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By Gunnlaug Birta Þorgrímsdóttir from Búðardalur.
Here in Manitoba, Minnesota and North Dakota every single person has opened their arms for me and the other Snorris. It has been so sweet and I feel like home when I am here. The weather has been pretty warm and the mosquitos have been pretty agressive, but despite that the trip has been fabulous. Meeting my relatives in Winnipeg has to be the top though. These wonderful people Vaughan, Ainsley and Lorraine Bloomer hosted me and Vala for 5 nights. They told us many stories about their life and happenings and in that short time I made friends and family for life. We have also done some fun activites, we went to a zipline park, zoo, boat rides and interesting museums. At the stay in Brandon we got to see a musical ride whish was awesome. I had never seen anything like that in my life. In Winnipeg we visited the Icelandic Collection in the University of Manitoba. It is really remarkable to see that the library has a specific room for Icelandic books and treasures. Luckily for me I am studying Icelandic and have an interest in the language so I might be coming back to Manitoba in a few years to study here or perhaps teach. Being able to talk Icelandic to people who did not grow up in Iceland and did not learn Icelandic as a first language is really fun. Back when I was a kid I got mad because I had to study other languages to be able to talk to foreign people but nobody had to study Icelandic to be able to talk to Icelanders. Now I see that people choose (it's not an obligation) to learn Icelandic because they have Icelandic blood running through their veins and they are so proud of that. I had a wonderful talk with Rosalind Vigfusson, Jóel Friðfinnsson, John Johnson and others, and they all spoke nice and flawless Icelandic. This trip has changed me perspective on the world in ways I can‘t describe, I have made some promises about coming back here sooner than later and I tend to keep them.
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For me, one of the most interesting parts of the Snorri West program was meeting people of Icelandic descent and hearing their stories. It is amazing to meet these people. Some of them have been to Iceland 1-2 times in their lifes and they speak Icelandic fluently. Most of them learned from grandparents or parents. I also met people who wish that they had learned Icelandic. The reasons why they didn't learn to speak Icelandic are many, but I heard from more than one that parents had used Icelandic as a "secret" language so they could speak in front of their children and the children would not understand. Some people spoke Icelandic when they were younger but then they started school and just spoke English at school. It is wonderful to see how proud people are of their Icelandic heritage and many keep the Icelandic traditions, for example they celebrate Þorrablót and make food like kleinur and vínarterta. In the summer there are Icelandic celebrations in the USA and Canada and they take place on the same weekend. Deuce of August is a Icelandic heritage celebration in Mountain, North Dakota. It was the 117th time that the Deuce took place. We went to the Deuce on Saturday and participated in the parade with the newspaper Lögberg-Heimskringla and then we went to the Heritage Program, where there were speakers from Iceland and USA and a choir from Kópavogur, Iceland. Hecla parade was on Hecla Island on Sunday. In the parade, there was everything from Zumba dancing Viking to Icelandic X-files. The Icelandic Festival of Manitoba "Íslendingadagurinn" is a celebration in Gimli, Canada. It was the 127th time Íslendingadagurinn was held. We walked in the parade with Lögberg-Heimskringla, volunteered in the Snorri booth, saw the traditional program on the main stage and listened Fjallkonan, some speakers from Iceland and Canada and then went to the reception of the president of Islendingadagurinn. All of these Icelandic celebrations were amazing and fun to experience. It is great to see that people continue to celebrate their Icelandic heritage in this way.
A note from the editor: The Fjallkona of 2016 is Karen Botting, a former Snorri Plus participant.  Yesterday evening Vala and I went to what our host family (Barb and Eric) called “Music”. It was in Winnipeg Beach, and on the way there from Gimli we passed Siglavik, Miklavik and Husavik!
Every week, in a small café down by the harbour in Winnipeg Beach, people of all ages and origins gather with their instruments and play music together (mostly Celtic music). The youngest was a beautiful girl called Kate (she was maybe about 9/10 years old and was there with her grandmother and sister, all of first nations’ descent), the oldest an ancient looking toothless woman called Marian (I have no idea how old she is, but she plays with passion). They both played violins, so did two others and then there were people with flutes, guitars, Celtic drums, a ukulele and a strange looking electronic, strummy, keyboard thing. It was amazing. They played song after song. Jolly, Irish songs that made me smile from ear to ear. Some of the songs sounded like memories I had just forgotten, some also had Icelandic lyrics that Vala and I could remember and then we sang along happily (Lok lok og læs og allt í stáli, Þá stundi Mundi, Lífið er lotterí). When they played Ring of Fire everyone sang along and then Kate (the young girl) sang Folsom Prison Blues. It was wonderfully absurd to hear her sing about how she shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. They asked us for an Icelandic song and we first sang Á Sprengisandi and later I taught them to sing Ólafur Liljurós with us. They truly nailed the “Villir hann, stillir hann”! After more songs, including the Gimli Waltz (Kátir voru karlar) we all thanked for the entertainment and said our goodbyes. Vala and I then stayed a bit longer as we received an invitation to join a couple on their boat in the harbour. From there we saw two beavers eating grass in the twilight. What a wonderful evening with wonderful people. The woman who extended to us the invitation was of Swedish descent, the girls’ grandmother was part Scottish and the girl and her sister turned out to be part Icelandic. I don’t know what everyone else had in their genes but they all had music in their hearts. It was the perfect evening, one of many in this trip.  Rebecca Hayman from Kelowna, BC
My family decided they wanted to educate me on the Norse mythology of some of the local sights, We passed by Goðafoss, and Sigrún told me the story of why it was called Goðafoss or.. God’s [water]fall. The story is: "Þorgeir Ljósvetningagoði Þorkelsson {say that 10 times fast} was born in 940 and worked as a lawspeaker in Iceland from 985 – 1001. In the year 999/1000, Iceland had beenintroduced to Christianity and was in the debate between following the Norse paganism they knew or converting to Christianity. þorgeir was a pagan priest and had favored after Christianity but decided that compromise must be made –allowing, for those who wish too continue, the practice of the pagan religion in private. Þorgeir converted to Christianity andtook the idols of the Norse gods from his farm and threw them over the water fall – now known as Goðafoss." We drove into a canyon, the walls standing high into the sky and the rocks being in a similar formation as the rock walls we had just seen. The canyon of Ásbyrgi had a story of its own, one the Sigrún and Ottó told me about as we drove further and further into the canyon. The canyon from above, was sort of like a horse shoe, with a U-shape formed by the walls and the inside formation completing the look of the U. This U-shape reminded people of a horse shoe, so legend has it that Óðinn had a horse with 8-legs and one day that horse took a step and the ground sunk, leaving the hoof imprint in the ground. Of course I asked “do they know how the canyon was actually formed?” and apparently as Ottó explained it was from the glaciers as they were there, the land formed around them until they melted, leaving the U-shaped canyon. There are other explanations as to why the canyon is shaped this way, but this is the one that made the most sense to me when I learned some of the other explanations. The canyon is also apparently the home of the hidden people. These hidden people are also known as the “Huldufólk” and live among the cliffs. There was a little sign with a blurb about them there at the canyon. After a little bit more driving and a few stops, we pulled into another parking lot and followed the path down the rock stairs and got closer and closer to the the loud rumbling sound I could only imagine was Dettifoss. I had looked up pictures of the water falls and they looked amazing but walking up to the falls with the rushing sound getting louder and stronger until you were literally right there, right beside this powerful waterfall.. it was something different. I had never been so close to something so powerful and so strong before – other than ‘The Mountain‘ of course.. The canyon went on and on it seemed and the amount of water coming through the river, down the fall and into that canyon – can you image how much water that is per second – per minute – per day – per year!? Where does it all come from and how does it always have that power! It should be labelled as a wonder of the world. I imagine that Niagara Falls is just as impressive as it is bigger but.. this was nature, you could go right up and touch the water as it flowed by, you could feelthe mist coming up from the massive amounts of water falling below. You could stand on the rocks just inches from the cliff the water was running over. No rails, no cement barriers to hold you back and nothing taking away from the raw beauty and pure power that the famous Dettifoss was showing. I was in complete and utter ‘aww‘. I didn’t want to leave but it was COLD! We sped walked back to the car to where there was no wind and it was semi-warm! To read Rebecca's blog please go to: https://afreshsnorri.wordpress.com By Justin Gailey from Port Angeles, Washington
I spent a week of my homestay up near Geysir, the ultimate namesake for our English word “geyser”. It was a lovely area full of mountains, fields, horses, and geothermal activity. But what part of Iceland isn’t? I worked at a bed and breakfast where I got to meet a lot of interesting people from all over the world who were passing through on their own Icelandic adventures. It was especially fun watching the Iceland vs. England football match with a bunch of foreigners who also cheered Iceland on. Except for our English guests. They stayed in their room. I finished up my stay at Geysir with a trek up into mountains in search of some solitude and spectacular views. And man, were there ever some spectacular views. From the top, I was in the middle of a sea of volcanoes, fjords, glaciers, and rivers that seemed to stretch on as far as you could see. Iceland has a habit of reminding you at every turn that you’re living in one of the most geologically active and interesting places on the planet. 
By Kimberly Miller from Edmonton, Alberta Having grown up in the world’s second largest country by land area (Canada, for those unknowing of this factoid), where the population is much higher and considerably more spread out, and yet denser at the same time, Iceland is a funny little country. Not funny ha-ha, mind you, but funny huh-I-didn’t-realise-that-was-a-thing. I have been staying in Selfoss, a small-ish town outside of Reykjavik by roughly 45min in a car. The population is around 8,000 persons, and I don’t know how many horses. I have to mention the horses because not only do my cousins own seven—and had one competing in this year’s Landsmót—but so do their neighbours. And Icelanders have as much pride in their horses as anything else, so it is a massive sporting event. Unlike some sporting events however, where the human is the object upon which judgement is made, at Landsmót the horse is the athlete, and the jockey merely an accessory—or a way through which to judge how smooth a horse’s stride is. This year at Landsmót, I was able to attend for free in exchange for volunteering. It was during this weekend that I learned that, indeed, Iceland is a very small country, and makes the world feel exponentially smaller. Especially when considering my cousin’s wife went to school with Björk, and I am technically related to The Mountain. I also learned that, while the theory Six Degrees of Separation is all swell, it does not quite apply to this beautiful, fascinating nation. Here, it is much more like Two Degrees of Separation, or perhaps Three Degrees of Separation, if you really push it. I saw a friend also on Snorri over this weekend, and one of the guest’s staying at his cousin (of some distant relation)’s guesthouse is an instructor of some fashion at her school, and that he worked on the same farm as my cousin’s brother (so… my cousin). The world is a small place, my friends, and Snorri helps to shrink it just a little more! By Thomas Arnason McNeil from Halifax, NS
It is a difficult thing to define the people of Svarfaðardalur, Iceland. The residents of this small valley, just a few kilometres from the fishing town of Dalvík, continue to farm and raise livestock as their ancestors did. Despite their association in popular culture with “Bakkabræður”- a series of folk tales staring three notoriously stupid brothers- they tend to be practical people of many talents. Ask my cousin Kristján Eldjárn Hjartarson what he does for a living, and he’ll probably tell you that he works as an architect. But he’s also a farmer, an electrician, a carpenter, a performing musician accompanying his wife Kristjana Arngrímsdóttir, a tour guide and an expert on birds and wildlife. But then there are those in the valley who chose to pursue careers so singularly unique, so utterly impractical, and yet – somehow – essential to their community. “Have you met your ancestor yet?” Kristján asks me as we sit together on his back porch at Tjörn, the family farm. I shake my head. We walk a few steps to the small church next to his home, and as we come to the entrance he stops and stretches out his hand. I take it, expecting to walk inside as part of some strange ceremony. But instead, we pace meaningfully towards a rusted Iron cross directly facing the church’s doors. It is here that my great-great-great-great grandfather Arngrímur Gíslason lies buried. He had only one job, so much a part of him that it would become a moniker: Arngrímur “málari” – the painter. His tiny turf-roof studio overlooks the church, built in the 1870s out of cheap plywood. His frantic pencil scratching still cover the walls, splattered with faded paint. He painted portraits and church idols in an attempt to feed himself or repay others. As a young man, he repaid a preacher’s hospitality by sleeping with his daughter – Þórunn Hjörleifsdottir – who bore him a child. Publicly shamed, Þórunn was made to marry an older farmer while Arngrímur’s name was never spoken in the household again. Arngrímur and Þórunn would meet by chance several decades later in Svarfaðardalur, having each married and subsequently been widowed. Arngrímur’s name could still not be spoken in front of Þórunn’s bedridden mother, until one afternoon when she needed to be turned over. As she was quite heavy, Þórunn could not do it by herself – and all the men were out working in the field. As her mother was very insistent, Þórunn confessed there was one person she could call. Out of options, Arngrímur was begrudgingly summoned. The two were married shortly after. Their daughter – Petrína Soffía – would emigrate to Manitoba in 1895.
 By James Callahan.
Iceland is certainly different from Atlanta, Georgia. Having lived in Georgia my entire life, subject to the conditioning of America, I can clearly see the undeniable importance and inexplicable effect that living in Iceland has had, is having, and will have on my entire life. The midnight sun, the mountains that seem to never end, the power of the earth herself energizing nearly the entire country. All of this has deeply touched my sense of life in such a way that positive change is inevitable. I bask in the history of this country through natural, linguistic, and cultural immersion. The paradisiac, dream-like landscape is one that has embedded itself into my heart where by I am humbled at almost every moment. Since June 24th, I have been living in a town called Reyðarfjörður. My cousin Kristján and his lovely wife Álfheiður have lived here for decades, creating family and certainly all kinds of memories. Kristján's grandfather is the younger brother of my great-great grandmother, Björg Stefánsdóttir. The connection here is deep and true. My cousin Frosti describes the mountains here as the Eastern Alps. They are truly magnificently serene and noble. Perched among the clouds in the most silently confident of ways, I wake up every morning to the breathtaking landscape. For the past week, part of my volunteer work experience has as a museum attendant. The French maritime museum and hotel in Fáskrúðsfjörður, the next fjord south of Reyðarfjörður, holds in it, a very unique and meaningful history of the French-Icelandic connection through the fishing industry. The interaction with French, German, Icelandic, and Spanish speaking people has broaded my scope of human perspective. And of course, ten minutes of the mountain view on a clear day might be enough to end wars. Learning about even one aspect of Icelandic history is enough to explore the infinite possibilities each life held during those times. It is again, humbling and awe inspiring. Every day here is a new life. Truly. I feel at home here, even though I do miss seeing the stars. Perhaps I must come back to see them. I will continue working at the museum until my time to leave on July 14th, where at that point, I will reunite with the rest of the Snorri members in Reykjavík. For the next day, we will begin our trek to Hofsós as well as exploring all kinds of areas in Iceland. The emergence of the recognition of a psychogenetic familiarity among the Snorri members as well as Iceland in general is beyond words. It is truly a heart opening experience. Today my cousin Steinn taught me how to fly fish. The farm I'm staying, Seglbúðir in Kirkjubæjarklaustur, has excellent streams and waters for fly fishing and beautiful scenery to match.
I had some minor apprehension going into it, as I had only caught 3 fish in my lifetime and my clumsy nature seemed destined to land me in some tragic accidental hooking incident. Nonetheless, I was happy to spend quality time with my relative and learn something new while enjoying the sights and sounds of the family's land. We had spent a good portion of the week herding sheep, which was in parts stressful, tiring, and rewarding. Much of the stress was from my own anxieties over making mistakes, of course, as my family was nothing but patient and encouraging with my amateur shepherd struggles. (unsurprisingly my only picture from the days herding sheep) To keep things brief, fly fishing sounded like a fun activity that would probably involve less awkward running up and down hills after much more agile sheep, and indeed it was. Fly fishing is not, as I thought when I was a small child with a confused and active imagination, regular fishing but with an actual fly as bait. It came with a variety of minor struggles on my end, from nearly getting trapped in quicksand to tangling my like countless times, and at the end of the day we had caught four beautiful Icelandic fish, one of which was a brown trout we had for dinner that night. But what I most appreciated from the day and what has moved me to write about it was the peace and reflection our time on the water gave me. There was something quite special about that spot; its wildlife and terrain created a perfect blend of sounds from birds to lapping water to wind to the distant quiet roar of the sea that I could hear in still moments. The clouds and mist exerted more of a presence on our surroundings as the day progressed, which my cousin lamented as much the scenery like surrounding mountains and glaciers were covered. This scene was just as enchanting to my eyes, though, and my heart swelled a bit at the sight of the now-distant farm houses and barns barely visible in the misty evening but still standing as landmarks of familarity and comfort. I watched my cousin cast with skill and a practiced ease, I watched the cria flit above the water expertly searching for their own fish to grab, and I found a sense of quiet joy as I lost myself in this moment. My homestay is almost over, 3 weeks with the loveliest and most welcoming family I could have asked for one the prettiest farm in Iceland, and I find it difficult to accurately express the sense of gratitude and above all the peace I have had in my time here. My restless, cluttered, often anxious mind has been put at ease with the days of working and enjoying life with my relatives. There has been so much beauty both in the incredible landscape of Ísland as well as in the more emotional sense of forging such special connections to my relatives and my ancestral roots, I know I have a journey ahead attempting to process it all after I return home. But for the time being, I have been able to live in the moment and experience each day as a unique and rewarding opportunity, taking the time to appreciate all in my life that has led me here and all that this wonderful program is giving me in this moment. So, short story long, fly fishing at Seglbúðir farm is great for a break from herding sheep as well as for existential contemplation, and here's a picture of me with a fish we caught. Sjáumst! I have been lucky enough to work with the Elding Whale Watching company during my family stay in Reykjavík.* I have been out on tours 6 times in 5 days, and each time has been an exhilarating and unique experience. On my second day I was sent on an Express Whale & Puffin tour with Whale Safari, and it was SO MUCH FUN! These tours are on RIB boats, so they go much faster and are much smaller than the large whale watching boats. These boats also allow passengers to be much more "up close and personal" with the animals.
Once I was dressed for the outing (flotation suit, life jacket, 2 pairs of gloves, hat and goggles) it was time to head over to the boat, which docks in the Old Harbour and allows for a great view of Harpa. The guide told us to put our phones and cameras in our suits to keep them safe and dry, so without thinking further I dropped my phone into the abyss that was the internal cavity of my suit. We set off, and were bouncing along to an island where Puffins settle in the summertime. (Side note - Puffins are TINY! For some reason I had expected them to be at least double their size.) It was there that I realized that my phone was no longer where I had dropped it, and was probably loose in my suit - if it was even there at all. I had actually convinced myself that my phone had fallen out of the leg of my suit and had bounced into the Atlantic Ocean, but I was having so much fun that I was at peace with that sequence of events. Unfortunately, without my phone I was not able to take pictures of the Puffins, the Minke Whales, the Harbour Porpoises, nor the White Beaked Dolphins. You'll just have to take my word that I saw them on a wonderfully sunny day, with the Reykjavík skyline and mountains in the background, and it was breathtakingly beautiful. On the way back to the harbour I felt something slide down my leg: my phone! I contorted into the weirdest, least comfortable position so that my phone would not slide out of my suit. Luckily this worked, and now my gorgeous/not at all embarrassing selfies can be shared with the world. I am so grateful to be here in Iceland with the Snorri Program. This particular adventure, in conjunction with a little bit of luggage drama, has made me feel less tied down to all of those material items that I thought I needed to survive (dramatic, I know). It also brought me within meters of a Minke Whale, which was SO COOL! *Brooke stayed in Ísafjörður in the Westfjords with her relatives for one week |
Ásta Sól KristjánsdóttirBlog editor and Manager of the Snorri and Snorri Plus Programs Archives
August 2016
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