Ísafjörður, Iceland

Putting the ice back in Iceland

My most second transition has proven to be as drastic as the first. Both sunlight and English have become equally scarce, and Reykjavik's distantly scenic snowy views have been brought directly underfoot in my new digs. Nothing like the crunch of fresh snow beneath your step and the subzero air in your lungs to make you appreciate 40-degree weather.

Isafjordur is the capital of the Western Fjords, and home to Aldrei fór ég suður (I never went south), the country's largest annual music festival. Bear that in mind when I say that the shows take place in a concrete warehouse decorated in christmas lights and located along the otherwise empty road that runs from the airport to the cozy town of 3000 people.



The fjord town is bordered closely on three sides by towering snow-covered mountains, and by the Arctic Ocean on the fourth. Flying in requires a steep bank across the fjord's opening, and then a truly dramatic low approach over the town's rooftops, skimming along the sheer mountainsides through this narrow passageway and eliciting plenty of oohs and ahhs even from people who have done this far more often than I.

There's not much to officially do or see here, especially in these off-season months, but fortunately I've only seen snow a handful of times in my life, so I'm thoroughly occupied. Funny to note that I was consistently mistaken for a native Icelander until I came here - I guess my utter fascination with icicles, and my frozen sidewalk slipsliding much more clearly identify me as a Californian. Everyone else has the sense to go inside when the snow really picks up - I'm fully willing to lose a few capillaries for the sake of exploration.

The musical event itself hosts a few dozen bands, half of them locals, and all of them at least pretty good. Icelandic music, while mysteriously distinct in sound, is difficult to categorize - so far I've seen a surprisingly full gamut of styles. This is easily a small enough event that it feels like a local variety show - everyone seems to know one another, and most of the attendants are with their families, including lots of young children. I've been told that cursing in English, which several of the bands do prolifically, is not considered vulgar to Icelanders or at all inappropriate for children.



I can't imagine how one quiet little Arctic fishing village produces such talent and musical artistry - even their convenience store carries very nice instruments and guitar strings alongside its sandwiches and popsicles. Somehow this place inspires brilliance - I stood mesmerized for nearly five hours the first night as band after band simply dazzled the stage, always to casual applause. I'm by far the most impressed member of the audience. I am so very impressed.

And seriously, popsicles! Explain to me why the hell anyone in this town would buy a popsicle! I think that's the far stranger enigma.