Peeps At Many Lands: Iceland (1908)

My edition, dated 1911, is a reprinted version of the book, which was first published in 1908. The inscription on the flyleaf shows that it was given to someone as a gift in 1912. I was very fortunate to buy the book from an antiquarian bookseller in England for just £2 in the early 1980s.

The Iceland of today is not very unlike that of the saga times. The island is so far removed from other countries, so cut off by its isolated position, that modern inventions and improvements come to it very slowly, and many have not yet reached it. The absence of them, though it may seem strange to us, yet helps to keep the wonderful simplicity, hospitality, and hardiness of the country and its folk, which make the great charm of Iceland to most strangers who visit it.

When you first see Iceland from the steamer that takes you there, it is usually a little bit of a high mountain, the Vatna Jöku1, that appears to you as if in the clouds. The word "jökull" means a glacier or ice-field, where the snow never melts. Many of the jökulls are volcanoes as well. Is it not curious to think of fiery pits underneath all that cold, unmelting snow and ice? Yet many of the volcanoes have erupted in the past, and desolated all the country around for miles and miles. Very few of them are still active.

As you steam along, the beautiful island gradually opens out, and you see more and more ice-fields: the Myrdals, a great smooth white mountain; the Eyjafell, which runs far out to sea; and presently you see Hekla, usually with some snow on it; which last is the best-known and latest active volcano here, and is often the only name that English people know in Iceland. Before landing we come to some pretty rocky islands called the Westmanns. Only one is inhabited. If the boat stops, as it usually does, for mails, you have a chance to land on the island, or to visit in a small boat a wonderful cave in the rocks, quite high and deep. The islands swarm with puffins, which fly out screaming if they are disturbed.

Reykjavík

When you come into Reykjavik Bay – which is called Faxafjord – the steamer anchors a good way from shore, and you have to get with your luggage into a small row-boat, and are landed at a little wooden pier, of which there are many in the harbour. And then, no cabs, no buses, no hurrying to catch a train, but your luggage is put on a hand-barrow, and you walk off to your hotel, just a stone's-throw from the wharf.

When I first knew Reykjavik it was a tiny little fishing-town, with funny old houses and stores, and shops like a very small Scotch village merchant's; now it is spreading in all directions. But nearly all the houses are built of wood and iron, with just a stone foundation, and very funnily they build them, up and down and across and alongside – by no means in straight rows, except here and there. They are all of different heights, too, and some of them seem standing on tiptoe to look over their neighbours' heads. The streets are very quiet for a town, but there are more carts and little pony carriages every year. But the chief sound is the trot, trot, trot of the dear little ponies! The prettiest feature of the town is the number of ponies; round every corner, in every backyard, wherever there is a scrap of green grass, and often where there is not, ponies are to be seen. Most of them are very pretty, and every colour is to be met with. Every man, woman, and child, old or young, rides in Iceland; in most places it is the only way of getting about, and the usual way even where there are wheel roads. The Icelanders are very kind to their ponies, though they work them hard; and the ponies are generally willing and very patient, and they stand quite quiet wherever their masters leave them. The men pull the reins over their heads, and let them hang down in the dusty road, and then the ponies know they are to stand still and wait, and they do so for hours.

The principal buildings in Reykjavik are the Cathedral, which looks more like an old-fashioned, very plain parish church than what we call a cathedral; the Parliament House, which is a large square stone building; the National Bank; an excellently-arranged museum and library; the "Latin School," and another large new schoolhouse, where the King of Denmark was entertained on a recent visit. Behind the town is a small lake, which looks very pretty with the reflections of the buildings near it and the beautiful purple hills behind. I have seen lovely sunsets at Reykjavik. In summer the days are very long; in June there is really no night: the sun sets for about ten minutes at midnight, and then rises again. In the north of the island, where it touches the Arctic Circle, the sun does not set at all for a day or two. Of course in winter the days are proportionately short, and there are only three hours of daylight; but the nights are very beautiful, with moon and starlight, and the aurora borealis, or northern light. I have seen the latter even in August, when the nights are beginning to darken; it is very beautiful, like a white flame reaching quite across the sky.

Iceland is a very quiet, law-abiding country, and though there is a prison in Reykjavik, there are hardly ever any prisoners. There used to be only two policemen in Reykjavik. They walked about the town in dark uniforms, looking rather like tin soldiers. Now there are a few more, as the town has increased so much; but there is very little crime.

I think everyone who has heard of Iceland at all, has connected it with the name of the Geysir. The word geysir means "gusher," and is applied to the hot springs which erupt or throw up jets of water like a fountain, as distinct from the hver, or hot springs which merely bubble and steam. These are called laugar, which means washing-places, as they are often so used.

One of the most remarkable of these places lies about a mile and a half out of Reykjavik, and here all the town's washing is done. There is a stream – just such as is called in Scotland a burn – which flows across the wide open space beyond the town; quite an ordinary stream to look at, but at a particular point it jets first warm, and then quite scalding hot water, always steaming up, and here is the ready- made laundry! Some large iron houses or sheds have been built beside it, in which the ironing and "getting up" is done, but all the boiling and cleansing is in the natural boiler, some of which is covered by iron grating, as a poor woman once lost her life by falling in. It is quite a lively scene, when you arrive there, to see thirty or forty women, with different-coloured kerchiefs on their heads and their petticoats turned up, washing and beating and wringing, and chattering all the time, as merry as possible. There is always the unfailing coffee-pot for refreshment, for the laundry is thirsty work, and the poor bodies seem to go on all day long. They take the clothes to and from the laundry in little hand-carts, which the women draw or push. The washing is very well done, and the quality of the water and the pure air seem to make the clothes very white and fresh.

But to return to the Geysir. Iceland, being a volcanic country, is full of hot springs, which are always steaming up on mountain-sides or in the plains, looking from far away like the smoke of a distant train; but what people usually mean when they ask, "Have you seen the Geysir?" is the famous large boiling fountain in the south, about eighty or ninety miles from the capital.

The journey thither is a very pretty one; you cross plains, green with sweet-smelling birch scrub, having beautiful distant views of Hekla and other glacier mountains; then you turn the shoulder of a vast dark chain of hills, called the Calf's Peaks, on your left, and descend into a lovely green valley, where are sometimes pretty ponies - mares and foals - grazing in flocks. You cross rivers, too, in this journey, and one in particular, called the Bruara, or Bridge River. It is a pretty wide, rapid river, but very shallow, and in the middle of it is a great chasm, into which the water falls, roaring, from the level of the ford. People rode in across the rocks, and over the chasm was a little wooden bridge with a hand-rail; the ponies always made for the bridge, and so steady and surefooted are they that I never heard of an accident happening, though the slightest slip or swerve at the chasm would be certain death. I have crossed in this way many times, and felt quite sorry to have to use the new grand bridge which has been thrown across lower down the stream. It seemed to take away all the excitement and pleasure you felt in accomplishing the more perilous crossing.

As you draw near the Geysir district the character of the road changes: the ground becomes dry and flaky, and presently you are aware of little pools and streams under the ponies' feet. Many of the pools are warm. The Geysir itself - the largest - stands in a very bare piece of ground and on a slight rise. The basin is quite round, and looks exactly like a large artificial fountain, but with a very deep crater or cup. Sometimes this is quite empty, and you could stand within the rim; then, again, the water bubbles up, and it gets quite full. But if you are lucky enough to see an eruption, there is first a rumbling noise, and then - stand back! for the boiling water shoots up in a straight jet, sometimes thirty feet or more. You must be very careful not to stand on the side where the wind would blow the falling column upon you. It is all over very soon, and nothing but steam left in the basin.

Besides the great Geysir, there are various others all around; one well known, called Strokkur, or the Churn, went to sleep some years ago, after some earthquakes which took place, but has now begun to grow active again. The Little Geysir often plays; I have seen it looking like a shower of diamonds; and there are several funny pools always bubbling up mud and making noises like a sty full of pigs. There are two hot pools: one called Blesi, which means a white-faced horse, and it is said that one was drowned in it once; and another, which broke out after the aforesaid earthquakes, has been loyally named "The King's Pool."

Besides the Geysir in the south, there are some pools nearer the coast, which smoke, but do not play like the fountains, and are called Reykir. Several are of beautiful colours - blue and salmon-pink, and each one different. In the north-west route are also hot springs, and at a place called Reykholt is a very curious circular bath which was made hundreds of years ago by a famous man called Snorri. There is a channel by which the water from the hot spring can be turned into the bath or shut out, and it is quite in good order. All the hot water for the church farm is brought from these springs.

Another very wonderful thing I must tell you of before we leave the hot springs. In a river called Reykjadalsa, which means "steaming-dale's water," there is a little mound with a boiling spring in the very middle of the cold water which flows all round it. I have ridden close up to it; the pony was not afraid, though I should think that any of our English ponies would shy at such a very unnatural sight.

Akin to the hot springs are the sulphur springs at Krisuvik, near the south coast. You have to cross a very wild barren rocky region to get near them. When you have nearly reached them you smell a strong smell of sulphur, but it is rather like a savoury cooking smell, as of a giant's dinner in preparation. The sulphur stream looks very yellow and dirty, and steams up, with a strong smell, under the cliffs by which it runs. Some years ago an Englishman tried to work the sulphur- mines, but they did not pay, and the work is now given up.

The festival dress is more remarkable. A high helmet covered with white muslin, from which a long white bridal veil depends, and often a golden coronet in front, is placed on the head, and the rest of the dress may be of flowing muslin, silk, or velvet. For out of doors a long coloured plush cloak, trimmed with ermine, is often worn, and a gold, silver, or embroidered waist-belt, often costly and of ancient work, is a great feature of a lady's toilet.

I cannot say that the men have any costume at all corresponding, though I believe in earlier days there was some more distinctive fashion for them than there is now.

The children we find dressed much like their fellows here, though there is the tendency to put anything young into "Écossais" - fancy tartan of wonderful shades - that you see in other parts of Europe. The girls do not wear the hufa until they are fourteen or older.

The farmers do not sow corn, only turnips and potatoes; and the only harvest is the natural hay. It is cut in July and August, and in fine weather it soon dries. Most of the farms have big wooden barns in which to keep their hay. Every farmer has a number of ponies, sometimes twenty or more; they do all the work of the farm. No Icelander walks when he can ride! Wherever they have to go, even a short distance, they jump on their handy little pony and skim away to their destination. The little children begin to ride early; sometimes they are tied on! The women ride at all ages; quite old women must ride if they wish to go from place to place. The women's saddles look very funny to us; some are very smartly decorated with brass nails, and cushions in cross-stitch work. They have a broad foot-board, and a rail on the off-side, which the rider holds to steady herself. Some use saddles like our side-saddles of many years ago. But whatever they ride on, they are hardy and plucky riders, and some of the ground they go over would astonish even a hunting Englishwoman. A woman will ride on a long journey by herself, carrying her little bag on her saddle. The funniest loads are put on ponies' backs. I have met a worthy couple jogging along driving a third pony carrying a spinning wheel!

When I speak of "manners," I must begin by saying that these are generally very good, although not exactly the same as our own. Of course many of them seem a little rough to us; but the people have what may be called natural good manners, and I think this arises from their nature being so kindly and simple. Any one of them would do his best to help a stranger, or show him hospitality, or make him understand anything he wanted to know. In country or town they seldom pass without a salutation - men raise their hats to each other as well as to ladies; the men also kiss each other when they are near relatives and friends, but this is not so universal as it used to be in the past. The greetings between parents and children are pretty. I have seen a boy, on meeting his mother after a short absence, carefully rein up his pony beside hers for a kiss.

After meals it is the custom for each person present to shake hands with the host, saying, " Thak fyrir mat," which means "Thanks for meat." This seems to take the place of saying grace nowadays, but in old books you find quite long hymns for grace called "board psalms." At table, the master of the house and the guests sit down, and the ladies of the family do all the waiting; occasionally they sit down and partake, but always have to rise and go to fetch the next course. Sometimes they have their meal quite apart. It seems strange at first, and almost uncomfortable for Englishmen to sit still and let the hostess do all the work; but it is the custom, even as in the old days when, as we read, Njal's wife set meat on the board; and it is like the Eastern custom mentioned in the Bible.

Everyone who rides a long journey should have a remount to rest the ponies, and the packs should also be changed; so that means two ponies to every rider and load. The spare ponies run loose, under the charge of a man or boy, and look very pretty running along the moorland paths. After riding two or three hours there is halt for refreshment, sometimes at a farm, sometimes in the open, but always where the ponies can get grass and a drink from a stream. It is delightful picnicking on the road in the fine weather, but not so pleasant in pouring rain, if you are far from a dwelling-house. You are glad to sit on your pack-boxes when they are taken down, and must make the best of it, while the rain-drops pour into your meat-tin or cup. Yet it is seldom that anyone takes cold or any harm from a little "roughing it" in Iceland.

After a long ride, some eight or ten hours, and various halts, you are very glad to draw up at the farm where you are to sleep. No matter whether you have met the inhabitants before or not, no matter what time you arrive, the kind, good people turn out and bid you welcome to the best they have. There is generally a nice little "guest-room," like the parlour in a small farm-house at home, and a spare bedroom, but they will make up beds in the parlour if required. You have nice clean sheets and warm down quilts, for the eider-ducks are very abundant here. They give you very good food, too, nice fresh fish if you are near a lake or river, tender mutton or lamb, eggs, milk, cream and butter, and especially good coffee. Once I was put up at a parsonage when the pastor and his wife were away, and the children were our hosts. There were two big boys and three girls, and no children could have been kinder or have prettier manners than these little Icelanders, far up in the country. The boys had been fishing, and caught a beautiful salmon, and insisted on our having it for supper. The eldest girl helped their servant to lay our table, and the boys were always waiting to fetch what we wanted, though they never crowded about us or stood staring at the strangers. No, they behaved like perfect little gentlemen and ladies, and made us feel as if on a visit to real friends.

I have made the acquaintance of many dear little children in Iceland. My first friends were the children of a pastor at Thingvellir, thirty miles from Reykjavik, and as it is the first stage to many places, I have stayed with them very often – since Inga, the eldest daughter, was a little baby. Now she is a tall, clever, useful girl, with two brothers and two sisters, and is her mother's right hand. Hermann, the eldest boy, is a bit of a pickle, but very quick and handy; since he was quite small he could do anything with the ponies, and loves to take a troop of them to pasture, or round them up when wanted. Icelandic children are very well taught, though there are no schools out in the country. Their parents teach them a good deal; also there are travelling teachers who go from farm to farm. When they grow older they are sent to school in Reykjavik, and if the boys are destined for a profession they are sent to college at Copenhagen.

The children seem to have a happy time. Summer is a long holiday, and they are out all day, with the cows or the sheep or the ponies, or making hay, or gathering wild berries. They have not many playthings; one of their toys is the shank-bone of a sheep, called "leggi," to which they tie a bit of rope and pretend it is a pony. They have games, however, something like ours, and I spent a merry evening once, when it rained outside, playing "general post" and "forfeits" with the Thingvellir children, in which their father and mother and another dear old friend – a kind big man who loves children – joined; and a very jolly time we had, though the "forfeits" were all "cried" in Icelandic, and the post "fared" from some of the recent stages of our journey.

Waterfalls

The children of whom I told you at Thingvellir Parsonage live a little way from the great Oxara Waterfall. I think when they go to other places they will find them very silent at first, unless they live near the sea or some great river, for always, day and night, they hear the roar of this great cataract, sometimes louder, sometimes less, according to the wind and the volume of water, which is, of course, greater after the melting of the snows or a rainy season. The Oxara, which means "Axe-water," is a large swift-flowing river, which just above Thingvellir takes a sudden leap off the high lava cliff into a pool half-way down the cliff, and then a second fall to the lower level of the plain.

The chief exports are ponies, fish, and butter, which last is made at the different district creameries, to which the farmers send their separated cream.

At every town or village by the sea the fishing industry is apparent. The chief catches are cod and halibut. These are taken in countless numbers, washed, dried, salted, stacked in heaps by the shore, and mostly exported to Spain, though a certain amount is consumed in the country. It is funny to see the fish-women at work. You can often watch them, some dozen or more, at a large tank close by the sea; they have strong waterproof aprons, and long, thick woollen mitts or gloves, and they wash and scrape and salt the great flat split fish day after day. All the shore is white with rows of the fish drying before it is stacked or sent away. The fishermen go out in spring, like our own; the sea and weather are often very rough, and many poor fellows have been lost at sea.