Reykjavík Grapevine - jan. 2022, Blaðsíða 30

Iceland was, until recently, essen-
tially rural. Rapid urbanisation after
1900 changed the country forever and
despite Iceland being revered for its
beautiful landscape, 94% of the popu-
lation live in towns and cities. Iceland-
ers are, in effect, tamed.
How do Icelanders see themselves
now? As the stoic farmer, resourceful
and determined? Or the bright, fast-
walking urbanite, animatedly holding
court in Kaffibarinn? These images
reject one another, and politically too,
the lines between countryside and
capital are stark.
To the north
Skagaströnd sits on the western shore
of the Skagi headland. In the early De-
cember weather, the drive here is any-
thing but tame. The roads are icy and
snow snakes across them in treach-
erous corkscrews. We arrive after
nightfall and Skagaströnd twinkles
welcomingly as we descend into the
town.
We’re here to film, and to see what
Skagaströnd has to offer us, visitors
from the big smoke. We come with our
own expectations; I, country-raised
and always threatening to run off
to a farm somewhere, am instantly
charmed. My editor, the city boy, con-
demns Skagaströnd as a ghost town.
We are probably both right.
We’re staying at Salthús Guesthouse.
Once a building for salting cod, it now
hosts tourists and visiting artists
alike. The rooms are warm and smart-
ly decorated and the shared kitchen
looks over the harbour below. It’s also
minutes from the pool, our first port
of call. You can tell a lot about a com-
munity from its pool.
Fighting loneliness
The pool is tiny but impeccably clean,
and we’re offered coffee as we soak.
The air is freezing and the coffee pro-
vides a welcome kick. We strike up
conversation with the only other oc-
cupant, who turns out to be the local
priest. She extols the town’s virtues;
the beautiful church, the fishing, the
museum. Covid never reached Ska-
gaströnd, she informs us, but its im-
pacts were still felt here. Loneliness is
an issue, and she made sure to check
on older residents during lockdown.
Beyond the village there are farms
spread all round the cape, and an age-
ing population inhabits them. But the
priest is cheery.
After the pool we set about finding
somewhere to eat. We pass the pier on
the way, which, even on a Friday eve-
ning, is busy with small fishing boats
unloading their catch. Every so often a
lorry thunders into the village ready to
receive the next batch.
Food for thought
Harbour Restaurant is beautifully
decorated. There is one other table, a
large family. No tourists. The food is
well-cooked, if not exciting. As a visi-
tor you always hope to see local pro-
duce featured on the menu—varieties
of fresh fish or cheeses from nearby
farms. But there is instead the usual
lamb, burgers and pizza. At the end of
the day, tourism here is limited, both
from foreigners and Icelanders. When
locals go out, they just want a decent,
normal meal.
The pub, Hólanes, is an unexpected
building, a log cabin in a landscape be-
reft of trees. A few people are drinking
in disparate duos, and a TV is blasting
covers of pop songs. We commandeer
the pool table, the barman offers us
control of the music and suddenly it’s
a real Friday night. I’ve never played
pool and so I am, unsurprisingly, ter-
rible. People offer me tips and eventu-
ally we’ve made friends with half the
bar. When closing time comes we in-
vite the two left to join us for a night-
cap.
Creative thinking
The young men are filmmakers, and,
what’s more, they’re here as part of
an incredible arts programme, NES
residency. In 2008, while the country
was falling apart due to the financial
crash, the council here responded
to the closure of the fish processing
plant in a creative way. They converted
the building into a large arts space,
and invited creators from all over the
world to come to Skagaströnd. In a vil-
lage with a population of 470, more
than 100 artists may visit in a year, to
paint, sing, film, photograph, dance,
sculpt and breathe more life into the
town.
It’s fitting that it’s here, not the
city, that we are faced with this jux-
taposition: new and old, frivolous art-
ist and mundane worker, fisherman
and poet. But Skagaströnd rejects this
tiresome debate. A couple of centuries
ago, Icelandic farmers entertained
themselves during haymaking with
self-composed poetry, attempting to
outdo each other with the complexity
of their alliteration. Art and labour
were intrinsically intertwined.
The sun rises late; it’s close to the
solstice. From the little kitchen win-
dow I watch the town appear in the
gloaming, street by street. Finally the
streetlights go out and the mountain
above the village glows orange and
pink in the winter light. It is aston-
ishingly beautiful. The harbour be-
low is busy as always, with fishermen
jostling in bright yellow waterproofs.
On the pier are two young filmmakers
preparing to shoot.
Travel distance
from Reykjavík:
260 km
Car provided by:
gocarrental.is
Accommodation
provided by:
salthus.is
Arcadian Arts
A ni!ht in the northern town of Ska!aströnd raises
questions about Iceland’s identity
Words: Josie Anne Gaitens Photos: Art Bicnick
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