ISAFJORDUR, ICELAND: FISH AND SMILES

Bolungarvik

“The inhabitants have always been considered hard working, fiercely independent and a bit quirky (like most of the people of Westfjords to be honest).” – from the Port of Isafjordur brochure, discussing the town of Bolungarvik.

A pleasant expression on the face. A warm greeting. A dry sense of humor. This seems to be endemic among the people of the Westfjords peninsula of Iceland, where we have made our first stop in this island nation with a population numbering only 334,000. Some 2,700 of those people live in the town of Isafjordur where we docked, and another 882 in the town of Bolungarvik just up the road and through a tunnel.

Isafjordur is the area hub, with two grocery stores, two bars, a government-run liquor store, a hotel, a university, and a variety of other establishments. Like the rest of Iceland, fishing is the area’s mainstay. The winters are harsh and covered with snow, and summers are pleasantly cool. The scenery is spectacular, with the towns at the bottom of high cliffs surrounding a fjord. Waterfalls abound, as do wildflowers and greenery clinging to the cliffs.

Waterfall just outside Isafjordur

Avalanche wall

The area faces a number of challenges. For instance, gardeners and farmers must deal with arctic foxes and minks coming to snack on their crops. But the greatest threat is avalanche. Forty people were killed in an avalanche in 1994, and others died the same way in years past. This motivated the government to build a system of walls and mounds to stop or break the energy of avalanches in populated areas. However, there still are homes that are vulnerable. Some that have some protection, but still some vulnerability, are inexpensive to buy even though they have spectacular views, but are quite expensive to insure. Others are allowed to be occupied only in summertime, as they have virtually no protection in winter.

Recreation matters in a place like this. The area has three golf courses, five public swimming pools, and campground distributed here and there throughout, serving a populace on the peninsula of fewer than 5,000.  There are a number of small museums throughout the area. We visited one devoted to the development of women’s rights. (Iceland is rightly proud of its history on women’s rights in recent years. Its parliament—Iceland is the world’s oldest parliamentary democracy—is 48% female, and its popular Prime Minister is a woman.)  We did not get the chance to see the International Doll Museum, the Nonsense Museum, or the “small exhibition devoted to dry fish. Yes, dry fish.” (from the same brochure quoted at beginning of this blog entry).

Needless to say, the sea is the major provider of food in the area. A seafood restaurant in little Isafjordur has been rated #1 in Iceland on Trip Advisor.  

#1 restaurant in Iceland

Dried cod has long been a staple, as is fermented shark, a national dish that Anthony Bourdain once described as “the worst thing I ever put in my mouth.” We had a chance to taste both dishes. While the shark may not be the worst thing I ever ate, it certainly is a leading candidate (indeed, we were told to be sure to use a toothpick to pick it up, because if we used our fingers it would be days before we’d be able to get the smell off our hands).

Fermented shark. Not recommended.

An interesting thing about the shark is that, for many years, fishermen would catch sharks, remove their livers, and toss the remains back into the water. The livers were sold to European cities for oil for lamps. However, the meat was toxic and so was not edible until they discovered that, if it was fermented, it would lose its toxicity.

A surprising highlight of our visit was to a little church in Bolungarvik. There, Christine, a 19-year-old woman in traditional dress and of sardonic humor, serenaded us with three traditional Icelandic songs, one describing the beauty of the island and the other two lullabies that told grisly tales of a mother throwing her child into a waterfall and of a woman whose toes were being cut off due to infection. Christine rightly described the latter two as “quite weird.” While the lyrics were in Icelandic, we could tell from her facial expressions and gestures when she got to the grisly parts. As she put it, the babies don’t understand the awful things their mothers are singing to them, so it’s alright. 

Christine, performing "weird" lullaby.

Speaking of Christine, an interesting word about names in Iceland. If you open a phone book in any city in Iceland, you will see only first names. Their last names are simply a parent’s name (each individual can choose which parent) followed by “son” or “dattir.” And the preference is not to use last names at all.  Even the country’s Prime Minister and President are known by their first names.