Your questions answered, episode III

Alright, so where were we? ~ Yes...

From gkb:

As someone who lived in North America and returned to reside in Iceland, what differences do you notice most between the two places (both good and bad, of course)? Apropos of this, what commentary, suggestions, or advice might you have for someone who is considering moving to Iceland?

~ There are loads of differences, I couldn't even begin to list them all, so I'll mention the first that comes to mind: it's a lot easier to meet people and make friends in North America than here. Icelanders are notoriously reticent, they have very set social circles usually made up of people they went to school with, and they seem to sort of fall into an easy pattern of socializing with the same people all the time. It can be incredibly difficult to penetrate that; however, if you do manage to make friends with Icelanders they are generally your friends for life and incredibly loyal. So my advice - if you're serious about staying here, give it time. It takes ages to integrate.

From Ruth:

Just wondering about how much time you spend blogging daily (reading, commenting, and posting) and if you ever feel it takes away from the "real" things you have to do in life to the point where you have short-changed these more important things and must cut back on the blogging to gain a better balance.

~ It varies. Maybe an hour on average. Let's just say that I get the things done that I need to get done [e.g. I don't let blogging interfere with my deadlines], but when I do have surplus time or a slow day I do tend to fill it with surfing the web or reading posts from my fave bloggers, even though the time probably could be better spent elsewhere. Writing posts doesn't take me a very long time as a rule [I'm a fast typist and things just sort of spill out of my brain, although I do revise, at least once], and posting for me takes priority over reading and commenting elsewhere. These days, for example, I'm scrambling to finish various tasks and assignments, and while I do post regularly [which seems to be necessary for my mental health, incidentally] I don't have much time to read.

From Steve:

If we`re not limited to one question per customer, what tickles yer funnybone?

~ Googlies! And EPI. He's the funniest guy I know - everybody likes to be around him because he's got this great sense of humour. And I'm lucky because I get to live with him. We laugh a lot.

From Don in Seattle:

I have been visiting Iceland for over 30 years, and I have seen many changes within the economy there. But nothing quite like what has happened within the past month in the Icelandic financial markets. Has there been a dramatic change in the daily life there, or is life going on as before? How is the average Icelander weathering this financial storm?

~ You know, it's bizarre. Everybody outside of Iceland keeps talking about this serious financial crisis that has supposedly befallen us here, that our banks are going down the toilet, the króna is going the way of the dodo bird and whathaveyou. Yes, our currency has depreciated in value, yes share prices have gone down dramatically ... but the same has been happening almost everywhere. Call me naive, but I don't think it's that much worse here than in other parts of the world. We've been told that food prices will rise by 20 percent in the next few weeks, but that's because food prices are rising everywhere. And yes, we have pretty high inflation now, but Iceland has had high inflation before and survived. I expect that some people are in deep shit because they've taken massive loans and their property, cars or whatever have suddenly depreciated in value, or they have foreign debt which has suddenly increased. However, the Icelanders are remarkably sanguine when it comes to economic upsets. Their favourite phrase is "þetta reddast", which basically means "it will work out one way or another". And often it does. So [to get back to your question] essentially it's business as usual around here.

From Jay:

I imagine the diet of the average Icelander to be high in seafood. How safe would it be for me, as a person with serious fish allergies, to visit Iceland? Is fish everywhere on the menu?

~ Well, unless you are so allergic that you cannot breathe in the air of fish being cooked [which I'm told some people are] you should be OK. Just avoid anything that says fiskur on the menu. There will be other options, for sure.

From Jon [via email]:

I am sure you have addressed this before, but how do you survive the gloominess of winter?

~ Jon! You've just reminded me that I never did get back to my loyal readers on the subject of the SAD lamp and its effectiveness, even though I promised to. [So thank you.] ~ To be perfectly honest, the winters here are deadly. For me it's not really depression in the mental sense, but rather an extreme sluggishness that starts around the beginning of November and persists until, say, the end of January. Problems concentrating, lack of energy, and boy is it hard to drag my ass out of bed in the mornings. I used to take massive vitamin doses with ginseng but I stopped ... and finally this year EPI and I went out and got the SAD lamp. I have to say, it works wonders. Within three days I was back to my normal self. My father-in-law got one too, and felt like a newly-minted two-shilling piece*. ~ Oh, and I also take cod liver oil.

And the final one, from Runa [via email]:

When I was young my parents didn't put up our Christmas tree until Christmas Eve as it was 'tradition' not to put up decorations until the 24th in Iceland (my dad was Icelandic and adapted the tradition to fit in with 24th/25th thing). We loved it and the neighbours thought we were weird. My mum was frantically rushing about on Christmas Eve when we were in bed decorating the house, on top of everything else she had to do for our lovely Christmas morning surprise on the 25th. So you said in your blog all the houses were decorated earlier - is this true? Was my mum rushing about on Christmas eve giving herself a mind blowing work schedule for nothing?

~ It is tradition here to put up the tree very close to Christmas, on the 23rd or the 24th. However, the other decorations go up much earlier, like at the beginning of Advent [four Sundays before Christmas Eve]. So if your mother was putting up the tree AND all the other decorations, then yes, I'd say she was giving herself a mind-blowing schedule for nothing. Or that she thrived on stress.

Okay! That concludes our little Q&A session, thanks for your input everyone, I'm feeling so much better now as far as the mojo thing is concerned ...

EXCEPT THAT IT IS CURRENTLY SNOWING
I couldn't believe it, I looked out earlier and everything was white. And here I thought we'd left winter in the dust already. With any luck the white stuff will all be gone tomorrow; in fact if it isn't I'm filing a formal complaint. Today was a gorgeous day as seen from the window, very enticing, enough to have you believe that spring was here and that it was OK to go out running in shorts and a t-shirt [like one guy I saw today - you've gotta hand it to the Nicelanders, if there's sun they'll take their clothes off]. Right now we have -2°C [28F] and SNOW, and sunrise was at 6.20 am, sunset at 8.41 pm.

* Yet another Nicelandic idiom.

The things I tell you. Really.

This question thing is easy, perhaps a bit too easy. And I'm sure it could get tedious after a while, seeing as how I'd have to be answering questions all the time pretending I was in the loop about all kinds of stuff and couldn't just rant about daily stuff, like the ditzy woman with wet hair who had her open [black] car door pushing against my [silver grey] car outside Bónus today while she pulled stuff out of her back seat ...

YT: Excuse me, your door is pushing against the side of my car.
LADY WITH WET HAIR: Oh.
YT: It left a mark.
LWWH: I didn't slam it against yours.
YT: It left a mark.
LWWH: [Wets finger and rubs the black mark on YT's car.] Yeah, well I didn't slam it.
YT: Oh, I see. You just pushed it.

~ BUT we still have questions, and here are a couple more.

From xl:

Do you ever get "island fever?" (That is, have the feeling of being trapped on the island and have to go to a larger space.)

~ Nope! I do not. I sometimes want to get out of here to see something new, immerse myself in a different culture, but I don't really associate it with being on an island. And after all, Iceland is big. A total of 103,000 square kilometres to be exact.

From Virginia:

Are Icelandic ponies like Shetland ponies, in that they are psychotics with Short-Man Syndrome, or do they have sweet personalities to match their utter cuteness?

~ They have sweet personalities. And incidentally, they're not ponies. They're small, but they exceed the official pony size and are bona fide horses. Be forewarned: 'Iceland ponies' is a term that should not be uttered in Iceland. Under any circumstances.

From Skúli:

I constantly return to your blog precisely for the things that you complain make you unhappy about it. That's what life is like - it's not focused. Then a question: would you agree with the proposition that style shows the personality of the writer?

~ First, thank you for the first part of your comment. Very reassuring. Second, yes, I would absolutely agree with your proposition. In fact, I am consistently amazed at how clearly some people's character shows through their writing. There's no way to hide it. It seeps out somehow.

From the Pharmacy Trainee [now a pharmacist]:

My question will be the sillyest of all and perhaps offensive (I hope not) but... Dont you feel that Iceland is worldwide knew (not only, but mostly) because of Bjork? (Oh God, that´s a question I´ve always wanted to ask an icelandic and never had the balls to make...)

~ Not silly and certainly not offensive. The question is a resounding YES. Björk totally put Iceland on the map. She did what the Iceland Tourist Board could not have done with a ten-billion-dollar budget. BJÖRK FOR PRESIDENT!!

Okay, that's it for now, I have to go to bed.

IT WAS A GORGEOUS SUNNY DAY, VERY DECEPTIVE
Because as soon as you went outside, it was absolutely freezing. Windchill temps well below zero. Tolerable out of the wind, though, but intolerable if you had it full-on. Right now -4°C [25F] and sunrise was at 6.34 am, sunset at 8.29.

Question time II

Okay, "On with the butter" as they say here in Niceland ... I asked for questions, you gave me questions, so here we go.

From Alisonl:

So my question: Is one child enough or do you wish you had more?

~ Oh, boy. I think I could probably write two volumes of memoirs on this one. Let's just put it this way: circumstances in my life have not supported me having more children. Do I wish those circumstances had been different? Yes, I do. In the meantime I try to be grateful for what I do have: a wonderful, smart, well-balanced daughter [who sometimes drives me up the wall] and three amazing stepdaughters that I adore. I would not have wanted to miss out on motherhood and I'm grateful that I had the opportunity. And by extension I have to say that I'm also grateful that my daughter and stepdaughters were spared the pain of having to take a perpetual back seat to a parent's 'legitimate' family. Because when a parent starts a new family with a new partner, the 'old' children inevitably get pushed aside. [Discuss if you like.] And that's one of the hardest things there is.

From Kathryn:

when are you coming over here to Australia for a holiday ?!

~ As soon as someone invites me!! Seriously, when I was little, Australia was THE place I wanted to go. I desperately wanted my own Kangaroo [Skippy the kangaroo was my favourite show].

From Rozanne:

Ice cream or frozen yogurt? Which do you prefer?

~ Gah! The toughest question yet. I can't decide. Sometimes one, sometimes the other. I love Haagen Dazs, for instance, but sometimes there's nothing that beats a good frozen yogurt.

From Stine:

You've probably seen the movie "101 Reykjavík". I lived in Iceland for two years (1993-1995), and when the movie came out I immediately thought "OMG THEY ARE FINALLY ADMITTING IT" - but when I was in Iceland in February I talked with people who did not recognize the way Icelanders were portrayed in the movie at all. Did I just hang with the wrong crowd in the nineties, or do you recognize it too?

~ It's been a while since I saw that movie, but I remember not liking it very much. I thought it just pulled out all the stupid clichés about Icelanders and magnified them, and I definitely did not recognize those people. It's not a world I associate with [but then I don't do the pukey Reykjavík nightlife]. So, I hate to have to be the one to tell you, but: you hung with the wrong crowd.

From Nicole:

What is the easy part of the blog?

The sunrise/sunset times. [Bet you didn't see that one coming.]

From Karen:

Any opinion on the schedule for Art Fest? www.artfest.is

~ Erm, no. I haven't even looked at it [until now] and I'm really a poor judge of these things at first glance. But EPI is going to see Wayne Shorter, if that helps.

From TheMonkeyMan:

Being half Icelandic I can't help but think the whole "happy nice icelanders" think is a crock of bullshit. From what I know of my own experiences; alcoholism is endemic, as is classism, racism and just general miserableness. Am I seeing a distorted view of Iceland or is everyone else?

~ It's the old story: you just can't generalize, can you? I can identify a bit with the 'classism' part [although to me it's more just plain old snobbery] but not the racism [as a rule] and definitely not general miserableness. Except, you know, 'some of the people, some of the time'.

From bibliotecaria:

how much of your own food do Icelanders grow? I mean, the growing season is awfully SHORT up there.

~ Actually, you would be surprised what can be done with abundant geothermal heat and a few greenhouses. Up here we grow tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce and mushrooms year-round. Plus we have all that fresh fish in the sea. From spring until late fall we also get domestically-grown bell peppers, carrots and other root veggies, broccoli, cauliflower and potatoes [I don't think I'm leaving anything out]. And of course we have this amazing lamb that grazes wild in the summer. So we actually get excellent fresh food here in Iceland, with all this pristine nature. The thing we lack, of course, is fruit, which is all imported, save for maybe strawberries. And of course we can pick our own blueberries and crowberries in late summer.

From Lucy:

what's your favourite building in iceland, both sentimaentally and aesthetically?

~ Do they have to be one and the same? This is a really good question, and I gave it considerable thought today when I walked downtown. I'm really fond of the old buildings around Tjörnin, like the Fríkirkjan church and the National Gallery right next to it. I also really like the Reykjavík City Hall, particularly the side with the moss wall. However, I think my all-time favourite has to be the old Reykjavík library building on Þingholtsstræti because it's beautiful and I spent so much time there as a kid. Unfortunately I can't find a picture of it, and I didn't want to take one today when I walked by because it's undergoing renovation and is all boarded up and stuff. I also love Iðnó, which was the Reykjavík City Theatre for years, because I had such happy times there as a little girl.

From Dumdad:

Question: In all honesty, is Iceland a nice place to live. Is it, in fact, Niceland, or are you just being loyal? Are Icelanders warm and friendly to tourists or do they just put up with them because they bring in money? Um, so is Niceland a nice land?

~ Again, you can't do the sweeping generalization thing. I'd say that mostly, yes, Iceland is a good place to live. It's clean and [relatively] safe and it's easy to get things done here. There's a lot of dynamic energy. And yes, I'd say on the whole Icelanders are very friendly and open to tourists. Others may disagree [or agree] but I find Icelanders friendly in general. It may be hard to penetrate their social circles, though ... but that's another story entirely. So, I'm not really being facetious when I call Iceland Niceland. [Much.]

Okay ... I gotta go, but I'm doing pretty good, aren't I? Plowing through the questions? There are a few more to go but they'll have to wait until next post.

IN THE MEANTIME
It started out with forceful winds and rain this morning, but then it cleared up, the sun came out and it stopped raining. Then it got cloudy, then we had a shower, then it became sunny again. Temps hovered around 5°C but right now they're 2°C [36F] and sunrise was at 6.37 am, sunset at 8.26 pm.

Blog food for the withered mojo

Everyone: THANK YOU. I love the diversity of your questions, and your comments. And your feedback. This interactive nature of the blog is precisely what attracts me to blogging over other forms of writing - I've learned that for me, at least, it's essential to feel that I'm not writing in a vacuum. So, thanks.

And now, without further ado:

From Bluegrass Mama:

Anyway, my question is: are you fluent in any languages in addition to English and Icelandic?

~ Yes, German. Although my written German is below average.

From Becky:

Do you Twitter?

~ No. I don't see the point of Twitter. I like to communicate with people, but have absolutely no need to be constantly informing them of what I'm doing in 140 characters or less. Twitter holds no charm for me. Lots of people like it, though.

From Ásdís:

Do you regard your blog as a personal space or a public space? I know there probably isn't a simple answer to this question, but I'd be interested in your thoughts. What I mean is that I have read about bloggers complaining about their personal spaces being invaded by advertisers, rude comments or some such and then others talking about how bloggers having to be aware of the blog as a public forum. It just seems to me that if you have to remind yourself it is public you don't truly believe it. What do you think?

~ Good question, and definitely no easy answer. I think the blog is mostly public, and a little bit private. I constantly evaluate what I write on this blog because I know it's public and that not only strangers read it, but also people I know. I sometimes joke that my life is an open book, but of course that's not true - or if it is, then only a few pages are visible. I definitely assess what I write here, and usually not so much to protect myself, but rather to protect other people, usually the people close to me. ~ That said, this is also a personal space - I write my own thoughts from my own perspective, and while I invite people in to comment on what I write, I also reserve the right to evict those who violate my boundaries or post offensive material. And also, as was rather abruptly brought to my attention a couple of months ago, I am responsible not only for what I, myself, post here, but also what other people post in my comments. ~ Now having said all that, I'd be really interested to know what other bloggers think about this question.

From Kirston:

What is cod liver oil and why does it make you so damn happy all the time?

~ Cod liver oil is oil processed from the liver of the cod and sold as a dietary supplement, either in capsules or as a liquid. Here in Iceland it's called lýsi and it's been a staple in the Icelanders' diet for years and years. Most children here have not-so-good memories of being forced to take lýsi [in fact it was administered in schools until late in the last decade]. It's been proven to be extremely good for you, something about the Omega oils and amino acids and vitamin D and stuff [which is why Icelanders were made to take it, especially in the winter, because our bodies take vitamin D from the sun and obviously there is a shortage of that here in winter.] All that good stuff is also said to have a positive effect on people's moods.

From Steve:

Drivers training...It`s not just a job, it`s an adventure!?! So how`s it going?

~ It's going pretty well. No major disasters so far. Student has learned to bring up clutch and take off in first gear without burning rubber and/or stalling. Can also back out of parking space. YT has gone prematurely grey, though.

From Elin:

Many times you have written (tongue in cheek, I think) that you are not "really" a Nicelander. You also write about a portion of your young life spent in Canada. Do you consider yourself a vestur islendinga? And what I really want to say is: Good. God. You don't consider yourself a vestur islendinga, do you? Follow up question would be what do you think of those of us who have a drop or two of Icelandic blood and who are obsessed with all things nicelandic?

~ I don't consider myself a Vestur-Íslendingur and never did. I lived far from the Vestur-Íslendinga community [in Ontario] and could never identify with it. I hope you don't take offense, but the V-Icelandic community seemed to me like so many of the other ethnic communities in Canada that lived and breathed a sort of a watered-down version of their homeland culture, that they were pining for something that didn't actually exist, and that sort of scared me. It seemed to be a kind of fumbling around for an identity, and I didn't want to lose my identity in that way. I needed to live in a place that had strong roots, not necessarily my roots, but strong roots, which you don't get much in Canada. Which is why I eventually left Canada for Europe. I love Canada, but I was - and am - much happier in Europe. That said, today I have respect for the Vestur-Íslendinga community - not only the ancestors [with their incredible resilience and tenacity!] but also the people who work so hard to maintain the language and the old songs and traditions. I think it's quite remarkable and lovely.

From Professor Batty:

What would an Iceland Weather Report blog post from 2020 look like?

~ Heh. To be honest, I very much doubt the Iceland Weather Report will still be around in 2020. I have no immediate plans for throwing in the towel, but I don't think I'll hold out that long [and if I do, I expect it will be in a different format]. But thanks for asking!

Okay! That's all I have time for tonight, but I promise to get to all the rest ... this is excellent food for blog, so again - thank you! I feel recharged.

AND OF COURSE THE REQUISITE WEATHER REPORT
It's very windy around here these days - windy and dusty. There's so much dust on the streets and the grass is all withered and dead and to be honest, it's not a very attractive time of year. Yesterday I went out for a run and it was super windy and all these little grains of sand got stuck to my moisturizer. Seriously! Free facial scrub - I don't know why people actually pay money for that stuff. Temps have gone up a bit, currently 5°C [41F] and sunrise was at 6.48 am, sunset at 8.17.

Ask a question, help YT recover her mojo

Ladies and gents, it's that time of year again: YT's blog mojo has gone AWOL. It generally happens in the early spring [why?], and it seems equally dire every time. I can't think of a single interesting thing to write about, I think this blog sucks lemons and get all oh what's the point because people aren't leaving me comments and stuff. I hate the layout and it bothers me no end that there isn't, like, a focus to these ramblings. My content is not specific enough, and that's probably why I don't have a zillion subscribers, because I'm not giving my readers what they want. And even if I were giving my readers what they want, what would be the point anyway? What the hell am I doing this for? Is blogging dead??

Etcetera.

So at this point I'm kind of tempted to ask for feedback, but I've done that before and know that most respondents will be polite and say things like "I like it just the way it is" and "just keep doing what you're doing", and that's because they're lovely people and probably don't want to hurt my feelings. So instead, I'm going to invite you to ask me a question. Something you've had in the back of your mind while reading this blog, something you've perhaps been hoping to find the answer to, but haven't ... or just whatever pops into your mind. I promise to respond, will post my answers in a separate post, although I do reserve the right not to answer questions that I find too invasive, or to say "I don't know" if I really don't know.*

That way I can perhaps better understand what you're thinking when you read this. It may even help me get my mojo back.

THIS HAS BEEN A WEEKEND OF WINDOW WEATHER
Which is what the Nicelanders call it when it looks amazing from the window, but you freeze your bitz off when you go outside. There has been not a cloud in the sky, but we've had a killer wind and temps around the freezing mark that feel like, oh, -20°C. Yesterday EPI and I went out for a walk [of course we picked the most badass-wind location in all of the capital area, like we always do] and it was so cold that by the time we got halfway around the golf course EPI offered to run and get the car so I wouldn't have to walk all the way [because he's the sweetest]. Anyway, I got up this morning and looked in the mirror and I looked like freaking Rudolph with the red shiny nose because when I'm in bright sunshine my nose turns all red while the rest of my face doesn't. [Note to self: pick up some of that stuff that lifeguards use.] Temps right now 2°C [36F] and sunrise was at 6:52 am, sunset at 8:14 pm.

* Please, no anonymous questions, and just one question per comment.

So, at the risk of sounding like a guidebook ...

The few days we spent in Berlin barely allowed us to scratch the surface of the city. Everybody raves about the culture there, but I didn't really get a feeling for it. I think a few things contributed: EPI being sick meant that we couldn't spend a lot of time wandering around because it was freaking cold, and there wasn't really any sort of street life. I'm sure going there in the summer would yield a completely different experience.

My impression of Berlin this time around was that it is a hard nut to crack. It lacks the ebullience of New York [people seemed fairly reserved], the seductive beauty of Paris [much of Berlin architecture is unspectacular - so much was destroyed during WWII and a lot of soulless buildings were built in their stead] or the charm of London [the Berliners don't exactly excel in the social graces]. However, Berlin has a remarkable undercurrent, and I got the sense that with a bit more time to delve beneath the surface [and to hang around in pubs and cafés], I would experience something entirely different.

At the end of the day, what makes Berlin fascinating is its history and the sense of how it manifests in its vibe. For those who don't know, West Berlin was an island in the middle of East Germany, geographically isolated from the West while still enjoying all the freedoms of the West - and then some. West Berlin had some laws that applied only there; for example its residents were exempt from military duty, meaning it attracted draft dodgers from all over West Germany. The Berliners were renowned for their liberal attitudes so the city became a magnet for subcultures: artists, intellectuals, drug users, homosexuals ... all gravitated towards West Berlin. That alternative, bohemian energy is still very much evident; in fact returning to Iceland with its rampant consumerism and materialism, its snobbishness and small-town attitudes, really had me yearning for the Berliners' lack of concern about appearances. It was really very refreshing to spend a few days there.

The city's most exciting [and trendiest] area today is without question Prenzlauer Berg, a neighbourhood in the Eastern part of the city with its own unique history. In the former GDR [East Germany] it was a slum, a melting pot of artists, bohemians and ex-convicts, who when they were released from prison were allocated flats in Prenzlauer Berg. The place fell into disrepair, most people yearned for flats in the newish suburbs of the city that had separate bedrooms and a toilet, as opposed to the old Prenzlauer Berg flats where the toilets were out in the hall, so Prenzlauer Berg became a haven of the displaced. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the area was the seat of the resistance against the East German regime and was essentially where the protests began that eventually led to the crumbling of the Wall. Today most of the buildings have been restored to their former splendor [although there is still the odd one that is a throwback to the GDR] and it's filled with cafés, trendy little boutiques and amazing restaurants. AND it has cobblestone streets.

So yes - history is everywhere, monuments are everywhere ... and I found none more disturbing than the frequent reminders of Jewish persecution during the Third Reich. Walking around one day, we came across small plaques embedded in the sidewalks ... they were hardly noticeable, but on closer inspection we saw that they gave the names and dates of birth of the Jews that lived in that location, the date of their deportation, and the name of concentration camp in which they were murdered. In one instance that we came across, the building these plaques referred to - just behind them - was still covered in bullet holes. A grave and powerful reminder of the horrors of the holocaust.

However, by far the most chilling testament to the persecution of the Jews in Germany was in the Jewish cemetery that EPI and I unwittingly came across in Prenzlauer Berg, just as we were emerging from the U-Bahn [subway]. The cemetery was laid to waste by the Nazis during WWII and it has been left pretty much untouched since then. Many of the gravestones have been defaced, and many are shattered and scattered on the ground, overgrown with vines. Standing there in the midst of all that destruction was an overwhelming experience. To be able to ravage the holiest of ground like that is indicative of such a deep lunacy that it simply boggles the mind. It was unreal.

Anyway. I was deeply shocked. And at the risk of seeming disrespectful, I'm going to segue from that very grave subject matter into something infinitely more trivial: our much-discussed toilet situation at the hotel. There turned out to be no cause for concern, everything was very decent, and in fact our hotel was fabulous in every way. We had a corner room on the 23rd floor with a panoramic view [windows on two sides] and while the bathtub was somewhat curiously situated sort of mid-room and had a clear glass pane looking out into the room itself [for the exhibitionists in the crowd] there was a curtain that could be drawn [after the applause had ended]. The toilet was in a separate cubicle [phew] closed off by a frosted glass door, and while the whole thing was kind of OPEN [i.e. the bathroom was not a separate room] it was quite tolerable. Although I probably wouldn't have wanted to share with someone that I didn't feel comfortable sharing a bed with. Just ... as a benchmark.

OK, SO DO WE GET BERLIN WEATHER, OR NICELAND?
I promise to return to Niceland very soon, next post in fact shall be brought to you from dear old Reykjavík. In the meantime the weather: it continues cold, temps 0 to -8°C with winds 5-13 metres a second, stronger at the south coast. Today it was windy with flurries; currently it is 0°C [32F] and sunrise was at 7.09, sunset at 7.59 pm.

Today marks a year since my mother died.

My wonderful cousin Signy called from Canada to check in, see how I was feeling. I'm feeling fine. I was a bit wary, a bit observant of myself, on the alert. But truly, it was just another day, although memories of the events that occurred one year ago today passed through my mind. I wasn't upset, wasn't sad. I felt serene, and balanced.

I wondered, now as before, whether my calm feelings about my mother's death were normal, or if I was just in massive denial. [I'm talking only about my feelings about her dying, not about the subsequent business around her will that dredged up so many devastating feelings and memories of abandonment and dismissal.] As time passed, I came to realize that my feelings were normal and I wasn't in denial. The truth is that I had said goodbye to my mother so many years before. I'd said goodbye in increments, and grieved the loss of her as a mother, in increments. In contrast to people who are in daily or near-daily contact with their parents, my contact with her was minimal, limited to a few times a year. So I didn't really miss her because, frankly, there was very little to miss.

There are other people who are in more distress today than I am, people whose lives were more closely bound up with hers. Including my cousin, who has survived cancer, in contrast to my mother, and who gets a bit freaked out by anniversaries like this. And she called me, to find out how I was. Whereas I probably should have been the one calling her. Never mind – I know she forgives me because she's lovely like that.

It started blowing from the north again today, freezing cold winds down from the Arctic. Not enjoyable in the least. Dragged myself out of the house around noon when my mind was going numb with cabin fever and I was desperate for a breath of fresh air. Hoping for something a bit more agreeable tomorrow. -3°C at the moment but feels like -11, and that’s 27°F and feels like 12°F. The sun came up at 10 am and went down at 5.23 pm.

Christmas reflections

I feel vaguely guilty. I'd planned to send out a very ceremonious MERRY CHRIMBOS! type of post to all my lovely readers, but instead I've hardly gone near the computer for the past four or five days and it's felt really good. So - a belated happy Christmas, and I hope your Yule was everything you hoped it would be.

Actually, it's hard to believe that only four days have passed since my last post. It feels much longer, which of course is the thing about Christmas - you lose all track of time, or at least I do. I can never remember which day it is or how many days have passed or where exactly in the universe I am positioned, that sort of thing.

It's been a great few days, very eventful, filled with joy and love and friendship, and happily a fair bit of LAZY. There's also been time for reflection, which is good. Earlier today EPI and I were talking about Christmases past, the Christmases of our childhoods, and he was asking me something about how some tradition or other had been in my household. And I had to remind him once again of our differences, which is that EPI had a "household" while growing up, while YT did not. Meaning that EPI had stable childhood and upbringing, a solid family unit, strong traditions at Christmas, etcetera, whereas my Christmases were all very, um, diverse. They were held in various countries, in various households, with various people. I've even spent Christmas alone a couple of times. And, if the truth be told, more often than not I was miserable at Christmas [and not on the ones I spent alone - not at all]. The Christmases I spent with my mother and her husband, for instance, in their icy cold suburban house, getting presents that were the cheapest they could possibly get away with, were absolutely soul-crushing. Just as an example.

So I developed a serious aversion to Christmas, and by the time I entered adulthood I basically put all my emotions on ice in December and just plowed through, hoping it would soon be over. But then, surprisingly, a few years ago my Christmases started to get better, and in the past few years they have been wonderful. A lot of that is about having a loving partner to share them with, and being accepted and incorporated into a strong family unit, which has been amazing for me, not to mention enlightening. Also, letting go of expectations has helped a lot. A couple of years ago I woke up to the fact that I'd let go of expectations about how things were supposed to be, and so I stopped being disappointed and disillusioned when things didn't turn out the way I wanted them to.* What freedom! Now I focus on enjoying things as they come and I only seem to have good experiences. I can't decide whether it was like that in the past too and I just didn't see it, or whether it's because I'm generally much happier and so am attracting happier experiences. Not that it matters.

And now if you'll excuse me I'm going to watch yet another episode of Grey's Anatomy on DVD and relish the fact that I'm my own boss and I've given myself the day off tomorrow.

WE'VE HAD THE MOST PERFECT YULETIDE WEATHER
It started to snow on the 23rd and it's stayed gloriously, magnificently white. I wish you could see how beautiful the city is with the fresh snow and the Yule decorations everywhere [of course some of you know just what I'm talking about]. Right now -1°C [30F] and the sun came up at 11.23, set at 15.33.

* Incidentally, I don't want to give the impression that this just happened automatically. There was a lot of work involved. But somehow I didn't expect that the rewards would be so great.

Score two points for the admission of guilt

Just a quick postie to say that US Homeland Security has issued a statement expressing their regret at the treatment Erla Ósk Arnarsdóttir had to endure last week. They also claim they're going to review their working procedures for people who arrive in the US and who face deportation, with the purpose of making improvements.

YT the cynic says yeah yeah, we'll believe it when we see it. On the other hand, they've admitted they made a mistake, and admit outright that the treatment she received was far beyond what was warranted in that particular instance [understatement of the year]. So - score two points for that.

Mokay! No weather tonight because I'm wasted and need ... bed. More soon.

Behind the veil and under the skin

I've just watched an unbelievably absorbing and powerful documentary entitled Afghanistan Unveiled, which reveals how life has changed for women in the five years since their so-called 'liberation' from Taliban rule.

Surely there are few places on earth where the circumstances of women are as dire as in Afghanistan today. There are so many war brides, and no social security system in place, so with the breadwinner gone women are forced to beg on the streets, enduring scorn and humiliation from the men who pass by. The reason for their poverty is never considered - they're seen as a virtual object, an object of shame. The reporter donned a burka and went out begging with a woman she'd met on the street, and we - the viewers - saw the world through the mesh on the veil, including the derision by the males who gathered all around. Frightening.

Herat, the most prosperous town in Afghanistan, has an alarmingly high rate of suicide by Afghan women who set themselves on fire to escape horrific domestic situations. Of course not all are successful - meaning they're horribly disfigured for life. One girl the documentary featured was twelve and was sold into marriage at the age of seven. She ended up burning herself from the waist down.

Afghanistan has the second highest infant mortality rate in the world. The reason? A woman needs the written permission of her husband and her mother-in-law to go to the hospital. Even to give birth. Very often they arrive at the hospital strapped to a ladder that someone is carrying, hemorraging severely from a ruptured uterus. They don't even have the power over their own bodies to decide when or if they need to go to the hospital. Obviously many women die in childbirth - and there's an unspoken rule that those who do are never spoken of in the town again. It's as if they never existed. And because they're not spoken of, it's as if the problem doesn't exist, and it keeps perpetuating.

When Afghanistan was liberated from Taliban rule and democracy was to be introduced, the West poured millions of dollars into rebuilding the country. That money seems to have vanished. There was an incredibly inspiring scene from a girl's school, which showed young girls running around outdoors, playing, laughing ... exactly how it should be [of course girls' schools were banned under the Taliban]. Only - the documentary didn't show much learning going on because there aren't enough classrooms in which to teach the girls. There are half-built buildings all over the place, and no money to complete them - despite the fact that the aid money was earmarked for projects like that. So the girls have to be taught in shifts.

One of the most heartwarming scenes was from a village in the remotest part of the country, the mountainous north, which was previously a Taliban stronghold. [Site of those infamous mountains where Bin Laden was - is - supposed to be hiding out.] The reporter was surprised to find a school in a tiny village, which taught not only boys AND girls, but also deaf-dumb students, using sign language. The lesson we, the viewers, got to see was about Afghanistan, about the abundance of the land, the quality of the fruit and vegetables, and how the children should respect their country. Afterwards, the girls all grouped around the reporter, clearly in awe. They then invited her to accompany them to their home - and the whole entourage set off, with two little girls holding the hands of the journalist [they were probably around 7-9 years old]. As they walked, the journalist remarked, in English, that she wasn't sure if she'd be let in to their homes, as the community was insular and not very open to strangers. However - much to her surprise, she found that there were no parents. These children were orphaned and lived by themselves. Their home was immaculate, and they were so open and joyous. They had dreams for the future - they wanted to get an education, and then work in the village, make a contribution. It was beautiful. Such a lust for life, even when they had so very little.

This documentary made a deep impression [can you tell?] - perhaps best measured by the fact that, immediately after it was over, a TV ad for a new Hagkaup department store came on, where to the soundtrack of some sappy chirpy song we were accosted by the lavishness of the available commodities. All those shiny-happy people wallowing in their over-indulgence made me feel really ill. I am all for prosperity and abundance, but sometimes the greed and avarice in this society really freaks me out. Particularly when I've just watched how the other half lives.

AND WE HAVE ANOTHER STORM ON
Calm yesterday, stormy today. A familiar pattern, no? Severe gusts of wind right now and buckets of rain coming down. Looks like we're in for a green [or red, as we say here] Christmas. Currently 10°C [50F] - sunrise was at 11.18 and sunset at 15.29.

More horror stories from the western frontier

So, the latest on the ordeal described in the previous post is that the Icelandic Minister for Foreign Affairs, who in my humble view is one of the most down-to-earth and unpretentious people in this country, and probably one of the least prone to intimidation by an unnamed superpower, summoned the US Ambassador to the Ministry and gave her an earful about the treatment Erla Ósk Arnardóttir was subjected to at JFK. The Ambassador gravely concurred and claims the matter is under investigation. To which our MFA responded that she expects US authorities to issue a formal apology to the woman in question, once that investigation is completed.

Incidentally, according to the US Embassy, Erla Ósk was treated the way she was because she was supposed to have a special visa, on account of having overstayed her welcome 12 years ago. Which the Embassy has not made a point of publicizing, even on their website, until - uh - now.

Apparently, since this matter became public, the MFA has received numerous calls from individuals who claim to have received the same sort of cantankerous welcome at JFK. Morgunblaðið has a short interview with another young woman who was deported on arrival at JFK last month [the interview doesn't say what for]. She was traveling with her eight-year-old daughter, and according to the report, the border guard shouted at her repeatedly asking what she was doing in the US. Eventually they were taken into Homeland Security and made to sit there for five hours. She was not permitted a phone call and nobody told her what was going on or what her status was. Eventually she was informed that she was going to be deported in 20 hours, and she and her daughter were taken to a small, dirty room with no place to sleep and food remnants all over a chair that was there. During the night there were repeated disruptions and guards kept showing up to check on them. "Everybody was incredibly rude and hostile. I was photographed and my fingerprints were taken repeatedly, nobody spoke a kind word nor told us what was going to happen," she says.

Hearing these sorts of stories seriously makes me question whether it's worth it to subject myself to the risk of passing through border control in the US. I mean, it's almost like it's hit-and-miss. You may get hauled in, you may not. I don't believe that I, personally, have done anything to warrant anything of this sort happening, but all the same I'm starting to wonder if there really needs to be anything substantial. Maybe it's enough that the border control people don't like the look of your face. I know exactly what she means when she talks about the harshness and hostility - when we passed through JFK in September we had to wait in line for about half an hour to get to an immigration officer, and there were several little fascists shouting at people to get into this line, or that. The energy in that place was incredibly hostile and unwelcoming, enough to completely set you on edge.

How very sad that it has to be this way, because - as has been pointed out repeatedly - the average American is a decent, friendly person, so very different from the antagonistic and belligerent people at the border. Maybe they could all just move to Europe or something, and leave the a**holes behind.

THERE'S BEEN A SEVERE STORM ALL DAY
And people have been advised to stay inside, hence YT is suffering from a serious bout of cabin fever. Elementary schools told parents to keep their children at home and police authorities issued a grave warning that people should not be out on the highways. We've had gusts of up to 40 m/s today [in case you don't know, that's a lot - 15-18 m/s is enough to give me pause about going outside for a run] and needless to say there's been massive damage to property. It's fairly mild, though, 5°C [41F], sunrise was at 11.14, sunset at 3.30 pm. Oh, and I think my SAD light is working! I don't feel half as draggy-ass as I have for the past month or so.

Welcome to the land of the brave and the free

I've just finished reading an unbelievably shocking account of the detainment of a young Icelandic woman two days ago while traveling to New York with her girlfriends to do a little Christmas shopping. The blog post in which she describes her ordeal has the Icelandic nation abuzz and has featured prominently in all the main media today. It's caused such a sensation that the US Embassy has sent out a press release inviting people to leave accounts of mistreatment by US immigration officers on their website [although after my previous dealings with the Embassy, I seriously doubt this will make a difference for anyone].

The crime that warranted such serious mistreatment was that back in 1995 the woman, Erla Ósk, remained in the US for three weeks longer than the time she was allocated as a tourist. Note bene, she had been back in the US since then, without any problems whatsoever. This time, though, she arrived at immigration and the officer saw something that he needed to 'investigate further'. I can just envision the mug of the officer in question - if he's anything like the grim and creepy guy we had check us into the States in September.

She was escorted to Homeland Security where she was made to sit in a cold fluorescent-lit office for five hours and was told that, because of her offense twelve years ago, she was being denied admission to the US and would be sent back home on the next plane. She was made to give an extensive report, her fingerprints were taken and she was asked questions that had no relevance to the matter at hand. She was not permitted a telephone call to let anyone know where she was or what was going on, and while she was initially told she could call the Icelandic Consulate in New York, in the end she was refused this right. While in that office she was searched, as was all her baggage.

While waiting she was told that she'd soon be moved to a room where there was a bed, where she'd be given something to eat and where she could take a shower. Yet before reaching this Shangri-La she was taken to another office, the same as the first one, where she was made to sit for another five hours. By that time she'd been awake for 24 hours and was exhausted. All her belongings were taken from her, although she managed to send one text message to worried relatives when she went to the bathroom. After sitting in a chair for five hours she was told that they were waiting for guards to arrive, who would take her to the room with the bed. That 'room' turned out to be a cell with a metal bunk and a single toilet. By this time she was famished and drained. A short while later she was removed from the cell, two armed guards put her up against a wall, a chain was put around her waist and she was handcuffed to it. Next her feet were chained and she was made to walk through the terminal like a heinous criminal in full view of everyone.

Next came a car ride lasting almost an hour, without her knowing where she was being taken. It turned out to be a prison in New Jersey. She was brought in in chains, and another interrogation commenced. She was asked questions like, "When was your last period?" "What are your beliefs?" "Have you ever tried to commit suicide?" She was also subjected to a medical examination.

Worn out, tired and cold, she was finally given something to eat, 14 hours after landing at JFK. She got porridge and bread. All communication with her was harsh and hostile. She was frightened and had never felt so wretched. She asked to make a phone call, and this time the answer was positive. However, her relief was short-lived; the phone was only set up for collect calls, and they could only be made within the US. The prison guard had her cell phone in his hand, but refused to let her use it. She spent the next nine hours in a small, dirty cell, which had only a thin metal sheet sticking out of the wall, a sink and a toilet.

She felt immense relief when she was told she was to be taken back to the airport; that is, until she was again handcuffed and chained. She begged to at least be spared the chains on her feet, but her plea was ignored. When she arrived at the airport, another guard took over and saw pity on her, removing the foot chains. Nonetheless, she was taken handcuffed through the terminal escorted by armed guards who took her to the Icelandair waiting lounge, and her handcuffs were not removed until she was at the landing bridge.

Reading this woman's account is absolutely gut-wrenching. Granted, she'd violated the rules back in 1995, but any discerning person must see that this kind of treatment is completely out of proportion to the violation. In her words, "... it was obvious that these people were dying to show their power. Little kings with a god complex."

I ask: if a woman whose offense is no more serious than this, what are people detained at prisons like the one in Guantanamo Bay made to endure? Innocent or not? For years on end? -It hardly bears thinking about. On the upside, Erla Ósk has had a massive outpouring of support - as this is written there are 409 comments on her post, and counting.

WE'RE IN FOR ANOTHER TEMPEST
We're due to receive one low-pressure area after another in the next few days. The barbecue has duly been brought inside - not taking any chances of it flying through the window. Right now heavy winds and precipitation, temps 5°C [43F]. The sun came up at 11.10 and set at 3.32 pm.

Almost flown

Last night, before going out to a concert, I said goodbye to AAH more or less for the duration of the weekend. She was going out with her boyfriend, was going to stay over at his place, then going straight to work today, then straight to meeting her friends for dinner. By the time she gets home I’ll be at the National Theatre watching a play, and I expect she’ll stay over at her bf’s again tonight. Then to work again tomorrow ... so I’ll probably not see her until tomorrow evening.

It has been the same situation for the last several weekends. Waking up in the morning to find her bedroom door open, and her bed unslept in. EPI and I having breakfast à deux. It’s weird. A natural transition – but still weird.

When AAH was around one years old, her father and I split up after a brief but valiant effort at living together. It was a tough time; I was more than a little lost, living in Germany, and having a baby hadn’t exactly been on the agenda. After we went our separate ways, her father moved back to the US where he was from and effectively disappeared from our lives for the next 11 years. I had no family nearby, hadn’t lived in Iceland since I was a child, and had been away from Canada too long to be able to return [my immigration status expired after six months away]. My mother, by then a Canadian citizen, refused to help me by sponsoring me back to the country that had formed me; I had no work, no support, little money, and a child to take care of.

In the letter that my mother wrote me, she urged me to, “... return to Iceland, the only country to which you have any claim” [where I was to “work on overcoming [my] two deadly sins: pride and arrogance” – but that’s another story]. The prospect of returning to Iceland terrified me; however in the end it’s what I did. There’s not been a single day in which I’ve regretted making that decision, even though it was incredibly tough going at first, for many different reasons. [Actually, that decision wasn’t really mine – in hindsight I see that it was really made for me, one of the many blessings in my life.] Assimilating into Icelandic society as an outsider is incredibly tough, as anyone who’s done so will attest to, and being alone with a child meant that I was socially isolated. The family members I had here were all entrenched in their lives and we were more or less strangers to each other. It was very hard for me to ask for help, so I avoided doing so at all costs, unless I absolutely had to.

Even so, I had the wherewithal to recognize that being with a small child 24/7 and never having a break was harmful both to me and the child, so I negotiated a deal with my father that he and his family would look after AAH for one weekend a month, so I could have a bit of time to myself – to sleep late, if nothing else. Around this time I met EPI, and those weekends in the early stages of our courtship became unbelievably precious. Every single moment was treasured and used to the fullest. On Fridays we’d normally meet up after work, buy something for dinner then go home to cook together, and if we were up to it, go out later for a drink somewhere. Saturdays we’d sleep late, have breakfast, maybe go to the swimming pool, then to a movie – sometimes even two movies in a row in one evening [we like movies]. By Sunday afternoon it would be time to welcome AAH back home.

This morning at breakfast I started reminiscing to EPI about that time. I remember how, back then, it felt to me like things would never change, that life would always be hard. It seems so distant now, and yet time has passed so quickly so it's almost like yesterday. AAH is practically all grown up, and it's hard to know where the time went. EPI and I have breakfast by ourselves on weekends and it’s no longer a luxury but a natural development. And life is no longer hard all the time. Only sometimes.

WE’VE WEATHERED OUR TWO-DAY STORM
Although it’s still windy and pretty cold. I’m still afflicted with this icky cold and as you can tell I’m getting all morose and reflective in absence of my endorphin fix. Temps are –3°C at the moment [27F]. Sunrise this morning was at 10.44 and sunset at 3.48 pm. – Incidentally! It’s a Big Day for Niceland today, being the anniversary of the day we were awarded Home Rule from Denmark, back in 1918.

DeCode Me: evil offspring of pop culture and genetics? Discuss.

So, old deCODE Genetics, winner of Iceland’s Most Clever PR Campaign Ever*, has come up with an ingenious new strategy to drive up their share prices: deCODE Me, the Personal Genome Scan. The rock ‘n roll of genetics studies, if you will.

You have to admit it’s quite brilliant. For the nominal fee of USD 985 [or around ISK 60K] you’ll be sent a stick in the mail with which to take a swab of the inside of your cheek. You then mail this back to deCODE who will scan your sample for over a million variants in your genome. This will provide you with information about your genetic predisposition for developing a whole slew of diseases, not to mention endless family fun or, as the deCODE website suggests, “Invite friends and family, compare your genomes!” [Exclamation mark added by YT because they forgot.]

OK, so I’ll admit some people will find it useful to know if they’re, say, 87 percent more likely to develop Alzheimers than their next-door neighbour. They might even find it a matter of interest to see if some form of cancer is likely to come knocking on their door at some time in the future, and what they might do to prevent this. [Although since one in three people develop cancer during their lifetime you could probably save yourself the thousand bucks and figure that one out yourself.]

What concerns me, though, is the old self-fulfilling prophecy. I mean, isn’t there a risk that you’ll become so convinced of your propensity for, say, manflu, that you wind up getting it? And also that, if you’re always focusing on the possibility of disease and what you might do to prevent it, you’ll spend your time in fear and seriously diminish my quality of your life?

So far, around 60 people in Iceland have ordered their swab sticks [and are presumably holding family parties to compare their genomes as we speak]. Personally I think I’m going to hold onto my ISK 60K for now and just continue living the healthy life I live anyway, free from the looming threat of disease.

WE’RE NOT FREE FROM THE LOOMING THREAT OF A STORM, THOUGH
It started last night, and it’s still in effect for the rest of the day. We’ve had massive winds and last night as we were leaving the Reykjavík City Theatre [after watching the most incredibly affecting and moving play of my life, Dagur vonar, if you’re in Iceland and understand Icelandic, go see it] the rain was coming down in horizontal sheets. Right now there’s a hint of diffused sunlight out there but the trees and bushes are dancing and swaying like mad. Temps 6°C [43F], sunrise was at 10:42 am and sunset due for 3.50 pm.

* sez The Iceland Weather Report.

The most delicate of winter days

It was such a gorgeous day today - sunny, cold, crisp, and totally calm. I went out at lunchtime and for once remembered to take my camera with me. Everything was covered in a fine veneer of frost - the stones, the seaweed down on the shore, the vegetation, even the footprints in the sand.

There were lots of swans on the sea looking a bit lost, probably wandered off from the nearby pond which was pretty much frozen over. As soon as I passed they came swimming towards me, looking for handouts, no doubt [alas, had I known they'd be there I'd have stuffed some bread into my pockets as well]. These guys virtually accosted me, swimming right up to the shore and even walking up towards me as I pointed the camera. They're spoiled - accustomed to being fed by the locals. Surprised they haven't migrated to Scotland for the winter - I guess with global warming they find it just as easy to stay here.

Right now 1°C [39F] and the sun came up at 10.17 am, set at 4.09 pm.

The lack of witty titles? Blame SAD

Ohboy. Some of us are really feelings the effects of SAD season around here. This is the toughest time of the year, if you ask me, and if I were still prone to the sort of depression I used to get, I’d probably be pulling a Virginia Woolf right about now. Either that or getting ready to leave the country.

When I was in my early 20s [back in the mid-80s] I packed up all my stuff in Canada one year and moved back to Niceland to live. It wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped it would be, for various reasons, and I have to say that this time of year almost did me in.

The clincher was that, right around this time, as the winter darkness closed in with all its claustrophobia and gloom, the civil workers decided to go on strike. Can you envision just what that means in a country so geographically isolated? Bad enough was the no garbage pick-up, no buses running [I had no car so I was kinda screwed], no radio, no television [both were state-run at the time], and no newspapers [by some fluke the newspaper workers chose that time to strike as well]. It also meant no customs officers working, so no products could be delivered into the country, and bit by bit the stores started running out of stuff [keep in mind that virtually everything is imported around here]. Bananas were the first to go, then cigarettes. I remember sitting at work, sharing a cigarette with my co-worker at regular intervals, and smoking it absolutely down to the filter while panicking at the realization that soon there would be no tobacco left in the entire country. As the strike wore on, gasoline supplies dwindled fast, and the day after it officially ended – about four weeks after it started – the petrol stations were due to shut down for lack of supplies. Suffice it to say that this was probably the most depressing and demoralizing time I’ve ever lived, not to mention the darkest. And by the end of November, I’d packed all my things into boxes again and moved back to Canada.

Thankfully Iceland has undergone a remarkable transformation in the two decades that have passed ... but this time of year is always a struggle, simply because the lack of daylight causes certain physical symptoms that are hard to avoid. Concentration problems, inertia, fatigue, slight nausea, and a proneness to picking up whatever virus seems to be making the rounds are just some of them. I don’t tend to get psychologically depressed anymore, just kind of psychologically wasted, lose my train of thought a lot, that kind of thing. [Did I already say that?]

Lately I’ve heard a lot of people saying they try to make a point of going outside at least once a day to help them with SAD. Try to make a point? To me, that’s like saying, ‘Oh I try to make a point of eating some food every day to help with the starvation.’ If I didn’t got outside once a day for some fresh air and exercise, not to mention daylight, I’d be fit for the looney bin, that much I know. So yeah – daily runs during lunch hour or strolls along the seashore, preferably with my eyes open as wide as possible to allow the daylight in. Yet another perk of being self-employed.

AND DARK OVERCAST DAYS LIKE TODAY DON’T HELP
Actually, back in the days when we used to have snow in the winter, SAD wasn’t as much of an issue. Snow can be a pain, but it certainly helps light up the winter darkness. As do the Christmas lights, which is why in December the Greater Reykjavík Area probably looks like a huge, bright, multicoloured Christmas ornament from space. It started off all drizzly and mild, but it cooled down as the day wore on and right now it’s 3°C [39F], and sunrise was at 10:11 am [Gah! It’ll be more than an hour later before we’re done], with sunset at 4.14 pm.

Three

Today, October 20, marks a full three years since I started this blog. So to commemorate the occasion, I’ve decided that today’s post shall be about ... blogging.

1. Blogging is the most superexcellent hobby in the world in my opinion. Even so, I often get in a total blogfunk and wonder why the hell I bother. Like when, say, 300 people log on, but only two stroke my ego by leaving a comment. I’ve often pondered the reasons why this blog has such a low comment-to-visit ratio, and come up with a multitude of possible explanations, none of which are satisfactory. After all, we bloggers do it for love – but we’re really in it for the comments. So – yes, more comments would be nice. Even if just for today.

2. There are some wonderful people out there who almost always leave a comment, and to them I now blow a big Cyberspace kiss and say THANK YOU, if it wasn’t for you I’d probably have packed it in ages ago.

3. Most everybody has a blog that inspired them to start their own. Mine was Mimi Smartypants.

4. The first blog I added to my blogroll was Jamie’s, and – fittingly – Jamie happened to be the first blogpal I made, that I actually met in person. That was last year, in Toronto, when I was on holiday and Jamie just happened to be passing through. EPI and I eloped on that trip, and just a few days ago, Jamie did the same thing with her s.o. at a drive-through chapel in Vegas. I’d like to find some serendipidous meaning in all that, but it’s probably just a fluke.

5. Incidentally, the whole business of blogrolls still manages to confound me from time to time. I’m honoured every time someone adds my blog to theirs, and still feel a vague sense of guilt if I don’t reciprocate. However, over the years I’ve learned that it’s impossible to add everyone [just as I’ve learned that it’s impossible to please everyone] and, in fact, the links on my blogroll have pretty much stayed the same for the past two years. My the main criteria for having them there is purely self-serving: they are – or in some cases, were – the blogs I visit[ed] most often. Since then I’ve started using Kinja and tend to add new blogs there, so effectively it’s replaced my blogroll, which nonetheless still stays up there, just ... because.

6. I’ve learned that making friends in Cyberspace is a lot like making friends in the schoolyard. Some people you connect with and they become firm friends; some people you like a lot yet only see from time to time; some people you admire but don’t necessarily have a connection with. And some people [e.g. those who email you with long, drawn-out treatises on the unsatisfactory relationship they have with their wife] you just want to avoid like the plague, for obvious reasons.

7. On that note, sometimes you meet really nice people in Cyberspace who have really enjoyable and worthwhile blogs and you’d really like to get to know them better – but you just don’t have time. Because, let’s face it, there are only so many blogs you can read in a day [or a week, or a month] because, well, there’s this pesky thing called LIFE that also needs your attention. And also this pesky thing called BLOG.

8. I’ve frequently wondered whether I should start another – separate – blog in which I write less about Nicelandic things and more about other things, that have more meaning, more depth, more value. Because, quite frankly, the things I go on about here are very one-dimensional and quite superficial and only showcase a small part of my experience and who I am and what I've learned. But then I abandon the idea, because a) I’m chicken and b) where would I find the time?

PLUS I’M GETTING A TAD WEARY OF THESE WEATHER REPORTS
But if I don’t write them, I really can’t call the blog The Iceland Weather Report, can I? I’d have to call it The Icelandic Report on Gratuitous Navel Gazing, which just doesn’t have the same ring to it. It’s been overcast and wet today – at first it was mild yet blustery, then at noon some horizontal rain was added to the mix for as long as it took me to walk from point A to point B, so I got soaked. By late afternoon the rain had stopped but the wind persisted and it was a nasty damp kind of cold. Right now 7°C [45F], the sun came up at 8:32 am and set at 17: 52.

Back-at-home blues

I've spent the last three days being jet-lagged ... it's amazing how much more difficult it is to go from West to East than from East to West. Also I'm sure that the Icelandair flight leaving NY at around 9 pm and arriving at 6.30 am local time after 5.5 hours of flying, meaning you pretty much lose a full night's sleep, adds to the hangover.

Whatever - I'm not thrilled to be back. I had an email exchange with Cassie this morning in which she said, "NY is addictive ..." and I think she's right. Even after only 11 days it's addictive. Something about the energy - it provides such a buzz. That said, I'm sure I wouldn't want to live there for any length of time, particularly not in Manhattan, as crowds tend to make me cranky, particularly crowds on subways, and crowds that make it impossible for you to walk down a street at a reasonable pace. Also, I've lived in a metropolis before [Toronto] and I know it's not all fun and games - if you're not a big earner your time is pretty much taken up with work just to pay the rent, and then there's hardly enough time or money left over to enjoy all the things the city has to offer.

And yet - something about the spirit of New York is now making me take stock and reevaluate my everyday life, particularly as it applies to work. It's great to get away every now and then and come back with a fresh perspective - and for some reason my perspective right now seems fresher than often before. Whether that's directly attributable to NY energy is questionable, but the fact remains that I'm ready for a change. I've got a couple of ideas buzzing around in my mind - only ideas at this stage, we shall see whether they progress to something more solid - however, just wanting to do something different is energizing.

Meanwhile, a reader contacted me this morning to say that he's been having problems loading the content of my page, and I've been experiencing the same thing. Anyone else out there? I fear it's the &%#$! service provider that I switched to a few weeks back - the one that has been causing me grief almost ever since. I'm going to have to switch back to the old one, I think, which means approximately two days' outage again - I'll probably leave it until the weekend when there is less traffic to the site. So be forewarned - if you show up here and can't find the page, come back in a day or two and we should be open for business.

All talk of New York and the mundane blahs aside - I went out for a walk around the golf course earlier and was reminded of one of my main reasons for wanting to live in this country: I can step out my front door and breathe the freshest air just about anywhere, I can walk one block and feel like I'm in the midst of an exquisite painting. Yes, there is something to be said for that, too, even when the clouds are heavy and grey and lying low over the ocean, and when the wind blows and the temperatures are around 10°C [50F] like now. Today the sun came up at 7:35 am and it will go down at 6:58 this evening.

Schmoozing

A couple of days ago, V. was kind enough to bestow on me something called a ‘Blogging Community Involvement’ award, because apparently my blog has the 'power of schmooze'. I have no idea what that is or where the 'award' comes from, but no matter – V’s kind words accompanying the accolade are the true award – or should I say ‘reward’. I always find it tremendously rewarding when someone says something nice about my writing and my blog, particularly when it’s said in a sincere way. In this case it was both sincere and eloquent – although I hasten to say that the eloquence is entirely optional. I’ve had people email me with heartwarming remarks that would probably never be classified as eloquent, but were lovely and touching just the same.

Having said that – and I certainly hope this isn’t misconstrued – I really don’t know what to make of all these ‘awards’ that seem to be floating around the blogsphere these days. They seem to be a dime a dozen and to have all sorts of names – ‘thinking blogger award’, ‘rockin blogger award’, ‘rising blogger award’, etcetera, and after they’ve been bestowed, the bestowee is supposed to pass them on to another five ‘rockin’, ‘thinking’, ‘rising’ or whatever bloggers. Remind you of anything? Send this email to five people, including the person who sent it to you, otherwise all manner of calamities will befall you and you will never be the same as long as you live. Oh yes. Those dreaded emails that practically choked cyberspace about five or ten years ago.

So – I guess what I’m trying to say is, while it seems that many of these ubiquitous ‘awards’ are cheap attention-grabbers [and sometimes money-makers], the sentiment behind them is often eloquent and sincere – just as were many of those well-meaning emails we all routinely and dutifully forwarded to our family and friends back in the day. And while I am definitely touched and honoured by people saying nice things about my writing, this ‘pass this on to five people’ charade really makes me cringe, not to mention the thought of having a bunch of gaudy squares of dubious origin cluttering up my sidebar. And anyway, I couldn’t possibly pick five bloggers to award, because I love different blogs for different reasons. Some for their stellar writing, some for their humour, some for their warmth and unaffectedness, and some just because they resonate with me on some inexplicable level.

RIGHT. CAN WE MOVE ON TO SOMETHING INNOCUOUS, LIKE THE WEATHER?
Sure. Guess what we saw this morning when we got up? Rain! Which meant there was only one place to spend the afternoon: Penis Mall. This time we focused on getting EPI some new clothes – that dreaded chore that becomes a requirement every two years or so, when the old clothes fall apart and/or become hopelessly outdated – neither of which EPI seems to have a great aptitude for noticing, bless. We hit pay dirt: he is now the proud owner of two very smart new jackets, a new pair of Levi’s, and three new shirts. Score. Oh, incidentally, guess what? Icelandair announced today that they will be starting regular scheduled flights to Toronto next spring, about 20 years too late for our YT to really take advantage, but hey, better late than never. This because of a new aviation agreement between the Canadian and Icelandic governments – and not to be negative or anything, but it’s about frigging time! Other Canadian destinations are on the drawing board, so all you readers in Canada who keep on about how you’re going to visit Iceland someday [you know who you are - wink] your excuses for not coming are rapidly becoming obsolete. Currently 14°C [57F] and sunrise was at 3:52 am, sunset at 11:13 pm.

In which AAH is made an[other] offer she can't refuse

Walking home this evening, AAH is surprised when a passing taxi suddenly comes to a grinding halt and a door opens. A woman's head and shoulders appear.

WOMAN IN TAXI: Hello! Hello! Aren't you [AAH]?
AAH: Er, yes.
WIT: Aren't you on the roster at Eskimo Casting?
AAH: I think so ...
WIT: I was just looking at your photo. Can you come audition for a NIKE commercial between 3 and 6 on Sunday?
AAH: I ...
WIT: Great. Wear shorts and a sports bra.

~

I swear, all of AAH's modelling career - such as it is - has been equally serendipidous. When she was around ten, she was at her friend's house after school one day when her friend's mother decided to take her friend up to Eskimo Casting to be photographed for their roster. AAH decided to tag along, and the mother called me up and asked if I wanted her to have her photo taken while she was there. "Sure," I said, "why not?" - Then promptly forgot all about it.

I remembered about four weeks later when there was a call from Eskimo Casting, requesting AAH come in for an audition. The cable TV station Showtime was intending to shoot their branding spots in Iceland. So I took her down there, and she was hired. She spent two days on location; I went with her on one of those days and it was both fascinating and incredibly frustrating. Not least watching my child swarmed by people [hair, makeup, cameraman, stills photographer, producer, etc.] for an entire day while I, her mother, had to adopt a strict hands-off policy. The worst thing was observing the ruthlessness of the industry up close [Director: TELL THE LITTLE GIRL NOT TO LOOK SO COLD!!!! - when AAH was wearing little more than a gauze dress in temps of around 4°C / 40°F] - and the most amazing/surprising thing was watching my little girl completely rise to the challenge and display a star quality that I never knew she possessed. But I digress.

Just over a year later, she got another call. This time the spot was for a US charity - can't remember the name of it just now - and again AAH was hired. That, too, she pulled off with panache.

Then last year, a Dutch stylist and photographer staying at a hotel where EPI's daughter was working approached her [i.e. EPI's daughter] and asked if she would do a photo shoot - they were bowled over by her looks [she's extremely fair and blonde and routinely gets followed around by tourists who want to take her picture] and wanted to make use of the amazing light and landscape while they were here. She wasn't in a position to do it, but referred them to AAH. They completely hit it off, AAH did the shoot, the people turned out to be lovely, paid her well for her time, and said they would send her prints, regardless of whether or not the pictures sold. They didn't sell - but true to their word they sent the prints, so AAH has some amazing shots to put in a portfolio, if she so wishes.

Anyway. While all of this is good and fine - AAH earns a bit of money and has some fun - securing a commercial that goes into nationwide US distribution does not mean the same megabucks here as it does in North America. In fact, I'm pretty sure that many of those US ads are shot here because costs for 'talent' are a whole lot lower than they would be in America [read: a fraction thereof] - where securing a role in a TV commercial is akin to winning the lottery. Here they can get away with using non-unionized talent that they can pay peanuts ... at least most of the time. A few years ago a woman in my hiking group - a seasoned, highly-regarded actress here in Iceland - secured a role in a US commercial being shot here. She was paid the same wage as unionized actors in the US, and in her own words, "Never have I been paid so much for doing so little."

IT WAS ANOTHER LEISURELY AFTERNOON BY THE POOL
And quite hot it was in the sun, too. EPI joined me and we baked until we could bake no more, then went to the Kringlan Mall on the pretext of going to the wine store and wound up buying EPI a snazzy new shirt and two ties. EPI is of the species of male who will spend his last dime on 'toys' [in his case guitars and stuff] while wearing hopelessly passé clothing circa anno. 1970 and/or shoes so hopelessly worn that the sole has split open and his socks get wet when it rains. So when we passed that menswear store today YT did some subtle prompting [oh! look! a sale!] with the aforementioned results. Score. Temps currently 10°C [50F] but went up to around 17 today. Sunrise 3:02 am, sunset 11:59 pm. Oh, and if you're in London and reading this, would you please refrain from getting blown up. Why anyone would plant bombs in delightful London is absolutely beyond me. Awful.