London on a Budget

London can be an expensive city to be a tourist in if you don’t know the right places to stay, the right places to eat, and the right things to do to really stretch your budget. I had the occasion to visit this historic city for a short time, and didn’t spend a pound. My resort of choice was the deportation holding facilities in London Gatwick airport.

I arrived early in the morning, US Passport held confidently in hand, sure I could waltz through border control without any trouble. Our two great nations were friends, after all, despite that messy business 250 years ago. I stepped up to the border control agent, handed in my passport. She asked me a few general questions: why I was traveling, what I was going to do, and whether I would be bringing any other smelly Irishmen back into their country once I was done there. I told her honestly that I was in their lovely country to change planes, and was on my way to Ireland to meet up with a host I had found via Workaway. I would stay with him in exchange for helping him out around the house.

Rather than let me through, her queries continued, becoming sharper and more specific: how much money did I have? Who was this person I was meeting? How long, exactly, was I going to be in Ireland? Where was I staying? Was I employed? Married? Any children? I answered her questions honestly, trying to hurry things along so I could go wait in the airport. Rather than pass me through, she led me to a little area positioned shamefully in the middle of the room where everyone can look at you at wonder what you did. I was deposited there with the other hardened criminals they had sussed out: a Canadian PhD student visiting her friend, and a Granadan trying to visit his family. We waited there, bonding, united by the injustice we faced.

After some time an agent came to collect me. She led me through a security exit, and we collected my belongings. She proceeded to search through everything, asking pointed questions about the contents, each new query coming with a kind of triumphant resolve as though she'd just uncovered the instrument of my undoing at each turn.

"And what is THIS?"
"It's a razor?"
She leans forward, smiling conspiratorially. "And what is it for?"
"Shaving."
"Is that all?"
"It's for taking the captain hostage when I board my next plane." Is what I'm sure she wanted me to say, but I didn't.

After making me count my change up (some 250 Icelandic Krona in mostly 10 Krona coins) she took me down to what they called an interview room. The kind of interviews that take places here are not the kind where you get a job at the end, it's the kind where you don't get to leave if they don't like the answers you've given, as was indicated to me by a piece of paper saying something to the effect of "You've been given this form because you have been arrested or detained and we need to decide whether to let you go or not." I was left to stew alone with this friendly piece of paper for some twenty minutes.

They told me I would have my photograph taken and be fingerprinted. I could hear the person in the interview room next to me, and she was adamant about not going through this process. I recalled that she was a PhD student. At the time I didn't know what her degree was going to be in, and I started to wonder: what does she know that I don't? I was happily following an agent to the processing room where I would comply with being documenting as something I didn't understand yet.

After putting me in the system I was searched again, and a cheerful British agent asked me if I'd like to "ring your mum and tell her you're going to the Tower of London?"
"Isn't that where prisoners have historically been sent?"
"That's the one."
He explained that at this point they wanted to be sure that I wasn't meeting anyone suspect when I got to Ireland.

They deposited me into the "waiting room" to do just that. It was a room about fifteen feet by fifty with a few tables, benches, pillows, and one lone picture of a tropical beach in the corner like some kind of existentialist escape rope. I was told that an immigration agent would review my case and decide what to do with me. There were five of us all told. They did give us food (for free), and there was a magazine with word puzzles in it. That's all I've got for suggestions for things to do around London. Their cook leaves much to be desired though, and the view from the room is not the historic London skyline, but mid-level bureaucrats working.

One by one we were called out to have our interviews with immigration, who would pass sentence on our fates. The rest of us stewed, wishing we could just go home. We exchanged such sentiments amongst each other in front of the security cameras. One by one the others fell, receiving news that they would be deported back to their own countries. Finally my turn came, and I went into the interview room. The immigration official asked me similar questions as the ones before, writing down everything I said in explanation. I signed each page verifying that it was correct, then they took me back to await the decision.

The official came back about an hour later.
"I'm afraid that the Irish immigration has said that you would not be able to enter the country if we sent you on, and we have also made the decision to deny you entry."
"Ha! There's that famous British dry humor."
"I'm serious, that's our decision."

They denied me entry on two major grounds: the workaway program in the UK and Ireland is considered employment for which you need a work Visa, even though I would not officially be hired, employed, or even paid anything, simply helping someone out around his house. Most countries do not require a work Visa for this (or so I'm told). Secondly, neither country is keen on unemployed, unmarried people coming to their nations without a specific plan to leave: i.e., a flight already booked and paid for, with documentation proving it. I had 90 days of visa free travel and intended to make the most of it. I didn't yet know exactly when I was leaving, or where I was going after that.

I was escorted onto a plane two hours later. The law is that they send you back to where you last came from, so I was sent back to Iceland. I'm not at all upset about having a few more days in Reykjavik, but on my next trip I'd like to get further into the UK than detention holding.

Myvatn and Looking Forward

My time in Iceland is now more than half over, but this country still has its share of wonders yet undiscovered. I have been here long enough that I have run into people I know from other parts of the country. Iceland is essentially one big small town. There are now three artists here at the residency: myself, a woman from Japan, and a man from Switzerland, and we have established ourselves in the community, making local friends. The typical Icelander won't necessarily give you a cheery hello, but Icelanders are a very friendly people who will welcome you into their homes if you get to know them.

It's been a fairly productive two weeks or so: I have finished and sent out several short stories to anthologies and magazines for hopeful publication, and I have picked up some freelance writing work that will help fund some further traveling. Work on my main project has been stop and start. I'm still making my way through the Eddic poems, and they were not written to be put into order; not truly. My process is essentially to write as much as I can working from my outline, and figure problems out along the way. This has meant me going back to fix my outline and restarting once already, but things have taken better shape, and I'm well into the first draft. I still have a lot of research to do, and the more I read I find out how much more still there is to know.

I have also sent out a short script to some local production companies: no idea if it will get picked up, but I figured there was no harm in trying. My travel plans have extended somewhat. I'm looking into options to stay or work in Ireland for a little while through either couchsurfing or a program called workaway, in which you help a host family with whatever they need in exchange for room and board. I'm going to try to make my way across Europe toward Germany, but nothing is set in stone yet.

Not everything has been work, however. Earlier this week I took a day to see Mývatn and the surrounding area. We had some bad luck with weather, with grey skies and a little bit of snow throughout the day. Things are still very snowy, but it's finally starting to melt. I saw grass here in town for the first time this week. I went to Mývatn with two other artists. We rented a car for the day so we could take our time rather than relying on a bus tour. It was a good decision. Iceland's biggest road is called the Ring Road, or Route 1, and it encircles the country, and it's a lot of fun to drive. Every inch of it is beautiful. You could pull over almost anywhere and take a picture.

It's also still a sparsely populated country, with much of the interior being pretty devoid of people, which makes for a great drive. Leaving any town (there are only two cities) you see signs picturing a skyline with a big bar across: you are leaving civilization, and you might not find any more for awhile.

Our first stop was Goðafoss, the waterfall of the gods. Around the year 1000, Lawspeaker Þorgeir Ljósvetningagoði made the decision that the country would convert to Christianity, avoiding the kind of bloody reformation that had taken places in other countries. Afterwords, he went to Goðafoss and threw his statues of the Norse gods over it, giving it its name.

Goðafoss

More Goðafoss

Goðafoss from downstream. You can see it in the background.

Lake Mývatn itself was still mostly frozen when we were there. We passed around it, and stopped at the Dimmuborgir: a field full of lava rock formations. It's free to enter, and you can hike around the trails there (that were covered by snow, so I mostly just wandered). It's quite an eerie location. Once you descend, you can't see any kind of civilization or man-made anything (save for trail signs).

This arch is about twice my height.

Same spot from below.

We had the chance to climb into a shallow volcano, walking across the lava fields to get there. The other nearby volcano was at the top of a high road with too much snow on it to traverse, even in our four-wheel drive SUV. We grabbed lunch at a little diner in one of the only nearby towns, stopping again to see a point where the steam rises up out of the ground from the geothermal pools beneath.

Worn out from hiking, we made our way back around 7 in the evening. The good thing about traveling Iceland in the spring or summer is that there is no true darkness at this time of year. Even at 2 or 3 in the morning, there is light outside, so you won't be caught out in the dark. 

We pulled over by the side of the road to get a better look at some Icelandic horses in their field. They can't always go outside due to snow, and they seemed quite happy to get to run around. The Icelandic horse is small; most of these guys were around five feet high. Technically pony size, I'm told, but local breeders still refer to them as horses.

My plan for the moment is to spend a few more days in Reykjavik when I leave the north coast, and try to see some of Iceland's south coast in the summer. Few of my photos have much green in them thus far, but the south coast looks beautiful. 

I am also considering open up a photo store to sell prints of some of the pictures that I have taken. If you have opinions on the matter, or are interested, please let me know. Right now my policy is just "tell me what print you want and we'll figure something out." So prints are available upon request.

Small updates

A short post, just to update everyone on what I'm doing.

Writing has begun. I have written "FADE IN:" at the top, and it can't be unwritten. But I have words on the page: about 6 pages, with some 354 left to go, if this turns out to be as large a project as I think it will. I'm still buried in Norse Eddic poems, making my way through the older literature as I've now read a few translations and adaptations. My current reading is the Poetic, or Elder Edda, which is a collection of poems from different anonymous authors that chronicle that history of the Norse gods and provide wisdom for everyday living; how one should treat friends, how one should act as a guest, advice for becoming wise, etc. There are some good gems in there. A few, on friendship and wisdom, from Havamal.

"It's a great detour to a bad friend's house,

even though he lives on the route;

but to a good friend's the ways lie straight,

even though he lives far off."

And:

"You know, if you've a friend, one whom you trust,

go see him often;

for brushwood grows, and tall grass,

on the road which no man treads."

And:

"The foolish man in company

does best if he stays silent;

no one will know that he knows nothing,

unless he talks too much;

but the man who knows nothing does not know

when he is talking too much."

They prize moderation much more than film adaptations might have you believe. Mostly recently, the History channel has been running a series called "Vikings" that I need to catch up on. Thus far I've detected some inaccuracies with it, but it seems a better presentation than most.

I'm writing what I call an exploratory draft. While I have an outline for the entire project, it's never enough. Unexpected problems always crop up, and screenplays tend to slide away from your intentions in the middle somewhere, not wanting to quite connect with the end. I prefer to just try to write it and solve the problems as I come to them rather than trying to anticipate everything ahead of time. So far so good.

I have taken a few other steps to help research along. I have contacted Hrafn Gunnlaugsson, an Icelandic filmmaker, writer and director of a trilogy of films reported to be among the most authentic-looking Viking films anyone has ever made. I'm also reaching out to the Icelandic Film Centre to ask about script development grants. So we'll see how that goes, on both counts, I'm not yet sure whether anything will come of it.

Before too long we'll have new artists arriving, a woman from Japan and a man from Switzerland. We're still waiting on the snow to melt some (and will be waiting longer after snowfall today) to do some further traveling.

As this post has been light on pictures, I'll include a couple here just taken outside the house.

Taken around midnight, thirty second exposure.

Also taken at night, longer exposure. I think this was a quiet aurora, far off.

On Icelandic culture

In the past week I have learned a lot about the culture I am now living in, primarily through reading the stories from Iceland's history. The stories a culture tells say a lot about their lives and their perceptions of the world, the process in which they understood the things around them and rationalized them. Even though cultures change (Greek mythology may not give you a good picture of modern day Greeks) I think it's important to see where people come from, and this is very true of Iceland, a country with a rather unique tie to its heritage through a number of prolific writers.

It seems the Icelandic people have always been scholarly. Anywhere they settled, they had books. For a period of time it was popular in Iceland to copy books by hand. Iceland remains a very educated country that has produced some remarkable feats of literature that often go unnoticed. The Icelandic sagas make a massive book of stories about heroes and history that, were it published in a major European nation, might be regarded as a much bigger achievement. Poems were composed on a number of subjects, including general wisdom for everyday living; how much you should eat or drink when you're a guest in someone's home. Histories of the settlement age were kept as well.

Accompanying the Sagas are the Elder (or Poetic) Edda-comprised of earlier sources-and the Prose Edda, written by Snorri Sturluson in the 13th century. These are the most complete sources of Norse mythology that we have. I met with a local teacher of Icelandic literature to talk about them, as I had started drawing conclusions from them that I wanted to confirm with a native before running too amok with my own notions:

The Icelandic people are, generally, optimistic despite some of the conditions that they live in (cold, long winter months, long periods of darkness) and despite a difficult settlement period followed soon after by bloody civil wars between ruling families all striving for power. A (very) inebriated woman in a bar told me that Icelanders have the saying: "everything will be okay" something that might be said when you don't plan something out very well and it falls apart.

This seems to me to be reflected in the Eddur, the story of the Norse gods. The stories often follow the gods in their desperate attempt to prepare for Ragnarök, a final war which they know they can't win. They continue on in the hopes of preserving some part of the world, leaving something left for humans to return to. Thus far, it seems a sort of theme: hope in the face of huge obstacles.

The people here have a very close connection to the land, which I am still figuring out. It seems as though the land as an entity is very much a part of the people and their lives. The prose Edda describes the process in which the world was made from the body of a giant: his skull made into the sky, his blood the oceans and the rocks in the ground from his teeth and bones.

Iceland is almost entirely powered by the island itself: mostly from hydro power and geothermal energy. Wikipedia lists its fossil fuel usage for power as .1%. Every town I have seen has geothermal swimming pools and hot tubs and the swimming pool seems to be the place to go to get news. You might think that farming and growing crops would be impossible in an area with such rocky volcanic soil, cold temperatures and so little sunlight for a chunk of the year, but because of Iceland's unique spot on the planet, they are able to grow in greenhouses year round: tomatoes, cucumbers, flowers, even bananas. With one hand it takes, with the other it gives.

Tomatoes at Hædarendi

My meeting with the literature teacher showed me I have more reading to do, but I'm moving past character development and moving into outlining the whole project. This weekend I'll pick up some more books: some of the sagas and epic poems.

Following my literature discussion was a small Icelandic Folk Music museum located in nearby Siglufjörður. The heart of traditional Icelandic music is the rímur, an epic poem written in meter. They have simple, Gregorian chant-like melodies that employ a kind of half-singing similar to recitative in opera. I have a book full of traditional melodies to look through. More complex forms exist like the Tvísöngur, songs that alternate between unison singing and two parts, characterized by parallel fifths.

The oldest musical traditions are vocal, but there are a handful of traditional Icelandic instruments, mostly stringed instruments with strings made from horse hair. 

An Iceland violin (right) and Lanspil (left).

Other musical styles and instruments came later: polka was popular for a time, as an example. Even modern bands from Iceland sometimes use the traditional styles in their music (Sigur Rós comes to mind). There have been a series of more modern interpretations of traditional folk tunes, many of which I have enjoyed a lot. Guitar Islancio is a guitar trio of very talented guitarists headed by Björn Thoroddsen that do very eclectic jazzy interpretations, and are well worth looking up.

In other news, the weather is looking better after a big blizzard this week which left the town covered in snow. I made it to Hrísey island with one of my flatmates and made contact with some more artists at a residency there.

Ólafsfjörður

Hrísey

Another view from Hrísey.

In the next few days I will have some more time in Akureyri to see the city when everything is not closed for Easter. In the near(ish) future, a trip to Mývatn to see the dimmu borgir, hot springs, and a volcano hike is in order.

On the Edge of the World

I have arrived at my final destination after a week or so of traveling: the village of Ólafsfjörður on the northern tip of Iceland. Though I don't quite want it to be the case, it's time to stop being a tourist and time to get to work (although I'll be taking a few more trips before I leave to see different parts of the country). 

I spent my weekend in Akureyri, following Reykjavik and a short flight over the Icelandic Highlands. I'm still trying to figure out how this country is put together: lots of very abrupt mountain ranges that end just as quickly, interspersed with massive canyons that seem to be totally self-enclosed, just huge fissures in the Earth. Certainly the result of an abundance of volcanic activity. I noticed the difference in temperature as soon as I got off the plane which landed between two rows of icy mountains. Akureyri is a nice little city that I will have to visit again, as a lot of things were shut down for the Easter weekend. Iceland is not a terribly religious country, but they celebrate Easter very conservatively. It's a city of about 17,000, the only other city in Iceland and the "capital of the north." It was a quieter weekend, which is probably for the better: lots of time spent in the cafe/bar on the ground floor of the hostel catching up on things and watching Premiere League games which screened as often as they were on.

Akureyri

Another Icelandic church: Akureyrarkirkja

I took a bus up to Ólafsfjörður in which I made contact with four other people also on their way to artist residencies in different places on the north coast, so it seems there's something of a network of us up here. The bus trip was as scenic as any other travel has been in Iceland: things have become almost entirely white. The snow up here will not melt for some weeks yet, especially with temperatures in the twenties like we've been having.

The town itself is small: around 900 people, sitting right on the water with its own small harbor. The main industry has been fishing for quite some time. To get here you have to take a one-lane tunnel 3 kilometers long under the mountains, turning off onto strategically placed alcoves when someone needs to pass. It is isolated, and that is both unnerving, and exactly what I was looking for. There's one local restaurant/bar for social activity, from what I can tell. I should have plenty of time for writing, in a snug little apartment.

Listhus Artspace Apartment

Living Room

Kitchen

Ólafsfjörður

It's a little strange to be situated in such a place. When I look out across the water, I know that there's nothing up that way. Just ice, and eventually, eastern Russia. For the most part it's a straight shot to the north pole.

For research, I have several things lined up. I am visiting a small Icelandic Folk Music Museum which conducts regular sessions instructing peopled in traditional vocal styles. I'm not yet sure whether I attempt said vocal styles, I reserve the right to listen first. I will be visiting a local music school for similar purposes: determining how Icelandic folk music is put together. There is a possibility I will get to try some traditional Icelandic food, which is mostly animal organs and shark that has been left out to ferment, so we'll see how that goes. And following that I have an appointment to talk with a local teacher of Icelandic Literature which is really where my research lies, in the Eddur and the Sagas.

I have begun the character development process, which will initially cover about a dozen central characters, with plenty more on the fringes waiting their turns. It's a little daunting to be putting words on paper toward a screenwriting project that might be hundreds of pages long, but the characters are the foundation stones as in any narrative, so at least I have a place to start.

Into the Frozen North

Iceland is somewhat off the beaten path for a lot of people, up on the edge of the Arctic Circle, and I think that is partially why I was drawn to it. I have swiftly discovered that it is a very special place with a lot of character, quirk, and an unreal kind of beauty, filled with interesting wonderful people.

The first three days were a whirlwind of activity in the countries' capital and largest city, Reykjavik, filled with new experiences. I have seen the Northern Lights, with people I just met. I watched someone get deported. I went bar-hopping with strangers (which included visiting a Big Lebowski themed bar), saw the site of the Viking Parliament and really got to dive into a country brand new to me, to learn about their history and get a glimpse into the worldview of a people who endured a difficult settlement and started new lives in a country that was not hospitable to people 1100 years ago.

A couple of general observations:
1. There are no trees here. Or very few. Around 1% of the country is forested, and pretty much all of that is what people have planted, around cities and towns. When the first settlers arrived, it was close to 25% but the wood was cut down to make houses, tools, etc.
2. People are very tied to their cultural heritage here. This is very evident in talking to the natives. I was told that every Icelander could trace their lineage back to the original settlers.
3. A percentage of the population believe in elves, or Huldufólk, and a handful of people still keep the old Norse gods.
4. There is definitely a penis museum in Reykjavik, but somehow I missed it. I may have to go back, I'm not sure I can pass up the opportunity to say I've been to the only one in the world.
5. Icelandic is a strange, strange language in which any sound can happen at any time, for no reason (seemingly).
6. The sun is not directly overhead at noon. Not even close.

I arrived at the Keflavik airport at 7:00 a.m., watching the sun rise from the air. Contrary to the thought behind Douglas Adams' axiom "it is no coincidence that in no known language does the phrase 'as pretty as an airport' appear," Keflavik's airport is nice, and it was easy to get through passport control, exchange money, and get a bus to Reykjavik. The bus dropped me off in front of the Reykjavik Backpacker Hostel on Laugavegur, one of the bigger streets in downtown. It's a big shopping street with everything you might need: grocery store, hardware store across the street, lots of restaurants with a wide variety of food, and at least fifteen bars within a five-minute walk, the closest being about 100 yards down the street. Living (though briefly) in the middle of a city was a new experience, and I have to say I enjoyed it a lot, even though Reykjavik nightlife does not stop until three or four (or five or six, or never in the summers) in the morning.

The first day was given over to walking around, taking in my surroundings: icy blue mountains in the distance, lots of corrugated iron houses mixed with buildings with that sort of futuristic Nordic design; the new opera house is a blocky glass building that lights up at night. Hallgrímskirkja church towers over almost everything else, and is clearly visible from a good 12-15km outside the city. Reykjavik is along the edge of a large bay, founded by Ingólfur Arnarson around 870 AD, as I learned at the national museum. He sailed to Iceland and had his servants fling wooden pillars with the Norse gods carved on them into the water, and swore he would build his farm wherever they washed ashore. After some searching, he founded Reykjavik.

Reykjavik from the top of Perlan

Hallgrímskirkja

Leif Erikson (or Leif the Lucky) outside the church

I checked out the local nightlife that night. I can say this: Icelandic women are not shy. There are no qualms in bars about approaching strangers, even if it's just to talk. Beer is more expensive, but the horror stories about $17 beers are not true. I paid on average about 900-1000 Kronur for a drink, which is $7-$8. The people seem happiest when out drinking with their friends, and even in Reykjavik I got the feeling that everyone knows everyone.

The second day was my museum day. I walked to Perlan, a hill on which sits a building with a restaurant in the top, storage facilities for the geothermally heated water serving the city, and the Saga Museum: a short audio-guided exhibit highlighting key moments from Icelandic history, each moment reconstructed with lifelike statues and sets. Next I walked to the National Museum, a more in-depth exhibit on Icelandic history with great displays of Viking weapons, art, tools, grave goods, and lots of information about the founding of Iceland. No pictures, they didn't allow me to take my camera inside.

The third day was by far the best. I took a day tour of the Golden Circle, a series of stops that includes geothermal powered greenhouses where they grow crops, even through the winters and long nights; Gullfoss (or the Golden Waterfall); Geysir, where steam rises out of the Earth; and þingvellir (pronounced Thing-vat-leer, with a trilled 'r'), the site of the Viking Parliament founded in 930 AD. There the decision was made that the country should become Christian (though pagans were still allowed to practice in private), officially converting the entire country overnight as opposed to the bloody reformations taking place in other countries. Driving between the stops was a pleasure in itself, looking at gorgeous, unreal scenery and landscapes: sudden mountains and soil filled with volcanic rock that abruptly gave way to sweeping plains.

Gullfoss

Also Gullfoss

þingvellir

þingvellir part 2, with þingvellirvatn (lake) on the right

After I got back I sat in the common room, and got to talking with a Kiwi girl. We watched an Italian guy who had been living in Canada get deported by two huge, armed lögreglumenn (police officers). Someone working at the hostel told us there was a problem with his papers. A new experience for me. We were joined by a guy from Spain and went bar-hopping. After a few stops we headed back to Perlan, having spied movement in the sky from a bar balcony. Sure enough, there it was: the Aurora Borealis. It is a strange and beautiful sight. It wasn't too strong, but still fairly clear. I am sad to say I got no photos of this one, but rest assured I will get some soon.

Thus far it has already been an amazing journey and I am sure that it will continue to be so in Akureyri (where I currently am, more on that to come) and Ólafsfjörður.

P.S. I will include one final, shameless plug for my crowdfunding page, which is apparently still going, and then leave it alone.
http://www.gofundme.com/icelandresidency