Atlantica - 01.11.2002, Side 32

Silent Night
30 A T L A N T I C A
DEC 23 – Thorláksmessa
12.00
I leave the office at midday today, so that I
can join my friends for a traditional skata –
putrefied skate lunch. I can smell it a mile
away, and the ammoniacal odour is so
strong inside the restaurant that poor
unsuspecting tourists flee the premises
with green-tinged faces. My friends, how-
ever, are in high spirits, quite literally, as
the bottle of chilled brennivín on the table
is already half empty. That’s the thing
about traditional Viking food. Love it or
hate it, the taste is so strong that you have
to wash it down with something even
stronger. I leave at three pm, by which
time I’ve missed the two hours of winter
daylight. Outside it’s pitch black and snow-
ing.
20.00
After munching on some pre-festivity
hangikjöt (smoked lamb) at my mother’s
house, the family sets off, the little ones in
their prams, down the Laugavegur shop-
ping street. There’s a sharp chill in the air,
a fresh layer of snow on the pavement,
lots of people buzzing around in and out of
shops, and the decorations twinkle along
with the starry night sky. We finish our
last-minute Christmas buys and bump into
countless acquaintances doing the exact
same thing. The cafés are full of people
warming up with a festive jólaglögg
(mulled wine) and the sweet, spicy smell
wafts into the streets along with the rem-
nants of today’s skate. Carol singers and
musicians perform with soft snowflakes
falling on their hats and coats, and Santa
Clauses run around to talk to the children.
By eleven o’clock, there’s such a crowd in
the city centre that it becomes difficult to
move around. We push through the mass-
es and head on home.
DEC 24 – Adfangadagur
18.00
The whole family sits together in the living
room, dressed in their finest garb, and a
serene silence has descended upon the
city. The six o’clock church bells signal the
beginning of an Icelandic Christmas, and
whether you listen to them in church or at
home on the national radio station, those
bells bring a hush to the whole population.
Afterwards we’re all warm smiles and
happy faces, wishing each other a merry
Christmas, “Gledileg jól”. The children
admire the Christmas tree and their eyes
wander to the pile of presents underneath.
A little later we are seated at the dining
table, feasting on the traditional dinner of
ptarmigan, red cabbage, green peas,
caramelized potatoes and a rich creamy
gravy. Grandma brings in dessert, a rich
rice pudding with a hot chocolate sauce,
and we all search our plates for a whole
almond that’s supposed to be buried in
there somewhere. Someone squeals with
delight, “I got the almond!” and wins a
present.
21.00
Everyone’s eyes start roaming over to the
presents, but grandma keeps us in touch
with the essence of Christmas by sitting
down at the piano and insisting that every-
one join her for a few carols. Not quite
angelic, but sincere enough, and after-
wards we leave the hi-fi to the holiday
tunes and settle down next to the tree.
Two hours later, everyone is dozing off in
the midst of wrapping paper, presents and
chocolates. We bundle up, get into the car,
and drive through the deserted snow-cov-
ered streets.
DEC 25 Jóladagur
14.00
More food? Maybe not my first thought on
this beautiful day, after digesting last
night’s ptarmigan. But that’s what
Christmas is about, especially when there
are 22 hours of darkness. We’re sitting
down at a family dining table which is
about to crack under the weight of the culi-
nary delights. Our late lunch is a mixture
of Icelandic and Danish traditions, starting
with things like different sorts of pickled
herring, smoked salmon and gravlax.
Next, there’s a fine leg of hangikjöt with
béchamel sauce and potatoes. All of this is
served with cold beer and fresh-from-the
freezer aquavit or brennivín. By six o’clock
we’re nearly in a coma and the kids have
started watching the Christmas cartoons
on TV. Another few days of this food and I
know what my New Year’s resolution will
be. Again.
THIRTEEN SANTAS AND A MEAN CAT
In old Icelandic folklore, Christmas brought with it a rogueish band of brothers, the so-called Yuletide Lads. They were the off-
spring of the terrifying ogress Grýla, first mentioned in writing in the 13th century as a creature with 15 tails. Most stories of
Grýla were told to frighten children – she was supposed to steal naughty children, put them in a sack and eat them. During the
19th century, the Yuletide Lads and their mother saw a gradual improvement in their image. From child snatchers they devel-
oped into thieving tricksters who descended from the mountains one by one during the 13 days before Christmas. Each of the
Lads has a name which identifies him with his mischievous character, for example Sheepfold Stick, Gulley–oaf, Pot–licker,
Peeping-Tom and Candle-beggar. These local “Santas” got mixed up with the idea of a red-clad Santa bestowing gifts, and over
the last century they have changed their outfits from natural woollens to red and white. Nowadays children place a shoe in their
window on the 13 days before Christmas and if they’ve behaved well, the passing Yuletide Lad will leave them a present.
Another Christmas creature is the Yuletide Cat. This demoniacal, gigantic black cat goes after the children who have no new
clothes for the holidays. It is therefore a tradition for children to be given at least a pair of socks or gloves “so that the Christmas
Cat won’t get you”.
THE MOST STRIKING THING ABOUT CHRISTMAS ON THIS ISLAND IS THAT EVERYONE’S DOING THE SAME
THING. ANNA MARGRÉT BJÖRNSSON CRUISES THROUGH THE ARCHETYPAL ICELANDIC FESTIVITIES.
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