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.

Reykjavik, Iceland

Simply Fallegt

The moment I set foot in Reykjavik, I was farther from home than I had ever been in my life. Funny thing is, that sentiment never had a chance to sink in before the city became familiar and entirely welcoming.

Hopping from the capital of New York to the capital of Iceland is a preposterous transition - their similarities instantly cease in that common title. Reykjavik is small. No, Reykjavik is tiny. The "bustling" downtown area is contained across a half dozen shop-dotted streets, and between a pair of single-lane roads, each of which is lined with traffic patterns akin to a funeral procession. While I still cannot pronounce most of the street names (I've mentally renamed them all to their first four letters), it took little more than a day to familiarize myself with the city's layout. From that point, wandering was easy.

I've been fortunate enough to drop into Reykjavik in the midst of Blúsfélag Reykjavíkur, their annual blues festival. Icelandic blues are funny because they're fairly happy and whimsical. The second set was performed, interestingly enough, by the musician who established the festival I'm about to attend in the Western Fjords (reportedly the "cold" part of Iceland), and also the brother of one of my hostel attendants. We went out for drinks, and now I have an all-access festival pass from the immensely talented guy who put together Iceland's largest annual music event. Should make for a fun weekend.

Thanks to the death of Our Lord Jesus, last night was my first taste of Reykjavik nightlife (Icelanders only party on weekends, and Easter is for some reason a week-long weekend). Needless to say, today has been slow in recovery. More on that another time.



So how do you define the soul of a place through photography? It's something that is obviously reflected in a city's architecture, its urban layout, and most certainly its people. Yet, these things are so often interchangeable - as much as what I see feels distinctly Icelandic to me, the world isn't so big a place as to deny cultural overlap.

I suppose it's all in the details. A unique gathering of individuals. The graffiti on a bus stop. The character form of a skyline. The discarded pieces of life. If only I could so easily capture the bizarrely ephemeral music that occasionally drifts out apartment windows and through the air, the steady pulsing beat from deep within the many cafe-turned-nightclubs downtown, or the salty scents that fill the streets closest to the waterfront. The flute-like language of the conversing locals and the soft breeze that continually bites through your warmest clothing, reminding you that it's seen far colder places than you. If I could do these things, I could put Reykjavik inside a frame, and consider my photo to be perfect. Until then, I will have to continue hunting for those little details.

For now, I'm going to go find out what blue whale tastes like.

Reykjavik, Iceland

Reykjavik...

Oh.

My goodness.

New York, U.S.A.

Mirror Glass

Manhattan isn't like anywhere at all.

This city makes me feel physically smaller. The environs are not unfamiliar, but the scale is all off. It's just totally foreign - streets feel absurdly wide, blocks too long. Even the people feel too tall. I'd never felt short in my entire life until I first came to New York.

This place is fun, but I can't wait to leave.

I went out for epic sushi in the West Village, for a point of comparison. Baby eel isn't as good as unagi, but it's got that yummy baby-flavor to it.

...Icelanders must like sushi, right?

Washington D.C., U.S.A.

Capital G

Nobody told me that D.C. was such a... city! I guess I always assumed it to be more of a political Disneyland than a bustling metropolitan area. It strikes me as strange to live here if you aren't working in or at least obsessed with politics, but I suppose doing so would certainly lend unique perspective on the gears that grind our system.

It's a tough city in which to shoot... what can you do when every possible photograph has already been taken there? There really aren't many new subjects or angles to be discovered here. I did my best and got a few good shots, particularly playing around with subway time-lapse. It will be nice to go somewhere I can't even envision yet - the total opposite.

The other thing I hadn't realized was how massively massive this place is. A block in Washington isn't like a normal city block... deceptive to say the least. I wonder why the founding daddies planned a city with such vast empty spaces. Mile-long fields and enormous reflecting pools, all in the midst of what is obviously a fully functioning city.

Maybe they hoped their citizens would have time to think as they went about their business. Too bad cars got invented.

Chicago, U.S.A.

Monochromolithic

Chicago was the final major American metropolitan city I had never properly visited. I guess I've completed the set.

It's almost jarringly iconic. Massive bleak structures huddled over wide, traffic-inundated avenues. The rattling, deafening, somewhat terrifying doppler of the L, screaming past overhead. The fact that everyone really is wearing trenchcoats. It got me thinking on how to approach the idea of capturing a city's soul in pictures. How do you define a place with a handful of sights? I'd like to become more adept in that - thankfully I'll have lots of practice time coming up.

I've enjoyed every minute of my brief time here, and look forward to spending more than a rushed day exploring these streets. Mostly, it's been nice to have more than two train cars in which to walk. And walk I have. And walk I shall.

Denver, U.S.A.

The Cold Rails

And still, not nearly as cold as I'll be in a week's time.

Tomorrow evening I arrive in Chicago to friends, proper food and drink, and (most importantly) a long-overdue shower.

Then, exploration really begins.