It’s easy to get the blues in Iceland.
Here’s one of the Trolls of Harnarfjall, on its annual pilgrimage to feed on the sea.
Slathering at the mouth in a field of old bones, as trolls will. There’s a whole herd of then where the foot of this fell turns into the flat of the sea. You can find them on cold days this time of year. In the summer they’ve gone to ground in the hills.
They call gravity a fell here, or a fall. Often both at the same time.
You can’t escaping falls. The experience of gravity below is an example of what is called a hike. Anything less than this is called a walk. Don’t confuse the two.
Below is a walk. Walks are wet. But gravity is a compensation! It’s good to keep your eye on it. Practice makes perfect.
In Reykjavik, gravity is still at work. I mean, the pot-smoking graffiti artists of Rome and New York and …? … aren’t issued ladders at customs. As a result, they walk from ground level.
Icelandic workers are better equipped to defy gravity.
They’ve been hiking, see. They know about falls. They’re everywhere. You can even fall off a road into the sea here.
Better get in some practice at balance. Off you go!
I like to think of this monolith in Reykjavik’s old harbour, near the Viðey Ferry and the industrial docks, as the mother of the city. Look at the sand she has drawn out of the sea’s currents and sheltered here…
… sand perfect for Ingólfur’s long boat in 870. In a country in which most beaches are stretches of surf or keel-ripping rock, that is no small thing. Here is the mother of the city. And look at her, isn’t she gorgeous? Wouldn’t you put into shore for her?