Food is good, Iceland

Perhaps not surprisingly, the week after resolving to get fit I am thinking of, writing about and of course eating food. I managed to munch my way through more packets of 2 minute noodles than I care to remember in my first 3 months here so I figure I owe myself. These days I head to Olafshús to fill up on Icelandic cuisine before returning to work to sleep away the afternoon. The restaurant serves up goodness like horse pepper steaks, trout, wolf fish, monk fish, cod (and countless other equally delicious species), caramelised potatoes, pizza and the pièce de résistance - half a chicken stuffed with chips. The only thing that makes the chicken better is the fact that it is called kjúklingar (always pronounced loudly/yelled: que-cling-ger!) in Icelandic. Flippin' gold. This restaurant is my favourite place in Iceland ... seriously.

Olafshús - the reason for coming to work

On Saturday the "foreigners" as we are affectionately known put on an International Food Night here in Holar. The Americans took over the school's kitchen for the afternoon and pumped out chilli, cornbread, chicken wings, deep fried cheese balls, peanut butter square, seven layer dip and Dorrito's. Frenchie whipped up a couple of onion tarts.

Soizic, Olí (of Olafshús fame) and some guy in a dress

I freaked out for a while contemplating how the hell I was going to hold my own with people who know what an oven does apart from hold up the kitchen counter. Finally, after confirming that we and not the Australians actually invented it, I decided on trying my luck at the miraculousness that is Pavlova.

The Pavlova aftermath

With a few beers to calm my nerves I crammed half a dozen eggs in to a mixer, piled in some sugar and set the dial to 'whip ass.' While the cooking was happening I headed over to see what Dan and Cat were up to because I couldn't stand all that noise. A few hours later I meandered home and found a very fruity looking cake awaiting me. Who knew baking was this easy.

New Zealand cake

While we were all in bed relatively early (perhaps due to the homemade Icelandic vodka that was circulating) the dinner was a success, and as far as I know there were no reports of food poisoning. We even got invited to dinner by some folk keen to show us how much more delicious Icelandic food is than 'foreign food.' A tour of the vodka distillery 'out the back' is of course included. It sounds like mischief, so as long as they don't invite us over for þorrablót (you'll have to wait until the 7th of February to find out about this insanity) you know I'll be there.

Umm, yes the exercise is going good. Thanks for asking ...

Exorcism, Iceland

Being a new year, having worked through the holidays, and feeling a bit guilty after getting home from a party at 4am on a Friday morning before work, this weekend I resolved to start "looking after myself." Instead of eating the microwaveable meals that the Silver Ferns seem to love so much, I am trying a somewhat revolutionary approach - not drinking beer combined with getting off my ass once in a while. I think the process is called exercise.

Bandi games are now scheduled for two days a week, and I have even taken up yoga ... yeah I don't know what's going on either. The snow has been a bit rubbish of late, so outside activities have been limited to walking on snow rather than sliding on it. Being as lazy as I am, for my kick start in to the world of fit people I chose to attempt climbing the nearest hill to my house - the 420m high Gvendarskal.

Holabryda and Gvendarskal ledge (left) looming ominously out my back door

The weather was a bit fierce, and annoyingly the wind was still ripping all the snow off the top of the mountain where it should be. Ordinarily the walk takes about an hour or so, but today Pamela and I battled up the icy slopes for more than two hours. The deep snow drifts that had accumulated in the valleys were begging for a carve or two, but alas, the large rocks strewn about would have meant that attempting a run on a board would almost certainly have ended badly. I was forced to walk up AND down.

Battling - pure and simple

My laziness, general poor level of fitness and bad weather combined to make me hate exercise all over again. By the time we reached the top one side of my face was partially frozen, I was cold, I was tired, and we still had to get down. Let's see how long this health buzz lasts.

That is a fake smile - I am not that happy, but Pamela probably is

Warning: science, Iceland

I only got new years day off this year, so was in the office doing all kinds of sciency type stuff while everyone else was enjoying the obligatory stat days. Certainly a big change from my lifestyle before I left New Zealand, where my time was split largely between tanning on the beach and fly fishing for trout. Over the holidays I have come to realise something that most of you probably already knew. I am a SCIENCE NERD. Unbelievably good looking sure, but a science nerd none-the-less.

Nerd station

Consider the general layout of my office for a minute. Atop a sterilised counter illuminated by fluorescent lighting sit my tools of the trade. If you look closely at the photograph above, you might be able to make out a few dead giveaways of nerdiness. Take the microscope for example - who else but a nerd would have this on their desk at work instead of a computer permanently displaying facebook? Just out of frame to the left is a small container where I keep scissors, forceps of several different sizes, a stick with a pin on it (aka sting), scalpels, and water proof paper. I also keep my pens in there - only because none of my shirts have pockets. The small bottles in the background obviously indicate my proficiency at mixing all manner of dangerous chemicals. The lab coat of course is a definite giveaway.

When I'm in my lab coat you know what time it is ... it's science time

The reason I was in the office instead of enjoying some time off was that everyone else was gone and some poor fulla had to complete the sampling for a few projects. This mainly involved collecting and preserving fish eggs, which are going to be analysed by even bigger nerds than me for reasons I don't completely understand.

I spent 14 days over Christmas collecting and preserving fish eggs

My new nick-name adorns my nerd shelf

Anyone who knows me also knows I should not be allowed access to this

When I wasn't busy doing other people's work, I was busy with my own macabre business. The next few months of my life are going to be spent analysing the contents of some 1,000 or so fish stomachs. A long and drawn out process to be sure. The aim is to eventually relate the way fish look to the things they eat. The point, briefly, is to see how natural selection (i.e. the idea of the survival of the fittest) has influenced the great diversity of animals that share our planet. Cough ... NERD ... cough.

Dwarf Arctic charr head and stomach ready for analysis

Buckets of fun

I figure if nothing else all this work identifying creepy crawlies should make it a lot easier for me to catch trout once I'm all finished. After all, if you know what the fish are eating then you can surely tempt them with some similar looking tasty morsel from your fly box. Combined with my work on foraging behaviour planned for summer, Dr Fish is looking set to become deadly if he ever makes it back to New Zealand streams.

Taking the idea of 'match the hatch' to ridiculous extremes

That could take some time however, considering how many bugs are likely to be in each of the 1,000 stomachs, how bad I am at identifying the things and that my computer still runs MS DOS. The upside of course is that I won't be wasting any time surfing the internet or updating my facebook status every 15 minutes ...

My PCs power is only outdone by it's elegant simplicity

New Year's Eve, Iceland

Any good New Year's Eve celebration in Iceland needs four things:

1) A few cold beers
2) A bonfire with flames reaching at a height of at least 8 or 9 metres
3) A boot load of the biggest fireworks I've ever seen
4) Children with matches

Before I begin, I need to state that this is unlike anything I have seen before. Not only is it a crazy night, but all of it (apart of course from point 1 above) is intended for the whole family. What I experienced is considered a low key affair, with those wanting the real craziness heading south to Reykjavík.

To make things easy, the night is separated in to a few different activities, thus enabling even the most inebriated of persons to fully partake in the festivities. First of course is some fine wine (or the cheapest beer available) to accompany dinner. A few of us were lucky enough to be invited for a mouth watering dinner of lamb, some German potato thing, and heavily rum laden home made ice-cream at Eik's house. At 8:00pm sharpish, those remaining of the village on 'Old Years Eve' as Icelander's call it, set off to have a few drinks and a sing song at an unbelievably large bonfire.

Rósa, Raika, Cat, Me and Eik getting a true fire and ice experience

If I hadn't already shaved, I think my beard would've melted off

Next on the agenda is an impressive fireworks display put on by the local rescue team. Lasting all of a minute and a half or so, somewhere in the order of 500,000 ISK worth of China's best sky candy was enjoyed by the small crowd.

Loose bonfire? Check. Epic fireworks? Check. Honey, where are the kids?

Check ya self on that bonnie

Ooh ahh

After the display it was time to head home again to watch the spectacle that is Áramótaskaupið (the New Year's comedy). The tv show is an annual Icelandic television comedy special, and is an important part of Icelandic New Year's celebration for most. It focuses upon the recent year from a satirical standpoint, and shows little mercy towards its victims, especially politicians, artists, prominent businesspeople and activists. This year the funniest portion for me involved a polar bear sitting down at a meeting with suggestions for government officials on how to resolve the current economic crisis. As was the case here in Sauðárkrókur not so long ago - he was promptly shot ...

Next up, as with every Icelandic event, is more alcohol. Between 10 and 12 you have to pace yourself however, as there is still an important duty to be performed. Not content with the public displays, Icelander's spend upwards of a month's salary on boxes and boxes of fireworks that they let off in a simultaneous, chaotic and I'm guessing pretty dangerous manner at midnight. Bjarni (my supervisor) came to the party with an actual boot load ... what a good lad.

Bjarni supplied a boot load of firepower with names I could only guess at ...

Cat and Dan ducking and weaving to avoid eye loss

"Road flares aren't for emergencies - they're for New Years dummy!"

In Reykjavík, the madness of individual people's fireworks looked like this ...

Once everyone's hard earned (and now largely worthless outside of the country) cash has literally gone up in smoke, it is time for - you guessed it - beer club :o) You may notice that my name appears both before and after the celebrations. My bad. I hope everyone else had a great new years - and all the best for 2009.

Beer Club is my friend

Final beard update, Iceland

I decided to bring in the new year looking more respectable than I have done for the last few months. This is therefore the last post about my ridiculous facial hair - it has been exterminated.

Practicing my competition face ...

Before removal it was D-day for the competition (which to be fair Dan didn't know he was in until recently). Looking as unimpressed or surprised or totally gutted as always, Dan pulled out his best deer in the headlights look for one last photograph.

The bestest beard you've ever seen ... and Dan's beard

Now I am back to my normal boring face - which in case any of you have forgotten what I look like already, goes a little something like this:

Hot or not?

Christmas, Iceland

With the Yule Lads still descending from the mountains, Christmas finally arrived - as it always does, on the 25th of December. With the village almost devoid of people Dan, Cat and I were left to our own devices to decide how to celebrate. With my traditional lack of planning I was going to be content with a few coldies and maybe some rice and beans. Cat fortunately had a better idea ... beers AND chicken. One of the most expensive meats in Iceland, it is somewhat unusually considered a 'delicacy' and as such consumed to a lesser extent than either horse, whale and certainly the ubiquitous boiled sheep's head. Cat also wanted to try her hand at some truly Icelandic cooking, which resulted in some odd looking but delicious Laufabrauð - thin deep-fried wheat breads which are traditionally cut with intricate decorative patterns.

Christmas chickens

Icelandic Laufabrauð (Leaf Bread)

Washed down with more than enough 'mini Thors' dinner was not surprisingly a success. Presents of course were exchanged beneath the Christmas Branch, which was left in Dan's capable hands while Soizic was home in France for the holidays. Not one of the most festive Christmas seasons we've ever had (for me no doubt due to the lack of barbeque's and swimming in the sea), but a good one none the less. I hope you all got visited by Santa and managed to soak up the goodness of the Kiwi summer - I am infinitely jealous.

The Christmas Branch

The best thing about it being Christmas is that it means that I made it through the shortest day of the year. On the 21st the sun rose at 11:22am and set at 3:29pm. Because the valley I live in doesn't actually receive sunlight from roughly October to March, it seemed little different to any other day of the Arctic winter. I just consider myself lucky that I'm not still scared of the dark ...

Santa's coming, Iceland

As always, the most interesting thing about Christmas anywhere is that terrified look children get when mum makes them sit on Santa's knee. Here in Iceland Santa is for pussies. Real children are visited by 13 once terrifying Yuletide Lads on the days leading up to Christmas - and if they have been naughty perhaps the Lad's mother Grýla or their evil pet the Christmas Cat. Most of the stories told about Grýla and her family were to frighten children – her favourite dish was a stew of naughty kids and she had an insatiable appetite. Such was the power of the terrifying creature and her offspring that a public decree was issued in 1746 prohibiting the use of Grýla and the Yuletide Lads to scare children in to being good.

From child snatchers the Yuletide Lads developed into thieving tricksters who descended from the mountains one by one during the thirteen days before Christmas. Formerly, they tried to pilfer their favorite things or play tricks on people (hence their names), but now their main role is to give children small gifts. Every child in Iceland puts their best shoe on their bedroom window sill on December 12th (some try to put their boot, in the hope that they may get more, but so far the Yule Lads haven’t been fooled) and they get a small gift from each lad when he arrives in town. But beware not to be naughty or the lad might just leave a rotten potatoe in your shoe!

On December 12 the Yuletide Lads begin to come to town. The first to arrive is Stekkjastaur (Stiff Legs) who loves to drink the milk from farmers' ewes but his stiff legs make that very difficult. On December 13 Giljagaur (Gully Oaf) arrives. Before the days of milking machines, he would sneak into the cowshed and skim the froth off the pails of milk. The Lad who arrives on December 14 is Stúfur (Shorty), who, as his name implies, is on the small side. He smacks his lips over the leftovers in the cooking pans, especially if they are burnt or gone bad. On December 15, Þvörusleikir (Spoon Licker) comes down from the mountains to steal wooden spoons that have been used for stirring. On December 16, Pottaskefill (Pot Licker) comes visiting. He snatches the unwashed pots from the kitchen and scrapes the insides with his fingers and tongue and leaves them quite clean. Askasleikir (Bowl Licker) arrives on December 17. He hides under beds, and if someone puts a wooden food-bowl in the floor, he grabs it and licks it clean.

The Yule Lads

Hurðaskellir (Door Slammer) comes on December 18. He is an awfully noisy fellow, who is always slamming doors and keeping people awake. The Lad who is expected on December 19 is called Skyrgámur (Curd Glutton), because he loves skyr (milk curd) so much that he sneaks into the pantry and gobbles up all the skyr from the tub there. Bjúgnakrækir (Sausage Pilferer) comes on December 20. He loves sausages of all kinds, and steals them whenever he can. On December 21, Gluggagægir (Peeping Tom) arrives. He is not as greedy as some of his brothers, but awfully nosy, peeping through windows and even stealing toys he likes the look of. On December 22 Gáttaþefur (Sniffer) comes calling. He has a big nose, and he loves the smell of cakes being baked for Christmas. He often tries to snatch a cake or two for himself. On 23 December, St. Þorlákur's Day, Ketkrókur (Meat Hook) arrives. He adores all meat. In olden days he would lower a hook down the kitchen chimney and pull up a leg of lamb hanging from a rafter, or a bit of smoked lamb from a pan, as smoked lamb was traditionally cooked on St. Þorlákur's Day. Kertasníkir (Candle Beggar) comes on Christmas Eve, December 24. In olden times, candle light was the brightest light available. Candles were so rare and precious that it was a treat for children to be given a candle at Christmas. Poor Candle Beggar wants one too but he can't make up his mind whether to eat them or watch their lovely light.

Presents are exchanged at 6pm on December 24th. They are not delivered by any of the Yuletide Lads but by friends and family. I think this is done so that someone may be held accountable if something terrible should happen - like not getting any new clothes for example. An old Icelandic folklore states that everyone has to get one new piece of clothing at Christmas. Anyone who does not is in danger of being eaten by Grýla’s pet - a malicious beast called the Christmas Cat.

The dreaded Christmas Cat

Thanks for the underwear Nana - it might just have saved my life ...