The Icelandic Canadian - 01.09.1977, Blaðsíða 14

12
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
AUTUMN 1977
A RETURN TO ONE'S "ROOTS"
by Gustaf Kristjanson
A DC-8 descends from the northern
skies on a dull June morning and
disgorges a load of passengers for
Keflavik International Airport. The
hopes and expectations that these
passengers bring with them are probably
as diverse as the people who make up the
group. Three weeks and two days later
the same group enplanes for the return
journey to Winnipeg. It would be
interesting to find out what their feelings
are as they leave behind the “land of ice
and fire” — what memories they take
away with them, what impressions.
They must, for example, have been all
but overwhelmed with the generousness
and hospitality of the people of Iceland.
Surely they must all have been struck
with the multicoloured landforms and
the contrast of sweeping meadows with
rugged lava plains that characterize this
stark but beautiful land. One might well
assume that they saw more sheep
grazing within this brief span of three
weeks than they had previously
encountered during their entire lifetime.
It would be hard to believe that anyone
could have missed the grace of Mount
Esja, serenely overlooking Reykjavik
from across the bay. Except perhaps for
those who have visited the country on a
number of occasions previously, or those
who spent the entire time in some other
corner of the land. It would be hard to
believe that anyone missed making the
pilgrimage to Thingvellir, home of the
first Althing in 930 A.D.
These, by and large, must have been
common experiences. A large number
probably made an excursion to see
Gullfoss and the Geysir region. Gullfoss,
incidentally, must be one of the most
spectacular and beautiful waterfalls on
earth. No doubt many paid their
respects to Strokkur, that bumptious
geysir whose activity must be a source of
satisfaction to the Iceland Tourist
Bureau, particularly since the more
famous Geysir nearby has been pouting
in silence for the last two or three years.
To those who found their way to the
north of Iceland, the glories of Godafoss
and the scenery in and around Myvatn
may well have been part of their
experience. A few may have sampled the
quiet beauties of the canyon they call
Asbyrgi or viewed the power of the
Dettifoss waterfall, although these are a
trifle more off the beaten track. Some of
the group were able to take advantage of
a break in the unsettled weather to make
a trip to the Westman Islands, site of the
awesome volcano that destroyed part of
the town of Vestmannaeyar four years
ago. The sight of a brand new mountain
formed of hardened lava and volcanic
ash—still hot immediately beneath the
surface— was a memorable one indeed.
Many or most of the items described
above must have been common
experiences for the travellers to Iceland
in the summer of 1977. But each
traveller must have had his own personal
experience as well. For example, I have
the memory of some five hours spent in a
smallish aircraft owned by Icelandair
that made the flight to Kulusuk in
eastern Greenland, circled over ice-floes
and mountain crags as it sought vainly
to find its way through a sleet storm that
was obscuring the tiny airfield, and
finally abondoned the attempt to return
to more hospitable skies over Reykjavik.
I have also the memory of a Sunday