEN A GLOOMY DAY

With heavy clouds and masses of rain. There was a slight wind when I went out earlier, but then it will be a cold day in hell when there is NO wind where I live, in the baddest wind-ass area of Reykjavík. Talked to my lovely stepdaughter on Skype earlier so I can tell you it’s currently 27°C in New York City. Here in Reykjavík 11°C [52F] and sunrise was at 4:42 am, sunset due for 10:09 pm.

* “Hello” [to a man]

** “Do we need to discuss this?”

Niceland seems to be a bit of a media darling these days, what with all the tales of our economic troubles, the big feature in Newsweek, and an article on page one in the Wall Street Journal, which focuses on our alleged obsession with big souped-up jeeps that have been customized to drive all over our rugged landscapes. The main gist of the article [if I understand it correctly] is that this little hobby practiced by ‘thousands of people’ here in Iceland is one of the casulties of the current economic downturn, as gas prices are making the cost of tearing up the glaciers and general terrain for a weekend about as much as that of ‘a weekend trip to London’.

Meanwhile, the truth is that the monster jeep demographic is a fairly small one [I don’t know of a single person who practices this hobby, even in my extended social network], and has earned itself more than a lot of bad press here lately by attaching itself to the trucker demonstrations, helping them block roads and such, thereby causing a lot of grief for the general populace. Whereas people were sympathetic to the plight of the truckers, at least initially, the 4×4 club, as they call themselves, just made fools of themselves. I mean, blocking traffic and potentially endangering lives [causing delays for emergency vehicles] just because it is more expensive for you now to get your jollies tearing around up on the glaciers? Get a grip.

Not that they had a lot of popularity to lose. Their vehicles are especially designed for offroad driving, and offroad driving is completely illegal in this country [tourists take note!] for a very good reason: our vegetation is incredibly sensitive and it can take nature centuries to repair damage inflicted by a single offroad joyride. Also, just last weekend a particular case made the papers, concerning a jeep flipping over and onto the mountain hut at Landmannalaugar, causing damage of millions of kronur to the building. The culprits, who were guides for an unnamed [not by me – I would definitely name them] touring company and who were seriously inebriated, hightailed it away from the scene [unfortunately for them there were witnesses] and according to reports the park warden expected them to return and own up – but they didn’t. An investigation is now underway and with any luck heads will roll.

So, whereas the economic downturn is a reality here and a lot of people are reportedly struggling, the WSJ is a bit misguided in highlighting this as something indicative of our current economic woes. Indeed, yesterday’s Fréttablaðið wrote a blurb about the article and cited a quote attributed to one Alfred “Spotti” Bergisson, who was “willing to fight for his right to party” and who told the WSJ: “I just want to go where I want to go … I get energy in the mountains. I think there.” Which prompted Fréttablaðið to quip: “It’s very good for people to think … for example, about their treatment of the countryside and environmental issues.”

APRIL SHOWERS BRING MAY BUDS

It rained yesterday, was sunny this morning, and is clouding over now BUT all the buds are emerging on the trees, which is delightful. And the best thing – buds don’t cost anything or carry any interest in foreign loans! [or tear up the landscape!] We’re in for more rain later today and tomorrow, but generally it’s mild and everything is turning green. Right now 13°C [55F] and the day is getting longer by the minute – sunrise this morning was at 4.45 am and sunset is scheduled for 10.06 pm.