The Icelandic Canadian - 01.03.2004, Blaðsíða 41

Vol. 58 #3
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
135
Iceland Adventure
by Kristin Stefansson
Nearly twelve hundred years ago,
Vikings and other Norse settlers ventured
through foggy fjords to carve out a home
on Iceland's rugged shores. Their exploits
were recorded in numerous sagas that sur-
vive to this day. Last summer, we sought to
re-connect with some of those hardy souls
as we hunted for our “roots”. Traveling
with me on this adventure were my par-
ents, Mary Jane and Irvin (Rick)
Stefansson, and my aunt, Lois Martin.
Iceland didn’t disappoint. Here is a portion
of our saga.
My grandfather was born in Iceland
and came to Canada at the age of six with
his father, step- mother, older brother and
sister. All we knew was that he had come
from “somewhere near Akureyri.”
Hofsos, we were told, was the place to
do our research. It is the home of an
Icelandic Emigration Centre that links
families who left Iceland for North
America with those who stayed behind.
Hofsos is a tiny village nestled on a
picturesque fjord. Restoration work is tak-
ing place on many buildings. They are
being painted black so they appear to have
been coated by tar. In the past, a thick coat
of tar protected the precious wood from
damage by the salty spray. Within those
walls we found an informative museum,
extensive library and an impressive com-
puter research system.
It wasn’t long before Wincie
Johannsdottir, a researcher at the emigra-
tion centre, asked us about the family
member we were researching. She entered
the name Stefan Petursson, emigrant to
Canada in 1887, into the computer. It
directed her to a book on the library shelf.
She quickly flipped to a page that revealed
a copy of a very familiar photo - that of my
great-grandfather. The text, written in
Icelandic, gave information about Stefan
Petursson’s life and family. The next page
held a surprising photo of my grandfather,
Arni Stefansson, as an adult — he had left
Iceland as a child of six years — and of
uncles and cousins. The delight turned to
amazement when the next page had my
father and his sister staring at photos of
themselves. The translation we received
had accurate details about our lives: birth
dates, home towns, education, even wed-
ding dates, complete with my mother’s
maiden name, and Wilfred Martin as Aunty
Lois’s husband. When asked how this was
possible, we were told that information
was brought from the Gimli Library and
put into the Icelandic Emigration Centre
database.
Wincie informed us that the Petursson
family left a farm named “Sigluvik” which
was a short distance across the fjord from
the city of Akureyri. Eureka! The trail was
getting as hot as geysir water!
Before leaving Hofsos, we had the
“diSTINKt” pleasure of sharing some
shark meat with the patrons at the Hofsos
Inn and its owners, the Thorvaldsson fam-
ily. The shark meat, which had been aging
for 8 weeks, was a gift from our relative in
Selfoss, CMafur Olafsson. He made us
promise to try it. We first had to find a
location that didn’t mind the strong smell
of this delicacy, and would serve us the
requisite Brennivin as the perfect aperitif.
There was another reason we had to do this
in a public place: we needed witnesses.
Some Snorris from Canada served us well
in this capacity. A “Snorri” is a North
American youth of Icelandic descent who
spends six weeks nurturing his/her
Icelandic heritage. Not only did they watch
us indulge, they were invited to partake.
Take my hakarl. Please!
The evening was memorable for other
reasons. We had the awesome experience of