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  Recently, excavations have shown that trading continued at the site into the 16th c. until it was superseded by Iceland's 2nd city Akureyri which lies 11 km to the south.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.