January 2007

Hitherto, YT has not been known for her knitting prowess. Nonetheless I did manage to put together one Nicelandic sweater in the last couple of years that turned out so well that AAH actually requested one for herself. [By bizarre coincidence, they also happen to be trendy right now.]

Now, not being the sort of mother who spends her evenings sitting in front of the radio and knitting [much], AAH’s sweater has taken several months to complete. And I say that with the full knowledge that several of my esteemed readers are like sleek Porches to a ratty old Lada [i.e. me] when it comes to skills and finesse in knitting and are probably tut-tutting away at YT’s tardiness [kidding].

So last night, The Sweater was officially finished and washed and ready to go. Ta-rah!

Detail, in case you missed the gold part:




Incidentally, Icelandic sheep are known for the quality and the colours of their wool. Did you know that? Apparently there is no other sheep breed with fleece that is actually coloured, as in black, red, white and gold.* Also, they have a special type of fleece that is matted and very warm next to the body, with longer hairs on the outside to resist the wind and rain. Sort of like natural Gore-tex. All forged in response to the Nicelandic elements - because as Icelandophiles and regular readers will know, Icelandic sheep roam wild during the summer months and aren’t rounded up until the fall. Consequently, Icelandic wool has an extraordinary warmth - more so than wool from other breeds. And I’m not just saying that because, you know, I’m biased. I’ve tested it on my own body and I assure you it’s true.

More random factoids: My mother was the first person to bring Icelandic sheep to North America, at least during the last century. She flew over a couple of planeloads in the 1980s to keep and breed on her farm in Ontario and has returned every now and again for some sperm. [From rams] She’s quite a pioneer and has done amazing work in introducing and promoting Icelandic sheep over there. Very cool. If you’ll remember I took some photos last summer: here and here and here.

TODAY WE HAVE JUST THE SUMMER WEATHER ICELANDIC WOOL WAS MADE FOR
It’s windy and overcast and wet. We’ve had drizzle since early this morning and very little good the extended daylight does, since it’s all grey and gloomy anyway. Right now it is 8°C here in the capital [46.4 F] and up north in Akureyri it’s an incredible 10°C. And sunrise today was at 10.18, sunset will be at 17.05.

* I jest: they’re actually grey, black, brown and white.

So the local satirists have been having a field day with old Elton John’s appearance at the birthday party of one of Iceland’s nouveau riche last weekend. My favourite cartoonist drew a toon in Blaðið in which old Elton was in a queue with some African orphans, asking “Is this where you apply for grants to buy clothes and jewellery?” [on account of his ‘benefactor’ having launched a philantrophy fund on the very same day to help poor people in Africa]. And this evening Spaugstofan did this whole send-up with Örn Árnason sitting at the grand piano crooning Goodbye Yellow Brick Road...

“I’m not a present for your friends to open
This boy’s too young to be singing the bloo-oooo-oooes
Ahhhahhhahhhahhhahhhhh…”

[I should mention that the Icelandic subtext in that clip is not a direct translation but a total send-up of the whole situation.]

Guffaw!

Later, when EPI and I were idling about, he asked me, “So who would you pick to sing at your birthday party if you were disgustingly rich?”

Hmm.

Off the top of my head I said I’d probably pick Lisa Ekdahl [a dear friend gave me this CD for Christmas and I just love it] or Diana Krall. EPI said he’d pick King Crimson or Eric Clapton or Paul Motian. EPI: “But what if you picked someone Icelandic?” Hmm. That was a tough one. I finally came up with Ampop who I really like, and on reflection I’d probably pick Emiliana Torrini, as well. Whereas EPI would like to make up his own band with a selection of his favourite musicians. He’s such a sophisticate.

So who would you pick??

I’D PICK THE WEATHER
Especially as it is right now - mild and reminiscent of spring. Amazingly, now at the end of January we have an extra three hours of daylight over what we had during the winter solstice, just over a month ago. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be heading into the light once more. Seriously, I’m starting to think the Nicelanders are the way they are because they internalize the whole death-rebirth seasons thing so intensely, what with the going into the heart of darkness each year, and then back out again. Armchair theory, for what it’s worth. Currently 4°C [highs of 7 today], mild, damp. Sunrise today [Sunday] is at 10.24 and sunset 16.58.

Picture this: the Nicelandic government does the unthinkable, and lowers VAT* on food. The masses rejoice; after all, if you’ve spent any length of time here you’ll know that the most costly part of living in this most expensive of countries is the grocery bill.

So the changes are due to be implemented on March 1 and everybody’s all happy, and all these various bodies have already worked out how much the tax reductions will mean in hard cash for the average family. And it’s, like, substantial. And then? The frigging wholesalers start jacking up their prices. All surreptitious, like. Hoping nobody will notice.

Which basically means it will wipe out our tax reduction and we’ll be back to square one.

It’s so infuriating - and it happens all the time. Just like, when the value of the krona drops in relation to the dollar, and all the movie theatres suddenly jack up their prices, citing the drop in their profits. But when the value of the krona rises again in relation to the dollar - does the price at the box office go down again? Of course not!

So - disappointment on the food tax front. However, big props to the Consumer’s Association, who have published a full list of the wholesalers and suppliers who have raised their prices, including the excuses they’ve given for the hikes, on their website. And even bigger props to Bónus [a.k.a. Baugur, who have fought the good fight against the establisment on many fronts, including being most vocal about pressing for a lower food tax] who have decided to promote the products of those wholesalers who have not raised their prices with special displays in their stores. Well done. They’re not this country’s most popular company for nothing.

MILD, WONDERFUL, WET, FOGGY
… And once again great for running, now that the snow is all gone and the frost has left us. But - boy. It’s markedly more gloomy and dark without the white stuff to light up the middle of winter. Right now we have4°C and the sun came up at 10.27 and set at 16.55.

* sales tax, if you speak American.

Went to see Apocalypto last night. It wasn’t at the top of my list of films to see, but as the decision wasn’t really mine to make and I was sort of neutral about seeing it, I decided to tag along with EPI and R [EPI’s youngest daughter].

Now, YT is no wuss, and I’d heard it was gory, but believe me – fifteen minutes into the film I was ready to stand up and walk out. It was that bad. During the initial splatter scenes I basically just sat there with my eyes shielded and my ears primed to listen for an end to the slimy, slippery, suckly sounds of people being sliced open and handfuls of their internal organs pulled out. The extreme violence and brutality continued throughout the film – it was relentless and exceedingly barbaric, and in fact it wasn’t until I’d been watching a while and got used to the blood and guts that I started to realize what a good film it actually was.

For one thing, it was completely filmed in Mayan [language] and used many Mayans in speaking roles who had never acted before, some of whom were quite remarkable. The cinematography was highly impressive – one of my favourite scenes involved a birth, which I will not elaborate on further, so as not to spoil it for anyone. And although the violence was sickening in parts, it was never gratuitous – and the end of the film [which I shall also remain mum about] sort of put into perspective what the brutality was all about, and what the director meant to say with it. As a film it was clearly a major feat to put together so hats off to Mel Gibson. I know he’s not the most popular guy around these days [particularly in the US] but his movie-making skills are indisputable. At least to me.

NOT SO THE REVERED MR CLINT EASTWOOD
Whose film Flags of Our Fathers [known chez YT as Flags of Our Extras] we went to see last weekend. Now this was a film that I definitely would not have seen had it not been filmed right here in our very own Niceland. Alas, my curiosity to see how well the Reykjanes peninsula managed to deliver its role as the island of Iwo Jima in Japan, not to mention the way all those Icelandic extras would deliver their roles [mostly] as corpses lying on the black sand beach, got the best of me.

I hated it. It was a war movie. I hate war movies. It was also sentimental and sappy and I hate sentimental and sappy, especially when it comes from Hollywood. I think I’d been clinging to the hope that old Clint would bring some substance to it – as he has to most of his other films – but alas I failed to account for the fact that it was produced by Steven Spielberg, who almost never fails to turn even the most promising material into something sickly and saccharine. [Even Schindler’s List succumbed to sniveling violin music at the end, f’rcryingoutloud!]

To be fair, the movie wasn’t entirely about war – it was also about these soldiers who were sent back to the US because they were believed to have been in a certain famous photograph and they were needed to recruit money for the war effort. However, this was one of the film’s main weaknesses – it wasn’t focused enough, the viewer was never really clear on whether it was about the war, or about these three guys, or whether it was social commentary, or a documentary, or whatever.

Flags of Our Fathers got a shitload of bad publicity here in Iceland almost right from the start, and while I don’t think my impression of it was directed by that fact, I think it all came together in sort of a negative and disappointing moviegoing experience.

Yet while Clint didn’t exactly wow me this time around, I must say that he gets two thumbs up for making this movie and Letters From Iwo Jima, which is basically the same event – the battle for Iwo Jima – from the Japanese perspective. After all, war movies are not usually known for depicting the other guy’s side, particularly not the American ones. So yay for Clint, whose cool remains intact.

I’VE RAMBLED, SO I’LL KEEP THIS SHORT
Mild, 4°C, with moderate westerly winds. Storm warning in effect for later, in the east. Colder weather in the cards. Sunrise was at 10.27 and sunset at 16.55.

ABOUT MOO CARDS
I love my little moo cards. For those who don’t know, moo cards are little cards you can order online using your flickr [or any other] images – they cost 20 bucks [US] plus shipping, and you can add text to the back to make them into your little cutomized calling cards. I ordered a bunch before Christmas with the Weather Report URL on them and was so enthused that I’ve just ordered some more to use as business cards. Actually, I haven’t used business cards for years [so boring!] but I will definitely use my moo cards [so cool]. Indeed, how can you not love a company that sends a confirmation e-mail like this:

Hello Alda

I’m little MOO - the bit of software that will be managing your order with us. It will shortly be sent to Big MOO, our print machine who will print it for you in the next few days. I’ll let you know when it’s done and on its way to you. Remember, I’m just a bit of software. [Aw!] So, if you have any questions about your order, please contact customer services (who are real people) at: [etc.] Thanks, Little MOO, Print Robot.

… or who sends you a card with your order that reads:

‘Yay! You’re our new best friend.’

Yes, I know it’s marketing, and it totally works. Moo.

HANDBALL
OK, I’m not ashamed to say that I don’t know the first thing about handball, except that it’s Iceland’s national sport and that it’s played inside. Nevertheless, I have to confess that my little Nicelandic heart beat a whole lot faster yesterday when I sat in the living room and watched our national handball team clobber France at the World Handball Championships in Germany. While EPI screamed and shouted and punched his fists in the air and jumped up and down, YT calmly considered the fact that a) France has a population of [x] million people while we have 300,000 b) France are the European champions c) France were favoured to win the championships. Whereas Iceland … was not. [Whooooo!]

TULIPS

… Don’t they just remind you of spring?

WEATHER
Emmmm…. well, maybe not exactly enthuses. Even though the frost has gone and we’re up to temps of 3-10°C. Trouble is, it’s windy. And drizzly. And dark. And the beautiful white snow has all turned to slush and I got a soaker today when I went out for my run. Guaranteed to dampen any weather-related enthusiasm. But! Let us not dwell on the downsides of the weather, but rather on the … lengthening of the day. Sunrise today was at 10.35 and sunset at 16.45. Yowsa.

Back in the days, Iceland was a classless society. Everyone was equal [generally speaking] and everyone also earned approximately the same amount. In other words, the economic division between people was minimal.

Lately, Icelandic society has been awash with reports of such excesses in spending that the mind positively boggles. Let’s take the banks: last year, my bank decided to re-brand, changing its name from the pleasant, homespun ‘Íslandsbanki’ to ‘Glitnir’, which was supposed to make it seem more ‘international’. [The best retort came from Greavsie, who felt ‘Glitnir’ sounded like an ointment you apply to your nether regions.] Of course this might have been crucial for the bank – who am I to judge – but personally I would have vastly preferred it if my bank had lowered my bank fees rather than spending tens, if not hundreds, of millions of krónur to re-brand.

Also jumping on the re-branding bandwagon last year was KB Bank, which decided to change its name to Kaupthing, which incidentally has been its ‘international’ name all along. To that end they recruited the services of John Cleese to star in the most mishappen advertising campaign ever conceived, quite nauseating in its sheer stupidity. Seriously, the first TV spot had been hyped to the nines [before it aired] and when I saw it I literally sat on the couch with my mouth hanging open – it was that bad. Demeaning to this nation, and a cringe-worthy example of Icelandic national insecurity. [See one of three spots on YouTube here.]

Next came all the parties. One of the Kaupthing managers [whose name nobody can remember] threw a big expensive bash at Hampton Court Palace in the UK around Christmas for the bank’s big-name clients, that featured Duran Duran and also a bunch of Icelandic entertainers that he flew over for the party. Next came Glitnir, which threw a huge bash a couple of weeks ago for its key employees and its clients – 600 people – replete with top-notch entertainment, food and drink, including bacon and eggs being served at midnight so partygoers’ empty stomachs would not keep them from continuing their party antics, not to mention imbibing the free-flowing booze so generously bestowed by their hosts.

But the mutha of all parties came this past weekend, when someone named Ólafur Somebodyorother, Chairman of the Board of Samskip [shipping company], celebrated his 50th birthday. He began the day by holding a press conference in which he announced that he and his wife had decided to establish a fund to help underprivileged Africans, with an initial donation of ISK 1 billion [14.5 million USD]. They then headed off to the birthday bash, which kicked off with some of Iceland’s best entertainers, followed by a ‘special guest’ who turned out to be Elton John. Old Elton sat down at his grand piano that – naturally – had been shipped over expressly for the party, and entertained guests for an hour, before turning the stage over to Icelandic chanteuse Kristjana Stefánsdóttir with a Big Band orchestra. [How many wells could have been drilled in Africa for the price of Elton John’s hour-long serenade? - just a thought.] As a further example of lavishness, Fréttabladid today reports that the ladies were provided with a selection of perfumes in the loo [who wants ill-smelling ladies at their party?] plus a range of nylon stockings, should anyone be so unlucky as to tear their existing pair.

Now, while I’m all for people making – and enjoying – money, this sort of gluttony sort of seems completely out of proportion. I think local satirists Spaugstofan had the right idea in their Saturday evening send-up: A bunch of bankers are sitting around in a hot tub, bragging about how big their party was. Finally one of them gets up and says, “Here, check this out!” and pulls down his trunks. As in: ‘Mine’s bigger than yours’. Heh. Yeh. It’s sort of like that.

THE FROST IS RETREATING
And today for the first time in days I didn’t have to spend 10 minutes scraping that thin film of ice from the inside of my windshield. Plus of course another 10 scraping all the outside windows. In other words, it has been frrrriigid for many many days now – unusual in this era of global warming, but it’s due to get warmer. Right now it’s a relatively pleasant –2°C and sunrise is at 10.38, sunset due for 16.42.

That’s correct: today is the day known as bóndadagur, which literally translates as ‘man-of-the-house day’ or ‘husband’s day’ or ‘farmer’s day’ depending on how you want to interpret the word bóndi. This means you’re supposed to treat your husband or boyfriend to a whole bunch of nice things - kind of like Valentine’s Day, only it’s just for the husband. Whereas in February you have konudagur - ‘Woman’s day’ which is just for the wife. An arrangement I personally think is superexcellent - I mean, who doesn’t like having the focus of appreciation exclusively on themselves?

Coincidentally [or not] this day marks the start of the month of Þorri according to the ancient Icelandic calendar, which has a totally fascinating history that I blogged about last year and therefore will refrain from blogging about again. Basically it revolves around these Þorrablót festivals that are held all over the country over the next month where people imbibe a lot of Black Death [Icelandic liquor] and eat lots of rotten food - including putrid shark that supposedly has been buried in the ground for months - and generally get very drunk and obnoxious.

So today being bóndadagur, I of course gave EPI a full-body hot oil massage as soon has he arrived home from work, after which I proceeded to peel him a few grapes and subsequently fed him putrid shark, followed by a filet of lamb with sauteed apples, mushrooms and salad of greens, grapes and blue cheese, and some excellent Chateauneuf-du-Pape. And some Ben and Jerry’s for dessert.* All in a day’s work on bóndadagur.

Also decided on this day: who is the sexiest man in Iceland, chosen by a public poll on National Radio. Amazingly, it was not EPI who was chosen but Gísli Örn Garðarsson, an actor/director who has been doing some remarkable work both in Iceland and abroad with his Vesturport theatre company, including selling his fabulous acrobatic Romeo and Juliet production to the Brits, not once but three times. This is an outcome I can [for once] wholeheartedly support - Gísli Örn is amazing: energetic, bold, charismatic, self-assured, sexy, and with talent to burn. Not sure he is the sexiest man in Iceland [if such a title does exist] but he’s definitely one of our brightest stars. For real.

AND OUR COOL AND SEXY WEATHER IS…
Two words: freezing. windkill. It’s been blowing today and temps have been around the -5°C mark [for all you Farenheiters, that would make it around 23°F]. The sun came up at 10.45 and set at 16.32 and if you’ll excuse me I have some seriously sexy pamering to get to. Laters.

* Not really. I didn’t actually feed him putrid shark.

So, I got to thinking today that maybe I’d seemed kind of underwhelmed by my Swampy award yesterday because I wasn’t jumping all around the place going I WON I WON I WON I WON… like I probably should have, because I really did feel very happy about it. Just as, you know, you feel happy when someone likes what you do, and gives you a little bit of recognition for it, like when people leave me comments, f’rinstance [hint hint]. And also because I think Tim is a swell guy and very funny and I love his blog and I feel honoured that he bestowed the Swampy on me for, like, in his opinion the best non-British blog of 2006!! Yow-sa!

And then I got to thinking a little deeper about it [as I occasionally do. think about things. deeper] and I realized that the fact I might have seemed a little underwhelmed yesterday [which I wasn’t, as I’ve explained] was that my innate Icelandic-ness was sort of pressing to the forefront, that oh-so Icelandic trait that is completely uncomfortable with praise or any sort of attention or recognition whatsoever. Because here in Iceland … you just get on with it. It’s bred into our genes. Our ancestors who lived on turf farms and were cut off from civilization for much of the year and kept their animals beneath their living quarters for warmth and got used to not having anything to eat throughout the winter except the food they’d allowed to go putrid so it would keep better and didn’t know what fruit was and had to wash their clothes in the freezing cold brooklets next to the farm… they just got on with it, you see. They had no time for “Wow! You really shoveled that manure well today Jóhannes, and the barn looks spanking clean!” - no, they just got on with it. Much like YT just sort of … got back to business.

So you see, it all makes sense.

OKAY THEN! SPEAKING OF OTHER NICELANDIC TRAITS…
Today I got a call from a very nice-sounding man named Eric who is a journalist with National Public Radio in the US and who is here in Niceland to investigate just why we Icelanders are so damn happy all the time. [Do we have a reason to be happy? Hell no! We have a reason to be SAD*.]

Anyway, Eric [hi Eric! if you’re reading this] was directed my way by my friend Krista, who reportedly told him to get in touch with me because I have “an opinion about everything”. [Wot!? Surely a case of mistaken identity … all my readers know that YT resolutely avoids having opinions, as they’re too much damn work] So tomorrow I’m meeting with Eric and he will probably want to have my opinion on such issues as 1) Why the Nicelanders are the happiest nation in the world [there was some study done in Holland], 2) if Nicelanders are the happiest people in the world, why do they hold the Nordic record in consumption of anti-depressants, 3) why does the Nóatún supermarket always have a different price marked on the shelf to the one that comes up at the check-out, 4) why are Icelanders such horrible drivers and why do they insist on parking their cars diagonally across the sidewalks all the time, 5) why do the Icelanders persist in selling their beautiful countryside cheap to evil international aluminium corporations, 6) what possessed the Icelanders to build a large shopping mall in the shape of a penis in Kópavogur, 7) why is the Krónan supermarket so crappy?

And I shall probably be able to tell him.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE WEATHER STATION
The snow is still on the ground, meaning we’ve had sub-zero temps the last few days, meaning it’s been cold. There’s that pesky wind that exacerbates it all - which I hope is dying down soon. The wind is the worst part about living here. Seriously. Not the cost of living, not the atrocious service - the wind. If there’s no wind, the weather is always beautiful. Temps currently °C according to the mbl.is website, and the sun came up at 10.50 and went down at 16.26.

* Seasonal Affective Disorder. The greatest acronym ever.

The esteemed ‘Tim Stannard’ [real name Timbo] of Timboland, has declared The Iceland Weather Report the recipient of his 2006 Swampy Award for Best Non-British Blog. Whoo-hoo!

SoonthisoccasionIwouldliketothankmyeighthgradeEnglishteacherMr…

Eh? Time’s up? Waddayamean time’s up?? I only just got my… mfbldungsnmdg….

Thanks Tim!

OK. BACK TO BUSINESS.
So I went out yesterday morning all surreptitious like to snatch the poor little abandoned houseplant up into my welcoming arms. Only, when I went to snatch it, I found that far from being a light and airy little house plant like it made itself out to be, it was heavy as a muthaf***er, to the point that I was almost maimed beyond repair.* By which I mean that in trying to schlep it through the snow and in through my front door I slipped and sort of half-fell [yet still maintaining full dignity, please note], dropped the pot [which thankfully did not land on my foot], and pulled a muscle in my right leg. Plus on waking up this morning the muscles in my arms and shoulders were killing me.

So now the poor innocent abandoned little houseplant is convalescing downstairs in the laundry room. Although since it did look suspiciously brown around the roots, one is reluctantly forced to admit that its hope for survival is slim, at best.

Ah, well. We tried. Hope springs eternal, and all that.

THE WIND IS PICKING UP AND WE’RE IN FOR SERIOUS WINDKILL
… Seeing as how we have -6°C at the moment and the wind is set to be 10-18 m/s later today. So - cold, dry, with a thin cloud cover. The sun came up at 10.53 and will set at 16.23. And by the end of January we’re supposed to have three more hours of daylight than we did during the winter solstice. Phew!

* Imagine how heavy those clay pots are. Now imagine how heavy they are when filled with soil and water. Now imagine the water frozen, and you’ll get the picture. That sucker must have weighed around 50 kg [110 lbs.] Gah!