The Land of Ice and Books

Góðan dag!

We’ve managed to kick off our culture trip with two countries that have surprised me in their similarity. How is a desert country in the Middle East similar to an icy island in the North Atlantic, you might ask? 

Both countries speak impossibly difficult languages.

In fact, both Arabic and Icelandic have earnt a place in the top 10 most difficult languages to learn – in the world. If this were a bucket list, we’d be ticking off Finland and Hungary next. 

Do you remember when Eyjafjallajökull erupted in 2010, causing disruption to air travel across Europe? Icelanders had a field day watching news reporters all around the world mispronouncing 'Island Mountain Glacier'. The local folk still share clips on Facebook, when in need of a smile, during those impossibly long winters. 

So why is Icelandic so difficult to speak? It might surprise you to know that Icelandic is spoken by less than 400 000 people (that's the size of Canberra) across the globe. Because so few people actually speak the language, they can really do anything they like with it. They take the purity of their language so seriously that there is an entire panel dedicated to this purpose. Instead of adopting words like 'Smart Phone' into their vocabulary, a panel of linguists sit down over a hot cuppa in order to coin a new word. I'm not sure how long it took them to come up with klár sími – quite literally, 'clever telephone' – but I'm sure they are quite proud of it. 

Icelandic has remained largely unchanged from ancient Norse, the language of Iceland's first settlers, meaning that Icelandic school children could ostensibly read Norse scripts from the 9th and 10th century. It would be like us being able to read and comprehend something that William Shakespeare's great-great-grandfather wrote. If that's not amazing, I don't know what is.

The Icelandic folk also keep a tight grasp on their naming system. When a man named Ragnar Grímsson has a son named Ólafur,  Ólafur's last name will not be Grímsson like his father's; it will become Ragnarsson, literally indicating that Ólafur is the son of Ragnar (Ragnars + son). The same practice is used for daughters, but the ending is 'dottir'. When a child is born, his/her proposed name is submitted to the Icelandic Naming Committee for approval. It is their job to ensure that the proposed name is Icelandic in origin and follows the traditional form. No Apples, Oranges, Blankets or Tables will be passed. There is actually a list of approved names for you to choose from. Easy.

Or not so easy. Because the country is so small and surnames don't necessarily indicate which family you belong to, there is a very real risk that you might accidentally sleep with a relative. But, don't worry, there is an app for everything – even 'incest prevention' – and it works. Íslendingabók (The Book of Icelanders) is a genealogical database that lists important information about the inhabitants of Iceland, going back 1200 years. The app allows users to tap into this information, by bumping their phones together. If an alarm sounds, well, don't go there.

For reasons of practicality, the people of Iceland are listed in the phone book by their first names, along with their occupation. If you would like to fulfil your childhood dreams of becoming a fire truck (Uncle Jason), just move to Iceland and get yourself listed in the phone book. Right now, there are 24 lion tamers (there are no lions in Iceland), 24 astronauts and two hen whisperers listed in the book. I feel a need for another committee coming on. 

Iceland is a nation after my own heart. For a country so small, the number of new tiles published each year (per capita), is second only to the UK – a country 193 times its size. Iceland's literary tradition dates back to its legendary medieval sagas, which all self-respecting Icelandic folk have read. The Icelanders have no stunning monuments or castles of which to boast, but they do have their manuscripts. As the novelist, Solvi Bjorn Siggurdsson says 'We are a nation of storytellers. When it was dark and cold we had nothing else to do.' When Halldór Laxness was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature, the population of Iceland sat at a measly 156 000. If people didn't like his work then, they certainly do now. 

The Icelandic people are known for their boundless optimism. The land is craggy, mossy and devoid of life in winter but the people are content with their lot (it might be the fish oil or copious amounts of antidepressants). If you were brought up on a diet of fermented shark, whale, puffin, horse-meat, sour ram's testicles and fish jerky, you too would have been taught not to complain. Icelanders, out of necessity, haven’t exactly acquired a taste for fresh food ...

Grasping my Icelandic flag toothpick in one hand and a shot glass of Brennivin in the other, I feel like a genuine Icelander, stabbing a spongey square of fermented shark, as though it were a cube of cheddar. I’d heard that fermented shark tastes a bit like cheese but there is nothing ‘cultured’ about this delicacy. I can't say I really enjoyed it but the ammonia-rich, fishy smell has certainly cleared my sinuses. New superfood? Obviously, the only way to 'enjoy' this delicacy is by washing it down with Brennivin – the original Icelandic schnapps. I'll leave the sour ram's testicles to Andre.

I could go on all day with fun tidbits about this interesting country but, alas, my tour starts in half an hour.

Bless Bless,

Sáráh Bárrýsdottir (Create your Icelandic name here.)

Our land of lakes forever fair
below blue mountain summits,
of swans, of salmon leaping where
the silver water plummets,
of glaciers swelling broad and bare
above earth's fiery sinews — 
the Lord pour out his largess there
as long as earth continues!

~ Jónas Hallgrímsson