The Icelandic Canadian - 01.12.2001, Side 34

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THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
Vol. 56 #3
munity in Victoria. The first evening 80
people showed up, and more people came
the following evenings. This was the
astounding. The interest in the lectures was
immense, but for us there was much more.
It was an opportunity to meet people—
people who now have become our good
friends. They made our stay in Victoria an
adventure. Through them we have learned
about their lives and experiences and their
interest in Iceland, and we have learned
about their Icelandic ancestors. Although
their hospitality would require a long arti-
cle in itself, I must mention one visit: our
first visit to Baldur and Betty in Duncan.
They are in their eighties, were born in
Canada, and visited Iceland for first the
time a year ago. Nevertheless, they speak
Icelandic as well as any person who has
lived in Iceland from birth. We had heard
that this might be the case, but the experi-
ence of meeting Baldur and Betty was fas-
cinating. At Betty’s coffee table, cakes and
bread were served, as they would be in any
stately home in Iceland. The Icelandic cul-
ture seemed to have been maintained.
We wanted to learn more about
Icelandic heritage in Canada, but we also
wanted to travel around the country.
Knowing that the Rockies were not far
away prompted us to go Banff in October,
and to Red Deer to visit Hallgrlmur’s
cousin, Dario. Two of Hallgrimur’s rela-
tives immigrated to Canada in the begin-
ning of last century. When staying with
Dario, Hallgrfmur realized that he had
hundreds of relatives in Canada. It was a
pleasant occurrence, especially because
Dario was very knowledgeable about the
family.
We engaged in other travels during our
stay in Vancouver Island, exploring Pacific
Rim National Park and South and North
Vancouver Island, including Cape Scott.
On Vancouver Island, nothing was as
astonishing as the Rain Forest. Walking in
this magnificent and untouched natural
world is an experience that will stay with
us. By this time we had seen two bears,
both at very close range. I think we were
relatively unaware of the danger of meeting
these creatures. In fact, the second time I
saw a bear, I thought it was a dog.
Our major travelling achievement was
driving across Canada in April. The 6500-
km trip provided us with pictures: one pic-
ture of the country as a whole and many
smaller ones. Traveling through Rogers
Pass and the Rockies for the second time
did not lessen the effect of these majestic
parts of Canada. A few hours later, at the
top of Central Tower in Calgary, viewing
the city and that widespread endless flat-
land, we could hardly imagine that we were
still in the same country. Canada is certain-
ly a land of contrasts. It took us only a few
minutes to discover that oil and gas are the
major sources of livelihood in Calgary;
whereas in eight months in Victoria we
never found out how people make their liv-
ing.
From Calgary the prolonged flatland
persists, but then there are the history and
legends that become important for the trav-
eller. In Medicine Hat, the legend says, the
Cree and the Blackfoot were fighting,
when the medicine man decided to flee. In
his haste, he forgot his hat. The Cree saw
his escape as a sign of bad fortune, stopped
fighting, and were all killed by the
Blackfoot. Later, we drove towards Indian
Head, another place rooted in the Native
culture. We did not relate this place to
Canadian Indians, but to an Icelandic man
from Akureyri, Jon Rognvaldsson. Early
last century, Jon travelled all the way from
Iceland to Indian Head to study forestry at
the Prairies Farm Rehabilitation
Association, where he learned the value of
shelterbelts and brought his knowledge
back to Iceland. All the way to Winnipeg
we noticed that shelterbelts were a com-
mon feature around the farmland and that
they changed the landscape of the prairies.
On our way, we tried to spot muse-
ums, with diverse outcomes. In Regina we
saw the smallest museum we had ever seen:
the Prairies Museum. They had a remark-
able glass art display—a beautiful cornfield
made of glass. In Whitewood we eagerly
looked for a museum that would demon-
strate the life of the immigrants and their
settlements. After several attempts we
found the museum, but were disappointed
to find it abandoned and in poor condition.
This disappointment, we thought,