Samaris og Mammút

On Thursday I went to an amazing concert with two Icelandic bands, Samaris and Mammút.  I absolutely fell in love with Samaris: Take an amazing sound mixer, a kooky girl who plays the clarinet, and a girl who clearly grew up with Björk as the national heroine, and this is what you get:

The main singer is amazing - she was just a happy, perky bubble of energy, with an ethereal voice and a wafting, waif-like way of dancing.  She looked like an ice mermaid in a white outfit that was at times gauzy and fuzzy.  The clarinetist wore this clunky hour-glass dress like a shortened version of Björk's bell dress from Who Is It.  

Mammút, however, was dressed in all black.  At first I thought they were wearing turtlenecks that stopped right at the edge of the chin, a la Maleficent, but then I realized it was paint.  The drummers at one point came out in full sparkly black face masks, like the dancer in Legend (so many references!).  The main singer was a tiny woman who loped around the stage like a slightly rabid she-wolf.  It was fascinating to watch. 

 At one point all the women in the two groups got together to do a song together, and it was haunting. 

Fun fact: THE COAT CHECK WAS FREE.  Iceland is so trusting.

My next post will be about the amazing day trip that we took into the interior.  It will be full of pictures of waterfalls, ice, and offensive quotes from Jon Simon.  

An Icelandic Lesson

We were split into beginner and not-so-beginner classes today.  As I expected, I'm in the bottom class.  But even though I expected it, it doesn't make me feel good (even when I remind myself that I seem to be one of only 3 people who hasn't studied Old Norse or Icelandic before, and that I was working like five jobs when I did my original studying...).  So I will make myself feel better by teaching what I DO know.

Also, correction: I shared my list of Úlfar quotes with Úlfar himself, and it's actually Úlfarsfell, NOT Úlfarsvatn.  Vatn means lake, Fell means mountain. Which brings me to my first lesson:

"L": L makes three sounds.

1. At the end of words, by itself, and sometimes in the middle, it is unvoiced.  So shape your mouth in an "L" shape and blow.  (It sounds kind of Welsh).  This is also the case when words start with "hl".

2.  If there are two of them, like in "fell" it is formed like the first sound in "cluck" (still unvoiced.  So it is almost a click).

3.  At the start of words and in some borrowed words, it's just "L"

Now you can say Eyjafjallajökull! The IslandMountainGlacier volcano that blew up and no newscasters could pronounce (look it up on youtube - it's a mess!).  We all had to learn how to say it on our first day.  So here it is:

You can also say "Gjörðu svo vel," which is a sort of chameleon phrase in Icelandic.  It vaguely means "here you go!" or "help yourself!" but it's sometimes mistranslated as "please".  IMPORTANT NOTE: THERE IS NO ICELANDIC WORD FOR PLEASE.  Icelandic is not a polite language.  You say "I intend to have that" because if you use the words "Can" or "May" in a store, people laugh at you.

NEXT LESSON: The unvoiced "N".  This is the bane of my existence.  This is contained in the word "vatn".  When an n comes after a t, and in some other situations, it is unvoiced.  So make the shape of an "N" with your tongue and then breathe out through your nose like a baby dragon.  And somehow it's supposed to make this beautiful sound like a tiny sneeze.  I just feel like I'm going to snot everywhere.  I think it's supposed to sound like the noise that comes out between "mount" and "ain" for northeastern Americans (If I phonetically spell it, it's the dash in moun-n).  It's pure evil.

FINAL LESSON: As promised, feminine words.

I mentioned above that borrowed words that contain "l" often pronounce it as an English "l".  One example is the word "mella".  When French soldiers were in Iceland, they got to know some Icelandic women quite well.  When they left, they sent letters to them that had the shortened form of "Mademoiselle", "Mlle."  Because of that, Icelanders started calling each recipient of those letters "mella," which of course means "whore."

Another word for "whore," "gleðikona," is a classic example of gender binary (btw, what do you call a wife in Iceland?  A "gift"!).  Gleði means "delight" and "kona" means woman.  However, "gleðimaður," the male form, is used to refer to a guy who is the life of the party.  Not.  Fair.

To get the bad taste of sexism out of your mouth, here are some photos from my explorations yesterday:

This freaky waif lady is carved into the side of a statue that otherwise is completely normal.  There are a bunch of angels and a knight and then HER.  How did she get there?

It looks like someone left an offering for elves! (And strangely enough, it wasn't me)

Ah, so THAT's where they keep Mjölnir.

I had to take a picture of this, because the tiny tyke playing the drums has decided to completely ignore his cohorts' style choices for their soft-metal band.  Just look at those suspenders and bowtie.

Til next time...

Úlfar Says...

Today we went on a three hour bus tour of Reykjavik and the surrounding areas.  Our tour guide was our best friend Úlfar, who gave us words of wisdom while we rode around and saw the sites.  Now, I knew I liked Úlfar from the moment he said "I live in the house across from the building that looks like a tuhhhrnip." (I don't think I'll ever say "turnip" normally again).  But he came out with some amazing one-liners, today.

We started at the university building where we have been taking classes (above) and boarded the bus.  Two minutes into our journey, Úlfar began his guided tour: "As you can see here, there is traffic jam in Reykjavik."

We stopped at the fields surrounding a very geometric church out on the peninsula, which gave us a panoramic view of the surroundings.  Úlfar named all the natural landmarks around us.  Without missing a beat he said, "And this is my mountain, Úlfarsvatn."

 I had noticed Úlfar was picking flowers along the path as we walked.  The fields were full of wild flowers.  After explaining the views, he named each flower in Icelandic before throwing it on the ground.  I learned that "sóley" means "buttercup".

We got on the bus.  As we whizzed by the beautiful views, Úlfar shared his thoughts on the younger generation: "At one time it was thought good for children to work...now they are taken care of by their parents until they are 18...or 30, or whatever."

We stopped down by the shore, where there was a piece of art called "Swell." It is an overflowing footbath that uses water from the hot springs.  Úlfar happened to have a towel handy for people who wanted to dip in their feet.

In the meantime, I got some candids of my roommate, Alicia.

 Next we stopped at this funny little mound by the docks.  Úlfar told us that it looks like a tiny version of the mountain in Iceland that gives you three wishes if you climb it without looking behind you.  "But there are no vishes here," he warned us.

Maybe no vishes, but there were fishes.  The little hut at the top held fish, hanging up to dry.

 In the middle of Úlfar's speech about the concert hall across the water, one of the sprinklers turned on and made everyone scream.  Úlfar explained, "Yes sometimes it is dry...uh...because is SUNNY outside."  The word "Sunny" was said with great gusto and jazz hands.

I decided to climb the mound without using the path (of course).  It involved scrambling, but my friend Isaac yelled "Áfram, Olivia! Áfram!" which means "Onwards!" and I got to the top.

Next we stopped at the parks around Laugardalur, where there used to be hot springs where women would wash their clothes, before those springs were used for central heating.  This was where Úlfar told us more about his disapproval for the new Liberal government.  He told us, lifting his hands animatedly in the air, "The president now has the prime minister and foreign minister...um...like....PUPPET ON A STRING." (The last phrase was said, again, with great gusto, and a delicate hip swivel.)

Oh, also, this is apparently where Orthanc is.

 We went to Bessastadir Church, which is where the president lives.  Not in the church - on the land behind the church. (Mom and Dad - extra points if you can say what these pictures of the church reminds you of.  Imagine a gray sky, not blue).

Úlfar told us that Iceland's new female bishop was not succeeding in bringing people back to the church.  He said it's because she's not strong enough, letting us knows that, "ICELANDERS LIKES STRONG VIMEN!"

 Our last stop was in view of the university.  It was a path that stretched through a field of Alpine Lupins and ended at a big rocky area that was an art installation.  It is meant to represent the passing of time.  Úlfar told us that many people don't like Alpine Lupins because they are not native to Iceland.  He explained, "Some people have this religion that this flower is the devil."  After hearing at the church that all mentions of the devil had been purged from Icelandic church services, I was shocked to hear it. I picked one and pressed it in my Icelandic notebook.

And then we were left to our own devices!  I think the next time I write it'll be about the language and the weird sounds and faces I'll have to make.  Anyone who is reading will get a fun lesson and will also be instructed in how to say "whore" two different ways, both of which come from sexist etymology (you have to learn the most useful vocabulary first, after all!).

Góðan Daginn!

I thought it was appropriate to start by saying "Good day" in Iceland (roughly pronounced gowthan daiyin), because there is no night. Even though the sun technically sets, around midnight, it never truly gets dark. Here is the first picture that I took while I was here, at 10pm.

Luckily I had been training myself to sleep in the light while I was in New York (it was that, or develop an immunity to Iocane powder), so no worries there!

I want to only write about fun, goofy, interesting things (as opposed to the diaries I kept as a child with every minutia about each meal written down), so I shall skip the first day, which was basically just a marathon of exhaustion, tears, hunger, and confusion, and start with introductions!!!

This is me and my new roomies, all of whom I love, on our first day of class:

Going clockwise from me, Harriet (sunglasses on her head) is from Gloucestershire and is a PhD student from York.  She is a medievalist and English to the core, which means I'm not the only tea whore in our house. Josefina (holding the camera), is our own little Luna Lovegood.  Originally from Chile, she can talk endlessly about sagas with her singsong speech patterns, and often disappears into town for hours, probably to ride Thestrals. Alicia (below me), is Canadian with a Masters from York.  She brought a selection of Disney movies, including Emperor's New Groove, so she's a goddess in my book (we have spotty internet here and no Netflix *GASP*).

Then there are our professors!  We are taught the language by Sigríður and Jón Simón.  Sigríður is a sweet Icelandic woman who also goes by Sirrý...like the iPhone persona.  Jón Simón is an Englishman, but he is the only non-native speaker who has been able to fool Sirrý, so he seems like a perfect instructor.  He's a real oddball.  Occasionally he'll say things like "[such and such part of Icelandic grammer] sometimes sends bitches home crying."  Sadly I might not see too much more of Jón Simón - we are taking a test tomorrow to find out if we are in the advanced or beginners class...considering there are some people in my program who have been to Iceland before and can already speak in full sentences, I feel I will be firmly in the beginner's class with Sirrý.

Finally, this gem is Úlfar Bragason.

He is in charge of introducing us to the architecture and history of Reykjavik.  His English is the worst I've heard (most people are effortlessly fluent), but he makes up for it with his tangential tirades against the government.  His vocal patterns are very much like the Russian tour guide in "Eloise in Moscow", for anyone's who's read it.  He cracks us up - stay tuned for the next post for "Things Úlfar says".