How I became the King of Icelandic Archaeology

Yesterday, I was expertly removing a layer of turf with style and panache when my attention was caught by a spiral lying in the soil.  It was a small thing; something a lesser archaeologist might have missed or else disregarded.  Fortunately, I am no lesser archaeologist.  As I took the artifact in my hand I knew that Icelandic mothers would tell of this moment to their sons for generations before entoning in voices hushed "but enough talk of great men; be one".  I stood and raised the spiral in a clenched fist to the heavens.  "I have become a god" I cried and knew that it was true.
What I had found turned out to be the second silver artifact recovered from Kolkuos; a piece of Medieval currency.  In seriousness, I was very fortunate and lucky to find it.  Archaeology is, to a great extent, luck and on Tuesday I happened to be the one lucky enough to make an amazing find.

From Monday to Friday we excavate at Kolkuos or else work with material removed from the site back at the lab in Holar.  Kolkous is a natural harbor upon the mouth of the river Kolka.  It was one of Iceland's major trading ports from around 900 AD into the 16th century.  The sight developed in association with the Bishopric of Holar though it is now known to have predated the establishment of the institution.  Ships are described docking here and travelling up the estuaries in the sagas.

No evidence has been recovered at the site for permanent occupation.  Over the summer merchants and travelers lived in turf booths protected from nature by furs and leather.  Today it is their pots and flints, their whalebones and whetstones that we excavate.  It is much less common to make finds here than on my previous excavations in Italy and Slovakia or even further up the valley in Holar.  However, the material record which has been recovered is rich and varied.  Finds include a silver coin brought to Iceland from Germany in the early 12th century.  The first evidence that small Maltese dogs were brought to Iceland as pets for the aristocracy was discovered at Kolkuos.

Unfortunately, the sight is being destroyed by the river and the sea.  Long ago, the isthmus connecting Kolkuos to the island of Elinarholmi creating an ocean harbor was submerged in water.  Today, the entire sight is under threat.  It is important therefore that as much is excavated this season and over the next couple of years as possible, before it is too late.

I retired rather late on Saturday after hitting the bottle pretty hard in the lab with the other archaeologists.  Today, Zen and I woke up in time for breakfast at nine feeling pretty fragile after four hours sleep.  In the afternoon, we went to the swimming pool in the center of town where we sat around chatting in the sauna and the Jacuzzi.  In five days time we will leave Holar for Reykjavik; the sprawling, seething metropolis in the south west that is home to over 125,000 souls.  It will be sad to say goodbye to Holar, to Kolkous and to the archaeologists who work here.  I hope that this will not be my last week in the north and that one day I will come back.

Smile, you're in the promised land. Part 2.

After visiting Husavik we drove to the Myvatn area.  Solrun had told me that, to her mind, this was the most beautiful place in Iceland and I expected an idyllic lake with clear water, grassy fields and sandy beaches where handsome Nordic youths frolicked merrily in the shade of pine trees.  Instead, Myvatn is a morass of molten, sulferus pools, volcanic rock and middle aged Germans.

The first place we visited in the Myvatn area was Dimmuborgir; an expansive volcanic field formed by a collapsed lava tube 2000 years ago.  Dimmuborgir's name is translated into English as "dark castle" and the site was significant to Icelandic folklore in the Viking period as the place where hell met the earth as well as the site where Satan landed when he was forced out of Heaven.  From an overhanging cliff desolate, craggy black ridges rise up into the distance.  From inside it is impossible to see out beyond the pillars and crevasses which dominate the landscape; one is surrounded as though in a thick forest.  Today, Icelanders believe that Dimmuborgir is home to the Yule Lads, mischievous trolls whose names are scarcely single entendres; Sausage Swiper and Window Peeper, Door Sniffer and Skyr Gobbler.

Not far from Dimmuborgir is Namafjall Hverir where sulfur bubbles up from the earth in boiling mudpools and plumes of smoke.  Nothing lives on this hillside where sand and bare rock are the order of the day; Namafjall Hverir is a small piece of Mars in the Icelandic highlands.  This oddly surreal landscape is like nowhere else I have ever been.  More cheesy 80s sci fi than real life.

After everything we had done it was great to finish the day by relaxing at our next stop;  a swimming pool atop a mountain overlooking the Myvatn lake.  Despite being highly developed as a tourist resort the pool itself was all natural; lined by black rock and sand and heated by volcanic energy.  The water was wonderfully warm and I would have been quite happy to surrender all my hopes and ambitions and to lie there forever dining on food and drink brought to me by eunuchs.  Sadly, I was not able to take any photos as I left my camera in a locker.
Though I was sad to leave the pool driving through the beautiful, Icelandic scenery is always lovely.  I dozed happily on Weddle's shoulder as we drove home through lonely fields bathed in amber light watching the sun dip into the mountains.

Smile, you're in the promised land. Part 1.

On Friday we went on an epic 16 hour day trip around northern Iceland from Holar to Husavik taking in sulfur fields, the waterfall at which Paganism was symbolically renounced in Iceland over a thousand years ago and the very gates of hell.  Setting out at 8 in the morning, we drove for hours along empty, winding roads running along the Atlantic coast and through grassy valleys and fjords encircled by snowy mountains.
The first place we visited was Gasir, on the shore of Eyjafjordur.  Gasir was Iceland's most important trading post during the 13th and 14th centuries and more artifacts have been recovered there by archaeologists than from any other contemporary site in Iceland.  Recently, excavations have shown that trading continued at the site into the 16th c. until it was superseded by Iceland's 2nd city Akureyri which lies 11 km to the south.   As I have written before, turf was the building material of choice during this period because of the scarcity of forestry in Iceland.  Therefore, sadly, there is not much to see at Gasir besides stone foundations and lumps in the ground though it is always nice to experience more of this beautiful country.

Our next stop was the might waterfall of Godafoss where the waters of the river Skjalfandafljot fall 12 m from a 30 m wide ridge.  Though not the highest in Iceland, this was definitely the most ferociously beautiful waterfall I have ever witnessed.  Jets of clear, cold water cascaded over the edge into a jagged, rocky pool below.  It was here, in 1000, that lawspeaker Borgeir Ljosvetingagodi renounced the the Viking religion by throwing statues of the old gods into the water.  It is difficult to imagine a more definite statement of finality.  From this moment, Iceland would become a Christian nation.  Hannah was left quite unmoved.

After Godafoss, we drove out to the beautiful coastal town named Husavik.  Colourfully painted, wooden houses created a bright and friendly atmosphere in the old town.  Across the fjord, mountains framed in mist rose dramatically from the coast; the perfect backdrop to the traditional Viking boats in the harbour.  Of course, I am an appalling Philistine, and I had come to Husavik mainly for the opportunity to look at dicks in jars; something this quite, sunny town of a thousand catered to ably.

In a traditional, wooden house a conservatively dressed, retired headmaster named Sigurdur Hjartarson will, for the sum of 800 kr, show visitors around his collection of almost 300 phalloi.  Sigurdur's collection includes the pink bazookas of all 46 Icelandic mammals, including the modern, Icelandic man.  It is a strikingly alien ensemble.  The penises of whales, reindeer, bulls, sheep, seals and many others animals besides float in jars submerged in formaldehyde amidst otherwise tastefully furnished wooden walls, tables and shelves.  Highlights include a whip fashioned from the manhood of a pig and the tip of a Sperm Whale's phallus which, though only a fraction of its full extent, stands over 5 foot tall and ways 70 kg.  "Smile," Margret said to me.  "You're in the promised land."  Bizarre fascinating and disturbing I strongly recommend the Husavik Phallological Museum to anybody who does not place great value in their innocence.

The mountains of Skagafjordur are some of the most dramatic in Iceland and Sunday was a warm clear day so in the afternoon we decided to climb to a ledge behind Holar which the Bishop Guomundur Arason allegedly climbed to every day, in the early 13th c, to pray.
The path up to the mountain ran through one of the larger Icelandic woods.  This was astonishingly beautiful; crooked wooden bridges spanned gorgeously clear little streams and high trees grew densely enough beside the pathways for one to imagine one were in a far larger, deeper forest.  It was possible to imagine somebody getting lost in here, standing up and still being totally fucked.

Once we passed through the woods we stood at the mountain foot.  In order to better commune with nature I decided to make the assent barefooted.  The ground was cool and refreshing beneath my feet and I felt as one with the beasts of the earth and the fishes of the sea though, sadly, I was not able to take in the spectacular vistas walking up for fear of stepping on a painful stone.

From the ledge it was possible to see right across the valley and down into the ocean.  We spent a while taking it all in and frolicking merrily amongst the boulders and feeling the moss between our toes in the manner of the Bishop Arason.

Over the last couple of days I have been working in the lab in Holar, rather than at Kolkous.  On Thursday, Zen and I cleaned and processed finds from the excavation.  We were able to see some of the most exciting settlement and medieval period finds from Skagafjordur which had been returned from a museum.  These included an iron lamp. scissors, a shoe heel and whale bones.  On Friday we floated samples from Kolkous and a site near to Reykjavik.  Flotation is essentially a method of separating the heavier and lighter materials in the soil like bone and charcoal by forcing water upwards through it.  After 8 hours standing over a plastic flotation bucket feels quite a lot like being a member of a chain gang.  By the afternoon, we were all looking forward to sleeping in.  Here is a picture of a Greek man sleeping in the back of a car:

On Saturday we visited a place called Glaumbaer which is Icelandic for "fun farm".  Surprisingly, the farm of fun turned out not to be a brothel.  In a lovely, wooden cottage we piled our plates high with pancakes filled with cream and sugar, cheesecakes, sherry cakes and many others; all apparently Icelandic delicacies.  It was a moment of pure happiness which I can only compare to sex, stripped of guilt, fear, mutual recrimination and crying.

At Glaumbaer, there is a reconstruction of a traditional house decked out in old world fair.  As in most pre-modern Icelandic houses turf was the building material of choice and beams and planks were primarily made from driftwood.  The building was quite large and very cozy though it would have been very snug in use with 2 or 3 people sharing each single-sized bed.

On the road back home we stopped in a beautiful wooden church where a guide told us about the importance of side boobs to Christianity and the importance of Christianity to getting a leg over in days gone by.

There are no soils in Iceland suitable for clay production.  Consequently, all ceramics in the Viking and Medieval periods had to be imported from Scandinavia, Britain or elsewhere and traders tended to use other materials like leather or animal skin to transport goods.  Pottery is extremely rare on archaeological sites and only a couple of hundred sherds are known from the Medieval period.

Until now.

This morning, I stepped up to the god damn plate and revolutionized Icelandic archaeology by finding this:

I have mentioned earlier how constant sunlight has given me the opportunity to appreciate the magnificent view from my room at all times.  For example, at 3 or 4 pm when I am trying to sleep.  From Sunday to Friday I didn't sleep more than five hours a night.  Having taken enough of the sun's bullshit, I covered my window with tin foil on Friday evening which has helped me to catch up on sleep.

On Saturday we walked south, down the valley from Holar to a nearby lake.  The sky was beautifully clear and blue and though there snow still clung to the mountain peaks the valley floor was quite warm and gently breezy.  We passed beautiful Icelandic horses who trotted up to the road to say hello.  The lake was wonderfully chilly and refreshing and we all took turns jumping into it.
One of Iceland's most famous attractions is the thermal pools which are common to all regions of the country. Hot pools of water, which are heated naturally by volcanic energy, are a deeply surreal experience 40 km south of the Arctic Circle.  In the freezing and totally depopulated Icelandic highlands it is possible to find bodies of water 25-35 degrees all year round.  On Sunday the weather held and the day was beautiful clear and warm.  We were driven to two thermal pools north of Holar on the Atlantic coast in Skagafjordur.  After changing in turf houses, we sat in rock pools gasping at the heat against a backdrop of snow capped mountains and the Atlantic.  The experience is quite bizarre and yet, very relaxing and I almost drifted to sleep right there.

On the first night in Iceland we ate Italian food in a sleepy village on the northern Atlantic coast.  Though it was past 10 the first restaurant we looked into was full and we were moved into a subsidiary.  Both restaurant are owned by an Icelander named Olaf who is clearly a key player in the Skagafjordur Italian food industry.  The pizza was well done, though I was slightly disappointed not to eat something more traditional.

In Holar we eat in a restaurant in the main university building or else bring lunch to the sight with us.  In the evening their is a choice of fish and meat based dishes.  The fish is lovely and very fresh but hunger usually drives me to the meat.  The lamb here is some of the best I have ever had.  The food is very solid feeling like it is in many cold countries and is prepared with high carbohydrate side dishes like rice and potatoes.  This is exactly what you need at the end of a cold day digging.

On Thursday evening we ate raw shark and drank an Icelandic spirit named Brennivin.  In order for the shark to sterilize and mellow enough to become edible it is necessary for it to be buried in the ground for up to 3 months before eating.  The experience was risibly foul;  shark smells pungently of rotting fish and has a tough, slightly bristly texture which makes it difficult to eat quickly so that the taste can linger. Indeed, it was so awful that one of the members of the group was forced to throw it up into a sink.  Margret told me that Icelanders do not eat raw shark and that it is used mainly to solicit funny reactions from foreigners.

Naturally, I drank to forget.  Fortunately the Brennivin, which is made of cumin and tastes of mild aniseed, was lovely.  We all drank rather more than might have intended and returned home the traumas of the recent past merrily forgotten.

We have also eaten another Icelandic delicacy; a beaten, desiccated fish.  Though I am not sure what sort of a man would do this to a fish it is surprisingly yummy.  The taste is very fishy and it feels a good bit tougher than fresh fish and it goes well with butter.

We are excavating a site named Kolkous upon a peninsula which juts out into the mouth of a river.  If one where to travel north across the Atlantic from our site one would make land in Siberia.   Kolkous was a seasonally occupied trading settlement associated with Holar where we are staying.  The area is likely to have been occupied from the settlement period until the 16th c.  As well as the human material there is also several layers of volcano ash in the assemblage.  In the earlier period, which we are excavating, Kolkous was associated with the bishopric of Holar.  The region was the richest and most densely populated in Iceland.  Consequently it is likely that rich finds will be made on site; past finds include human bone and an ornamental, iron box for needles.

I am working on the outermost area of the site, furthest into the river.  Our area is the most recent currently being excavated; it is known to post-date 1104 as it lies above a layer of tephra associated with an eruption of Mount Hekla.  On Wednesday I found a bronze nail.  Today, a whale bone was recovered.  Near to our site the sea has revealed a fireplace.  The nail and fireplace are shown below.

The sight can be an uncomfortable working environment; although we haven’t had much rain yet it is generally cold and overcast and always windy.  The mountains which run along the bay opposite our site fade in and out of sight and the temperature hovers in the region of six.  Happily we have been provided with dungarees which keep the weather out and trap a bubble of lovely warm air in the region of one’s crotch.

We arrived in Keflavik airport in late Sunday afternoon.  From there we drove clockwise around Iceland's main road to the town of Holar on the north coast; a five hour journey through constant daylight.  The Reykjanes peninsula, upon which both Keflavik and Iceland's capital city, Reykjavik are situated, is the most densely populated part of Iceland.  It is a striking place with a real edge of the world feel; six lane highways run across open lava fields framed by grey mountains.  Outside of metro-Reykjavik the scenery is much more “normal” looking.  The mountains and fjords of the north resembles the highlands of Scotland set to a far more dramatic scale.  However, rural Iceland does not feel as remote as the north of Scotland; all along the road we passed brightly painted jeeps and modern guest houses and farm steads.
Holar, the town we are staying in, lies at the bottom of a beautiful valley.  Though it is not cold here there is still snow on the mountains which run to our east and west.  The view from my room is spectacular which is fortunate since it is never fucking dark here.  The people here are friendly and English is spoken to a higher standard than in Northumbria or the city of Birmingham.  Iceland is small enough that everybody knows each other and everybody knows somebody who knows Bjork.
On Monday we were taken on a tour of Holar.  Holar is only a small town and we are being careful to ration out the excitement; in two weeks we will visit the cathedral.  However, we went to a beautiful, traditional Icelandic house which was warm inside and felt very cozy.  There is very little wood available in Iceland.  In fact, almost everybody here's favourite joke is; “What do you do if you are lost in an Icelandic forest? – Stand up.”  For this reason peat is the most common building material in traditional housing.  The peat used in this house incorporated tephra strata caused by volcanic eruptions.  Drift wood and trees imported from Norway were used only for supports and ceiling beams.