Madia, My Other Name

Our backyard in the heart of Reykjavik, all prettied with fresh snow

In the States I spelled my name Madia instead of Maria. It was a phonetic thing that my dad says he suggested to me when I was going into 8th grade. I'd been kind of a book geek up until that summer of '80 and was socially hung up on the fact that Maria was not a common name, and that my real name was pronounced with the Icelandic rolling R which no one in Cupertino seemed to be able to master.

 Even though the US boycotted the 1980 Olympic Games, the name of Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci, who scored a perfect 10 in the 1976 Games, was being mentioned as the favorite that year. I remember making the connection between her name and mine, how similar they sounded, and how much more beautiful Madia sounded than Maria.

When Dad encouraged me to try out the new spelling, I did: at the start of each new class in 8th grade I raised my hand and explained to the teacher how I'd be spelling my name, and how to pronounce it. This took serious guts, making a spectacle of myself in front of all my peers, but I was tired of the cocoon I'd been hiding in and wanted to emerge as a butterfly, finally.  It didn't hurt that my sister, Addy, had coerced me into trying out for cheerleading that year, and had coached me so well that I'd made the squad. I was a New Person, book geek no longer, a twelve-year old reinvented to fit the social stage of Hyde Junior High, and later Cupertino High School.

The new name stuck. Out in the States I'll always be Madia Roff. I never changed my name legally, so there's been confusion when the true spelling has been found out. Friends I've known for years who see my drivers license, and the name Maria on it, suddenly get all jumbly and can't pronounce my name. Mardria, Madradia, Madiria, they flub. And then there's the boys I went to junior high with, who thought I was a snot for trying to be different. At the last high school reunion I attended in 1996, I had to chuckle at the fact that the "popular" boys, sixteen years later, still called me Maria, with childish obstinance, and in a pre-teen teasing tone. How cute.

Nowadays I can go to the States and say my name like an Icelander says it, and people say, ahh, ok, no explanation necessary. Unusual names are so common now, and in major metro areas people pride themselves on being international enough to get it the first time around.

Not a big fan of being in front of a camera, but...well here's me ~.~ 

Þorláksmessa

On the night before the night before Christmas, Þorláksmessa, or the evening of the 23rd, people flood Reykjavík's main shopping street for last minute shopping and a mass meet-and-greet. Cafes sell coffee to-go on the sidewalk and bands of Santas play holiday tunes on brass, woodwind and drum. People slip into restaurants and bars for cocoas dashed with Captain Morgan or a Christmas brew or two, and feed their kiddies chocolate cake to keep them happy. Downtown stores rake in more money this one night than they do all fall long, if the ever-fickle weather cooperates.

This year the weather was a crisp -8 celcius with only a slight breeze, making for a chilly but tolerable outdoor experience. Unfortunately we had a "red" Christmas, which means no snow, again. Some hard white ice pellets whipped out of the sky on Christmas Eve, but they blew right off the island and into the Altantic before we could properly call it snow.

It's been a long time since there's been decent snowfall in Reykjavik, believe it or not. Our one good flurry so far, in November, burned off within a week. It's snowing right now, but there's doubt that it will stick beyond the New Year. At least it's not the spooky 44 degrees fahrenheit it was last Yule, though. December in Cupertino California gets colder than that on a regular basis!

Electric Snowman

Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas to All !

Bright Lights

A beautifully decorated home in Seltjarnarnes. The yard was full of pretty lights as well, and the overall effect in person was cheery and charming.

Something about the angle from which I took this shot makes the photo kind of spooky, though. Unsure why...

Hot movie tip: If you haven't seen The Corporation, be sure to rent it. Check out the web site if you can't find it in your local independent video rental, cause you won't find it at Blockbuster!

Take a Bow

Valentína's second grade class takes a bow after performing a few numbers from Dýrinn í Hálsaskógi, by Norwegian playwrite Thorbjörn Egner, the story of how all the animals in the woods stopped fighting and decided to be friends forever.

You will kindly note the many happy orbs dancing through the air above the children. They only appeared in photos of the kids taking bows to thunderous applause, as well as in a few shots of the kids laughing and dancing around the Christmas tree. Austerbæjarskóli, Valentína's school, has a long and rich history, and I'm sure some of the children's ancestors were in the theater with us, watching this very charming Christmas performance.

Christmas Kids

Girls from Valentína's internationally-represented second-grade class at the school Christmas party. Björk Alexandra, far left, speaks Russian with her mother who was raised in Latvia, Íris Björk speaks Tagalog with her mother who is Philipina and Valentína speaks English (sometimes) with her mother, yours truly. I don't know the third girl from the left, so we can make up exotic stories about her if we want.

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p.s. have you heard about the Bobby Fischer issue, and that Iceland is offering him a resident's visa and that the US is none too happy about it?

Still Sun

There is a reason why I'm here, though, that surpasses all the societal shortcomings and obvious growing pains that Iceland is facing as it rockets into the world scene. It's a certain something that's been pulling me here for as long as I can remember, and will call to me wherever my path may lead in the future. I could name it Nature but that seems, somehow, too simple.

On Our Greedy Native Bad Boys (and Girls)

digdug wants to know, after yesterday's post, who Iceland's "greedy native bad boys" are. That depends a little on who you ask, but here's my answer: 

[update March 2021: please insert favored pronouns, and add billions to the "dollars in debt" sentence; ]

We've unfortunately got a surplus of white collar criminals here. You know, the type of guy/gal who lines his pockets and takes kickbacks and underbids and practices nepotism and lies for profit and evades taxes. They are men who are tens, hundreds of thousands (millions?!)  of dollars in debt to banks and live swanky lifestyles off of these all-too-easy-to-get loans, then get desperate when loan interest starts eating up their profits. They go criminal with shocking ease; there's no feel that they have pondered the dark side or have been led into temptation. Instead, it's as if crime and swindle were part of their business plan from the get go, and they just had to establish an honorable front to get things started.
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It used to bother me a lot more how rancid the business world is here, given that we're so few and that stealing from "society" in Iceland is simply stealing from your own cousins. But Icelanders have always been rebels and have never been very law-abiding. In the old Alþingi days when important men would meet twice a year at Þingvellir to settle disputes, rule by law seemed to work. But then again, when being outlawed out of society was one of the main punishments, and blood revenge was considered understandable, the stakes were a little higher.
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Today, the threat of bankruptcy or a couple of years in a low-security jail are our only incentives to be good. And both punishments are seen, honestly, as badges of courage...You got caught, huh? well, at least you tried...heh heh heh. Now your famous. And If you consider our past, when survival itself was constantly in question, it's understandable that the national psyche developed into a slightly criminal one. Once beggars, now thieves, kind of thing. It's in all corners of society, from business to politics to non-profit to insurance and health care. Our system is very skewed, and if you don't take what you can Now you might find yourself falling off the boat into good old fashioned poverty, just like great-grandma lived it. Only this time, it's our own people who are the oppressors. Not too funny, is it?
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By the way, it seems that when all the annual known and assumed evaded taxes are tallied, the resulting amount of money could support the entire educational system in Iceland for a year. In the mean time, a poverty-level single mother is arrested for not paying a parking ticket. Hmmm.

Truer History of Relations Between Iceland and Our Cousins to the East

Ok, so it's more of a poor-cousin-badly-treated-by-other cousin kind of tree (see last post, plus comment from the wise Hel).

I had been thinking of the early times, during the 13th century, when "Iceland was for from being self-sufficient in overseas shipping so an agreement had to be made with the Norwegian king on necessary shipping to Iceland. The Norwegian king, however, did not always succeed in meeting his obligations with respect to a minimum shipping trade." 

I had always been under the impression that the Danes were specifically and purposefully repressive to Icelanders but that the Norwegians simply forgot us, often when we needed them most. Proud Icelandic chieftains had agreed to swear allegiance to Norwegian King Hákon, but refused to allow their country to become a Norwegian State. Still, a tax had to be paid annually to Hákon, and it was my understanding that the King didn't always hold up his end of the deal with his new "friends". In the 14th century, volcanic eruptions decimated a huge portion of the population, both human and livestock, and Icelanders needed help more than ever before.

But by 1380, Denmark took over Norway and aquired Icelands' feality in the bargain. And the years after that were not pretty, my friends. By the end of the 18th century, "Poverty and deprivation increased enormously. A virtually hopeless struggle for the acquisition of bare necessities sapped the nation's courage and enterprise." It would be another 150 years before the Icelandic people managed to shake the yoke of oppression the Danish monarchy collared them with. In 1918, Iceland, after a long struggle, gained full independence, though the King of Denmark was still the King of Iceland as well. By 1944, Iceland was finally a totally self-sufficient Republic, 57,000 people strong.

And now we go to Copenhagen to go shopping and to live a comfy socialized lifestyle, and think of ourselves as owning a bit of the Danish culture. Forgive and forget, maybe? Ask a random Dane in Denmark what they know about Iceland, though, and they'll screw up their face a bit and say, "Björk?"

We are the little cousins with bravado and courage and a more than a tinge of absurd self-importance. But the thing is, we survived all the devastating volcanoes and the ships that didn't come in time for winter and the Black Death and the hostile takeover of our land and commerce by mainlanders. And we deserve to be proud and we deserve that Christmas tree and we deserve to be able to pop on over to downtown Copenhagen for some shopping, culture and inexpensive beer. We've somehow clung to this land for over a millennia and it's ours, goddamit, in all it's flawed glory. Ísland. Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!!!

Now if we'd just dig up a little of that old fighting spirit and find a way to keep our own greedy, repressive native bad boys in check...

(quotes from Iceland: a Portrait of it's Land and People" by Hjálmar R. Bárðarson)

History Lesson

Every year since 1952 the city of Oslo has sent Reykjavík a beautiful Norwegian Christmas tree. The glorious evergreen, usually at least ten meters tall, is placed lovingly in our city-center park, Austurvöllur, and ceremoniously lit in early December to start off the holidays in style.

The sight of such a large piece of forest in the middle of town is both inspirational and intimidating. It is a reminder that we have close cousins just over there to the east a bit, and that they are thinking of us, but also that these same generous frændfólk used to own us back in the old days and would unfortunately forget to send supplies to us all too often, setting off decades of famine and trauma. The tree is like a guilt offering, given that during those destitude centuries our forfathers and mothers were forced to decimate all of Iceland's once-thriving forests just to survive. It is a beautiful tree, but there's a hint of gloat or pity about it. It would take hundreds of years of dedicated arboreal TLC plus global warming to ever grow a tree this large on our now-barren little island. It's like giving a girl a precious silver-backed antique brush and mirror set when you've just shaved off her hair.

But of course it's the thought that counts.Takk, Oslo!! This tree is, after all is said and done, a bright and festive part of our Reykjavik Christmas cheer.

By the way, Hotel Borg in the backround is the place to stay while here. Ask Viggo Mortensen, Kevin Costner, Coldplay, etc. (here's where my Icelandic star-watching buddies can add some names of other known folk who've done Borg.......

To Sleep and Dream

My little pretty angel Valentina sleeps and dreams of Yuletime Lads on their way into town, one by one, the thirteen nights before Christmas Eve. She puts her shoe in the window like all Christmas children do, and hopes she's been good enough to find a Lad has left a treat there in the morning.

Ari, Telma's toddler brother (they live across the street), found a potato in his shoe today: he'd been noisy and threw a tantrum last night, Telma said. They always know, those Lads do, who's been naughty and nice!

Here's a list of the thirteen scoundrels who make the two weeks leading up to Christmas pure joy for most of Iceland's children. If you'd like to read more about winter holiday traditions here, try this Samkoma site and cruise around the page for interesting topics, like our Christmas Cat who eats kiddies who don't get any new clothes under the tree, and the nasty Grýla the Yule Lads' ravenous mother.
Despite all these grim traditions involving mythic creatures who steal and tease and devour and kidnap, and despite the disgusting price of imported goods, Christmas in Iceland is a joyous holiday centered around family, good food and great friends...

Emiliana Torrini

Our beautiful Icelandic singer/songwriter Emiliana Torrini has been nominated for a Best Dance Song Grammy award for her song "Slow," which she wrote and produced, and which is performed by performed by Kylie Minogue (be sure to have the volume on when you click on Kylie's site...a sample of "Slow" is in rotation).

Emiliana's beautiful lyrics and exqusite voice made me fall in love with her music since first hearing "To Be Free" from Love in the Time of Science in 2000. Go here and click on the mp3 samples to hear small gems of her works. She has, in my mind, a certain sweet way of building her music that evokes ever-evolving universalities in love and lonliness. I picture myself on a windy hilltop surging with compassion and with joy, and with loss. Her accent in English when singing is very like that of our other 2004 Grammy-nominee, Björk and they are both incredible songwriters, but each has her own unique way of presenting truths through music.

Emiliana is a genuinely nice person and fully deserves this honor. Congratulatiuons, Ms Torrini!

Fish Racks

We still dry fish this way on our island. Then we sell some and eat the rest. It's like beef jerky: just as tough to bite off but flakier and unspiced. Super good when smeared with fresh Icelandic butter.

Those who are acquainted with Asian cusine will have come across dried-fish-as-snack before, and some of you may even appreciate it's appeal. I know that when growing up in California, though, my non-Asian friends thought just the idea of dried fish disgusting. Those who dared try it, though, usually ended up liking it.

Icelanders, on the other hand, can't grasp the concept of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And the few who've bravely tried it at my urging have taken wary bites, grimaced, spit it out and hated it even more.

The Rift

Iceland lies atop the Mid-Atlantic Ridge which runs north-south, right down the center of the big blue ocean. It's where two earth plates are pulling away from each other, and like you would expect from any wound that is constantly reopened, magma scars have built up, forming the ridge.

Iceland was born of this great crack in the earth's crust and as such is also pulling apart. A fissure runs the length of the island, very visible at places like Þingvellir, birthplace of modern democracy.

Earthquakes and volcanoes, then, are simply growing pains.

Interview

Here's an interview I took with Ragnheiður Gestsdóttir who created the new Björk documentary, the inner or deep part of an animal or plant structure that accompanies the singer's new and stunning musical release, Medulla.

This interview was published in the December Reykjavik Grapevine magazine, but was edited to the bone. I want to offer it in whole, giving readers a chance to meet Ragnheiður in whole, the way I did. Cheers.

The Road to Town

I drove my mother out to the Keflavik airport today, and on the way home it occurred to me once again how stark the landscape is between the airport and the big city of Reykjavik.

Every time I drive this road I feel a little bit of sympathy for first time tourists. Are they trying to remember why it was they chose to come here as they stare out over the barren lava? Do they think god, it does look like the moon?

I really like this lava field, though. What I like most is that you can see how the molten stuff poured slowly, like thick batter, over the peninsula then cooled, leaving cracks in the surface that remind me of well-baked muffin tops.

(speaking of baked goods, a note to digdug: your letter to the editor of Grapevine was published in the December (not online yet!) issue. You're still with us in word and spirit!)

Curiosity

Greeting

Profile

Hot Tub

Lots of hot bodies sitting in the outdoor lobster pot. Unlike lobsters, they look like they're enjoying themselves, don't they?

This is a pretty typical scene in throughout Iceland: big hot tubs brimming with bathers who chat and relax while the geothermal waters soak their muscles and smooth their skin. I took a picture of the security monitor to get a shot of this happy group of tourists at Sundhöllin in mid-town Reykjavík, at the corner of Baronstígur and Bergþóragata, which boasts an indoor pool as well as outdoor hot pots. Definitely worth a dip!