Four wise men

Sorry for the silly title, I'm a little hyped up. It's my last day in Iceland today (Sunday) and I'm so full with all the excitement of the past weeks.

Anyway, I had a final meeting with Jóhann J. Ólafsson, Árni Björnsson, and another man I haven't met before, Einar Gunnar Pétursson. Einar is currently researching the correspondence between Konrad Maurer and Guðbrandur Vigfússon (more than 200 letter pages, archived partly in Reykjavik and partly in Oxford).

Hveragerði

I visited the town Hveragerði, known for its geothermal hot springs and fumaroles, but a sudden heavy rain shower had me soaking wet so I cut that visit short.

Which was a bit of a pity because I liked Hveragerði much, it has the special atmosphere of a spa town, das Flair eines Kurorts.

Jóhann told me a few hours later that in Iceland, a rain that falls vertical is not considered "heavy rain". The rain that comes horizontally is.

Ein weiterer Artikel über mich

Die Zeitung Iceland Review Online hat heute ebenfalls einen Artikel ueber mich veroeffentlicht, in ihrer deutschsprachigen Sparte, unter dem Titel Auf den Spuren des sagensammelnden Vorfahren.

(The newspaper Iceland Review Online has published another article about me, in German.)

Der Artikel freut mich sehr! Vielen herzlichen Dank an die Autorin Bernhild Vögel. Sie schrieb mir: "Das Buch Ihres Ururopas war mir übrigens eine grosse Hilfe, als ich für meine Abenteuerreisegeschichte "Der Schleier der schwarzen Elfin" recherchierte. Darin geht es übrigens auch um eine Ururenkelin und ihre Vorfahrin." Die Leseprobe (PDF) klingt so spannend, dass ich mir vorgenommen habe, ihr Buch zu besorgen.

Bernd Ogrodnik

Durch einen der vielen Zufaelle, die mir hier in Island jeden Tag passieren, lernte ich den Puppenspielmeister Bernd Ogrodnik kennen. Dabei wollte ich eigentlich gar nicht sein Marionettenmuseum in Borgarnes besuchen, sondern bloss dort eine Suppe zu Mittag essen.

Aber nachdem ich hoerte, dass der Chef dieses Puppet Museums aus Deutschland stammt, konnte ich mir nicht verkneifen, ihn mit "Schoene Gruesse von der Augsburger Puppenkiste" anzusprechen. Worauf wir natuerlich ins Gespraech kamen.

Am Ende bekam ich freien Eintritt und besichtigte dann doch sein Museum, das klein, aber nett gestaltet ist und mich neugierig auf seinen Film Strings (IMDb) macht. Der Film wurde 2004 mit Marionettenpuppen vor islaendischer Outdoor-Realkulisse gedreht.

Borgarnes

Eigentlich wollte ich anstatt der Westfjorde als Plan B noch einen schoenen Tag in er atemberaubenden Gegend von Sneifelsnes wandern. Es hatte am Abend auch aufgehoert zu regnen. Dafuer goss es heute, was runterging.

Also Plan C: zurueck nach Reykjavik, dort kann man bei jedem Wetter irgendetwas mit dem Tag anfangen. Auf dem Weg kam ich durch die Stadt Borgarnes. Dort gibt es das gross ausgeschilderte Settlement Centre, ein Museum ueber die Besiedelungsgeschichte Islands, das ich -- man staune! -- eiskalt links liegen liess und statt dessen die versteckt liegende Ausstellung "Kinderfotos aus 100 Jahren" besuchte. Das war eine gute Entscheidung. Die Ausstellung ist liebevoll wie ein riesengrosses Fotoalbum gemacht. Und es gibt eine tolle alte originale Wohnstube (Baðstofa), in deren Daemmerlicht mit akustischer Installation ich wirklich das Gefuehl bekam, in eine Winternacht in Island vor 100 Jahren zurueckversetzt zu sein.

Edda (sie heisst so wie das Buch) fuehrte mich durch die Ausstellung. Das Telefon hinter ihr ist aus den 1930er, 1940er Jahren. Wer damals das Glueck einer Telefonleitung hatte, hatte Zugang zur Welt, zu Nachrichten und Informationen. Und zu den Privatneuigkeiten seiner Nachbarn. Alle Apparate einer "County Line" waren naemlich zusammengeschaltet und so hob man heimlich mit ab und hoerte fremde Gespraeche in der Leitung mit. "We Icelanders are nosy people. It is in our blood." erklaerte Edda lachend.

Der Oldtimer-Jeep hier hat auch eine Geschichte. Er gehoerte der Hebamme von Borgarnes, und sie fuhr ihn von 1940 bis 1980, in etwa. Sie war wohl eine der ersten Frauen in Island, die einen Fuehrerschein hatte, und jeder hier in der Gegend kannte sie sehr gut.

Crossing Breiðafjörður

The Ferry "Baldur" rescued me from a place called Brjánslækur in No-Man's-Land and took me and my car in just under three hours back to civilisation (Stykkishólmur). How easy is going by boat!

Konrad Maurer did the same when he was here in the bay of Breiðafjörður. He spent over a week here and made half a dozen boat trips from one island to the other. Breiðafjörður is 50 km wide, but it is dotted with small islands everywhere. Thousands of small islands. But most of them are uninhabitable rocks just above sea level.

One island that does support life is Flatey, and there the ferry made a stop half-way. The following pictures are from there.

The Westfjords

My last geographic destination here on Iceland were the Westfjords. However the weather was quite nieselnebelig and this lonely part of Iceland at this type of weather reminded me of what I imagine Scotland to be like.

If the Westfjords have a "purpose", it is to teach the traveller humility. You drive on and on and on, hard driving for hours, and you think you have not made any distance. The road goes in and out one fjord after the other. It feels like you are going in circles.

I was very glad to reach the point where a ferry allows you to shortcut the way back to the mainland, so I wouldn't have to drive all this endless way out again.

(BTW, in a different type of weather, and under no time pressure, I'm sure my impression would have been a more positive one. Normally I do like areas with little people very much.)

Nature

Again, no words, just let the impressions from these pictures sink in.

Snorri Sturluson

Snorri Sturluson... oh well, I'm too tired to go on. The old fellow was a genius and he loved to take a hot bath. Please read more on Wikipedizzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Die Kirche von Reykholt

Bevor ich zu Snorri Sturluson komme, muss ich noch ganz schnell ein paar Bilder von der (neuen) Kirche von Reykholt zeigen. Zumal ich eine huebsche junge Dame als persoenliche Fuehrerin hatte. Eine besondere Freude, nachdem ich hier in Island ja sonst vor allem aelteren Maennern begegne! ;)

Ich fasse mich ausnahmsweise mal wirklich kurz, nur Stichpunkte:

• Reykholt = kleiner Ort, aber bedeutendes Kirchenzentrum seit dem Mittelalter
• Wohnort des bedeutenden Goden, Historikers, Autors und Dichters Snorri Sturluson (1179-1241)
• Alte kleine Kirche und daneben grosse neu gebaute Kirche, 1996 vollendet
• "Lustig" aussehender duenner Turm mit grossem Spitz
  
• Innen hervorragende Akustik, daher beliebter Ort fuer Konzerte
  
• Orgel mit Kupferpfeifen war frueher in der Domkirkja in Reykjavik
• Moderne Kirchenfenster aus Spezialglas "made in Germany": Glas erscheint meistens weiss, aber bei bestimmtem Sonnenstand wird es bunt
  
• Schoener Lichtgang zum verbundenen Gebaeude "Snorrastofa", einem Forschungsinstitut fuer Mittelalter-Literatur
• Die junge Dame heisst Bergthora.
  

An erudite reverend

The next day I drove to Reykholt and visited the priest there, Séra Geir Waage. I had been told that I should see this man, and it was indeed very worthwhile.

I had not announced my coming beforehand, and Geir was out planting trees when I met him. But he made time for me immediately. We first spoke a while about Konrad Maurer. Then Geir showed me what he had built here where we were sitting: A fold, an enclosure for horses (ein Pferch), and a house next to it. Both he built from rocks that have a special historical significance, as these same rocks were already used here for buildings in the 13th century, in the days of Snorri Sturluson (more about him soon). The fold is now used once a year on the 17th of June, the National Holiday, when people come to a special service to Reykholt Church on horseback, just like in the old days. And the small building is then used as a saddle shed.

Behind the fold is a forest, and Geir said his grandfather (or was it the previous priest?) had planted it, and he continues this work, planting more trees. He has just planted two oaks and several fruit trees. "Do they really grow in this climate?" I wondered. "We don't know until we try it," was his reply.

It began to rain and we changed location to the rectory (dem Pfarrhaus), where he offered me coffee and showed me his books. He had the travelogue of Konrad, along with many other books written by foreigners who travelled to Iceland in the 18th and 19th century and wrote about it. "These books are very valuable for us Icelanders, because foreigners notice things that the local people did not write about," he explained.

Geir is a very gifted storyteller and for the next two hours he related to me the stories, biographies and anecdotes of many different people. The most remarkable was the story of Jørgen Jørgensen. To compare his biography to a roller-coaster ride is an understatement. Jørgen, a Dane, came to Iceland in 1809 to trade goods, but the authorities forbade the locals to trade with him. So he captured the Governor and declared himself "King of Iceland". His rule lasted for only a couple of weeks before he was seized and transported as a prisoner back to Denmark where he was to be hanged. But due to the influence of his friends, he got out of it. Later he became a spy for England in France and Germany, had lots of money, drank and gambled all of it away, was imprisoned again (for theft, this time in England), nearly hanged again, then deported to Van Diemen's Land (Tasmania). Eventually he became a Constable, negotiated with the aborigines, and if you want to learn more, you must read his biography.

Geir also showed me a copy of the publication Ný Félagsrit by Jón Sigurðsson from 1847, a sort of "magazine in book form" that appeared annually since 1840, was printed in Denmark and shipped to Iceland. Geir put himself in pose and with a vibrant stage voice, recited the medieval Danish poem with which Jón had encouraged his countrymen to stand up for Iceland's independence:

Dagur er upp kominn,
dynja hana fjaðrar,
mál er vílmögum
að vinna erfiði.

Rough translation: A new day has begun, / the cock has shaken his feathers, / now is the time for worrybellies / to do something useful.

(Reverend Geir Waage loves this poem, especially the word "worrybellies". And how ingeniously Jón Sigurðsson has selected these lines, of all: historically charged, unattackable, Danish words "against" the Danish.)

Páll Guðmundsson

On the way back from Surtshellir we passed the church-farm Húsafell, and Bjarni told me that an artist named Páll lives here, and we could make a stop and see if he was home. It was already past 11 p.m., but there was light coming out of a shed, so we drove up, and when we got out of the car we heard music: Páll was home, he was in the workshed, playing his stone xylophone.

Páll Guðmundsson is an artist with more than one talent. He sculpts faces in rocks that he finds -- in such a way that the face is clearly visible, but also as much as possible of the original rock is still there. He draws on all kinds of materials -- also mostly faces, in earth tones, probably using pigments from nature. He builds all kinds of structures on his property. I admired the beautiful tower he had made out of a formerly used silo: now it is an art gallery. He plays music: classical music as well as Icelandic folk tunes. And he builds his own instruments -- xylophone style -- out of flat stones that he collects here in the vicinity. Each stone is tuned very precisely to a note and all are arranged lying on two bars padded with felt. A lower row for the "white keys" and a second row above, in groups of two and three, for the "black keys". The result: a fully chromatic lithophone.

He has built several such "stone harps", as he calls them, and although I could not communicate with him -- Páll doesn't seem to speak any English, unusually -- he played some music for Bjarni and me. He also demonstrated other instruments he made -- one from simple wooden sticks, and one from the dried hollow stems of a sort of giant rhubarb. And he also opened his church for us, we went in, and he played more music on another stone harp in the church.

I was deadly tired after such a long day that had begun in Reykjavik and ended in the most opposite place imaginable, a cave tunnel under a lava field in the middle of nowhere, and it all began to feel very very unreal. In all likelyhood I was actually somewhere else, dreaming this all up.

Páll is well known, not only here in the Reykholt area but in all Iceland. I saw a book about him. To tell just one story that I heard today, he has played together with the band Sigur Rós -- and in return, Sigur Rós have played a concert on Páll's birthday. If I understood it correctly, this concert was in a cave here. Funny how it all connects.

Sigur Rós was, after Björk, the second Icelandic music band I ever heard. My sister Moni lent me a DVD of them half a year ago when I told that I was going to Iceland this summer. Happy Birthday, Moni! :)

Surtshellir

Currently, highlights of this travel come to me faster than I can digest them... there were enough exciting things yesterday that could have easily filled three or four days. So today I have to take it all more slowly.

I left Reykjavik to go north again, in order to see some further places that I missed on my first round. I drove until I reached Reykholt and checked in at a bed&breakfast farm named Nes, thinking I would do nothing more that day other than write my blog. But things came differently.

The 76-year-old farmer who manages this place, Bjarni, turned out to be a most enterprising man. He was a former dairy farmer, but since a few years he gave up the cows and now makes hay, runs the guesthouse and has built a golf course on his land. He heard of my travel in the footsteps of you-know-whom, and that I would like to see Surtshellir, the lava cave that Konrad had explored on the 5th of September 1858.

Konrad called Surtshellir "eine der Hauptmerkwuerdigkeiten der Insel". It is a lava tube and was created about 1000 years ago when a mighty stream of liquid and very hot lava rushed through here and formed its own tunnel. The cave is 7.5 km from the main road and so I could not go there with my small car, which is why Bjarni offered to take me there in his 4WD car and show me the cave -- right away on the same evening. We started at 9 pm and came back from the expedition just after midnight.

The first curiosity on the way to the cave was "Hraunkarl", a face in a lava boulder (see the top photo). I expected to hear a story about it, such as of it being the head of a petrified troll, but there seems to be no old story about it -- whereas there are lots of other stories that Bjarni told me on the way, stories on just about every hill, valley, or lava field we passed by, and where their names come from -- much more than I could remember or repeat.

We had equipped ourselves for the cave with good walking shoes, jackets and torches. (Konrad and his company had used Pechfackeln in 1858). The best entrance to the cave is to enter it from the north, where the roof of the tunnel has collapsed creating a funnel-like opening, filled with big angular boulders that aid you in climbing down.

The floor inside the cave is for the most part not really anything that could be called a floor, it is completely filled with these same big angular rocks that have fallen from its ceiling. I would not want to be in this cave during an earthquake! Every winter, water seeps in the cracks between the rocks and freezes, loosening more of the material.

So to make your way through the tunnel, you must climb very carefully from one rock to the next, and the rocks often jiggle under your foot. I was initially worried about the old man, but he climbed ahead of me with a very sure step.

There are practically no stalactites to be seen here, but on the walls and parts of the floor you can see structures made by the hot lava. I learned that there is a saga about this place, or actually several sagas, about outlaws who lived here, robbers of sheep.

After a short distance the tunnel comes to daylight again, as a longer section of the roof has collapsed here. It is said that this section was used by the outlaws to kill the stolen sheep by driving them over the edge of the wall, where they would fall to their death.

After this opening, the tunnel continues, becomes bigger and wider, and here the cave has several connected side tubes, that show traces of humans living here. Bjarni led me to a place where you could still see old bones from sheep covering the floor (he told me this used to be a much bigger pile some decades ago, but people have, although it is forbidden, taken them away piece by piece as souvenirs). Next to the bone-place is a structure easily recognizable as an old fireplace.

We made our way back the same way that we came, and that was not all for the day, as another highlight offered itself on the way back, which will be subject of my next posting. Sorry for all you poor guys who have to read this!

Konrads Büste

Ich traf mich ebenfalls mit zwei weiteren Konrad-Maurer-Interessierten, Anna S. Ólafsdóttir und Ásgeir Eggertsson vom Verein "Germania". Ásgeir ist ehemaliger Präsident des bereits 1920 gegründeten Vereins, und Anna die derzeitige Präsidentin.

Germania organisiert kulturelle Veranstaltungen in Island, die Deutschland und Island zusammenbringen, wie zum Beispiel Kunstausstellungen, Vorträge oder Konzerte. Als gewissermassen eine "Symbolfigur der deutsch-isländischen Freundschaft" ist Konrad Maurer auch in dem Zusammenhang relevant.

Anna ist außerdem, wie sich herausgestellt hat, die Ur-Ur-Ur-Urenkelin der Frau, bei der Konrad damals in Reykjavik die 8 Wochen im Dillon-Haus gewohnt hat. (Merkt ihr, wie alles miteinander verknüpft ist?)

Wir besuchten zuerst den Rechtsprofessor Sigurður Líndal, mit dem im übrigen Ásgeir wiederum nahe verwandt ist, und anschliessend fuhren wir zur National- und Universitätsbibliothek, die sich seit 1994 in einem neuen, sehr modernen Gebäude befindet. Dort, wusste ich, befindet sich eine Büste von Konrad Maurer. Es ist weltweit die einzige dreidimensionale Abbildung von ihm, und daher von ganz besonderem Wert.

Die Skulptur steht im Erdgeschoss im Manuskriptensaal (Handritadeild) und ist in Lebensgröße angefertigt. Sie stammt von dem Münchner Künstler und Bildhauer Joseph Echteler aus dem Jahr 1888. Sie zeigt somit Konrad Maurer im Alter von 65 Jahren. Die Büste wurde im Jahr 1912 von Konrads Tochter Willy Heydweiller, die nach dem Tode ihrer Mutter Valerie deren Haushalt auflöste, der ein Jahr zuvor gegründeten Universität Island geschenkt. Wo die Büste von 1888 bis 1912 gestanden hat, wissen wir leider nicht. Jedenfalls hat sie hier in Reykjavik einen guten und sehr angemessenen Platz und wird, wie man sieht, in hohen Ehren gehalten.

Es war ein ganz besonderer Höhepunkt dieser Reise, so lebensecht dem Mann in 3D gegenüberzustehen, mit dem ich mich geistig und emotional so intensiv seit Monaten befasse und auf dessen Spuren ich in Island unterwegs bin.