Apparently both the BBC and CNN thought our lil afternoon delight was newsworthy enough to report worldwide, so I figured I'd just mention to all my worried email-writers that yep, we felt it plenty well here in my office building, and a thing or two fell over, but otherwise nobody did a thing, and it's business as usual here in the capital area.
Reports from further east are still arriving so I still don't know the extent of what happened there, but the only picture Morgunblaðið has posted yet doesn't show much damage. Hopefully this is a properly representative photo and nothing horrible has happened.
This was not the first earthquake I've experienced here, but the one two years ago was only a 4.2, and the latest reports from the USGS have upgraded the one today to a 6.2.
29 May 2008
23 May 2008
look, don't touch
This morning was so fragrant and gently sunny that I really had no choice but to do a morning swim. It was predictably good, full of honey-colored sunrays filtering through my outstretched fingers. On one side-breath to the left though, I noticed a cluster of people in the stands above the pool, their clothes marking them as a crowd of not-from-these-parts. They dutifully gathered around a tour guide who seemed to be explaining the magic of the Icelandic pool.
They stood there for probably about 20 minutes, during which I finished my laps and headed to the steam room. When I came out they were gone but another group was corralled in the roped-off corner near the former entrance to the pool. I heard that the first cruise ship of the season arrived yesterday, so I'm wondering if this is one of the new activities they're offering to ship visitors. Go, look at Icelandic People in their NATIVE HABITAT! Take photos of flowered bathing caps and early morning calisthenics!
I just don't understand why someone would want to just have a look at such a pool when for a few hundred krónur you could be sitting IN the pool. I hope this is not a summer trend, because no matter how comfortable one is in one's skin and bathing suit, it's a bit creepy to be stared at by a bunch of puffy-coat tourists with cameras.
They stood there for probably about 20 minutes, during which I finished my laps and headed to the steam room. When I came out they were gone but another group was corralled in the roped-off corner near the former entrance to the pool. I heard that the first cruise ship of the season arrived yesterday, so I'm wondering if this is one of the new activities they're offering to ship visitors. Go, look at Icelandic People in their NATIVE HABITAT! Take photos of flowered bathing caps and early morning calisthenics!
I just don't understand why someone would want to just have a look at such a pool when for a few hundred krónur you could be sitting IN the pool. I hope this is not a summer trend, because no matter how comfortable one is in one's skin and bathing suit, it's a bit creepy to be stared at by a bunch of puffy-coat tourists with cameras.
22 May 2008
proof of presence
One thing that Icelanders absolutely love that has taken a bit of getting used to for me is the Signing of the Guestbook. Sure, there are guestbooks in the US, at weddings, at art openings, at other kinds of important receptions, but here they are at spots both large and small. In order to commemorate your presence there, it is essential to leave your name in the book, with or without comment. This happens in tiny summerhouses, this happens in mountain huts, this happens at the top of Esja.
It's not just an Icelandic thing though, it seems to be a habit of the northern countries. When I was in the wilderness of Norway I signed the guestbook at the top of the mountain when I skied, and when we were in Finland, we got the special permission to sign the Awesome guestbook at the home of the famous Finnish composer, Sibelius. The names of our Icelandic choir members were on the same pages as foreign dignitaries of all stripes, preserved for the next decades.
Is it because the populations are so small up here that people want to know where others have been, that the stamp of human presence is significant wherever you are? Is it in hopes that you will one day return to that same place and be able to find that record of years ago when you were at the same location once before, and remember all the time that spans between? Whatever the reason, I hope to sometime find my name again years from now in one of these books, sprinkled across the landscape.
It's not just an Icelandic thing though, it seems to be a habit of the northern countries. When I was in the wilderness of Norway I signed the guestbook at the top of the mountain when I skied, and when we were in Finland, we got the special permission to sign the Awesome guestbook at the home of the famous Finnish composer, Sibelius. The names of our Icelandic choir members were on the same pages as foreign dignitaries of all stripes, preserved for the next decades.
Is it because the populations are so small up here that people want to know where others have been, that the stamp of human presence is significant wherever you are? Is it in hopes that you will one day return to that same place and be able to find that record of years ago when you were at the same location once before, and remember all the time that spans between? Whatever the reason, I hope to sometime find my name again years from now in one of these books, sprinkled across the landscape.
21 May 2008
so, Helsinki
We returned from the days in Tallinn to the mayday celebrations in Helsinki, a town that had not impressed at first view but grew on me quickly in the subsequent days. It's a bit like if you exploded lower Manhattan into a whole city, and sprinkled it with many more parks and better sea access. The buildings are heavy on the teens to Deco, and the bricks haven't gotten the coal-infused hue of London, so the overall impression was a gently colorful one. The clothing aesthetic, made somewhat notorious by a longtime favorite website, hel-looks, reminds me of my artist-nerdy high school taken on citywide. In general, there's this impression that everyone's very busy FEELING lots of intense feelings, but since Finns are notoriously stoic, they can't talk about them. Instead, they invest all this intensity into assembling interesting outfits and designing things, and more things, and a few more things.
Once again, we stumbled upon the most glorious of weather, so our trips outside the city were alight with arcing blue skies and the neon green of freshly unfolded birch leaves. We went to the home of Sibelius, Finlands most famous composer. The wood frame house was set among a stand of birches, and all around the lawn had grown velvety and rich, a tempting place to take a sunbath. The visit was followed by a private concert of some of the composer's pieces, then a delectable lunch at a nearby restaurant. We returned drunk from sun and brightness, full of music.
But the best experience from the trip was actually nothing to do with the choir group, but rather my friend DTW, a Finn who'd come to Iceland as an exchange student, and started reading my blog before he came to get a taste of life here before he came. He came to the concert we had in the rock church in Helsinki, and then on Saturday evening, another day drenched in sun, he assembled all the proper goods for a picnic and we headed towards a park on the sea. The route we walked took us through prosperous and well-groomed neighborhoods of Deco homes, all painted in Klimt colors of sage green, aged rose, and palest coffee. At the park we settled in a glade that offered a glimpse of the sea, boats, and the people strolling slowly along the esplanade, and DTW unpacked the treats. He'd bought all sorts of his favorite cheeses, the squeaky kind, the spready kind, and bread and fruit to go with. I'd also found some early-season strawberries at a street stand, and with a bottle of organic white wine, we had all we needed for a proper talknhangout.
It was that time of year that is impossibly magical, when the green on the trees and lawns is so fresh it almost aches, so optimistic and eye-searingly bright, a color forgotten in the long months of winter. This park was exactly where I wanted to be that night, and it seemed as if everything conspired to make it just so- the just-busy-enough vibe, the scads of people sprinkled about drinking in the sun, even the peach-colored hot air balloons that materialized further along the shore and drifted over the city.
Of course, we're still talking about northern lands in spring, so when the sun dropped behind the Baltic, chill set in and was time to move on. We took the coastline route home, watching as the sky became lavender and then navy. A perfect evening.
Once again, we stumbled upon the most glorious of weather, so our trips outside the city were alight with arcing blue skies and the neon green of freshly unfolded birch leaves. We went to the home of Sibelius, Finlands most famous composer. The wood frame house was set among a stand of birches, and all around the lawn had grown velvety and rich, a tempting place to take a sunbath. The visit was followed by a private concert of some of the composer's pieces, then a delectable lunch at a nearby restaurant. We returned drunk from sun and brightness, full of music.
But the best experience from the trip was actually nothing to do with the choir group, but rather my friend DTW, a Finn who'd come to Iceland as an exchange student, and started reading my blog before he came to get a taste of life here before he came. He came to the concert we had in the rock church in Helsinki, and then on Saturday evening, another day drenched in sun, he assembled all the proper goods for a picnic and we headed towards a park on the sea. The route we walked took us through prosperous and well-groomed neighborhoods of Deco homes, all painted in Klimt colors of sage green, aged rose, and palest coffee. At the park we settled in a glade that offered a glimpse of the sea, boats, and the people strolling slowly along the esplanade, and DTW unpacked the treats. He'd bought all sorts of his favorite cheeses, the squeaky kind, the spready kind, and bread and fruit to go with. I'd also found some early-season strawberries at a street stand, and with a bottle of organic white wine, we had all we needed for a proper talknhangout.
It was that time of year that is impossibly magical, when the green on the trees and lawns is so fresh it almost aches, so optimistic and eye-searingly bright, a color forgotten in the long months of winter. This park was exactly where I wanted to be that night, and it seemed as if everything conspired to make it just so- the just-busy-enough vibe, the scads of people sprinkled about drinking in the sun, even the peach-colored hot air balloons that materialized further along the shore and drifted over the city.
Of course, we're still talking about northern lands in spring, so when the sun dropped behind the Baltic, chill set in and was time to move on. We took the coastline route home, watching as the sky became lavender and then navy. A perfect evening.
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