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NEW DIGS-- JULY 29, 2003
After a week with wildlife researchers
in Greenland, I fly to Aukureyri, Iceland's second largest city,
on the island's north side. After the rustic conditions of northeast
Greenland it feels good to sleep in a real bed and get a good,
hot shower. Iceland is a tiny country by any standard, with
a population of only about 280,000. The capitol, Reykjavik,
is smaller than many suburban towns in the U.S. But I had heard
that this most-western of European countries is terribly hip,
a stereotype I soon discover contains at least a grain of truth.
My first stop is an internet cafe, where a radio station has
set up a portable studio in preparation for a raucous weekend
street fair. Aegir Dagsson, one of the cafe's operators, pulls
me aside and points at a short man with sturdy glasses and short
hair who is chatting over the air with the D.J. The man, he
explains, was voted "funniest man in Iceland" in 1999. My curiosity
was piqued, but his jokes had no impact on me as the show was
in Icelandic.
An hour-long trip brings me to a public boarding school near Lake Myvatn, a
popular tourist destination with strange volcanic formations. The school,
with the tongue-twister name Hafralaekjaskoli, is the base camp for a large
archeological team working on several sites in the area. Many leading
archeologists specializing in Iceland's Vikings gather here each summer.
There is also a field school for undergraduates from Brooklyn College and an
advanced-training program for graduate students from around the world. But
my immediate impression upon entering the dining hall at dinner-time is of
an international camp for adults. Piles of dirty boots are strewn by the
door. On one side of the room banquet tables serve as make-shift offices,
with open lab-top computers, reference books and maps. On the other side,
groups of people speaking in various tongues are gathered around plates
heaped with fish and chips. A typed sheet of paper on the wall advises
people about "good" and "not so good" behaviors. Good includes: "helps
others with heavy, dirty, nasty, awkward jobs without being asked" and
"moderately cheerful despite insects, fatigue and fourth week syndrome. "Not
so good" includes: "far too good for the rest of us scum, subject to
debilitating angst, has multiple deep, vocal prejudices," and "needs special
diet (all chocolate, daily fresh kiwi fruit)."
The following day we go to Hrisheimer [REAS-i-mer], one of several
digs-sites being explored this summer. The rocky landscape is almost
completely bare of vegetation of any kind. Thomas McGovern, an archeology
professor at Hunter college in New York and a leading force behind this
project, tells me that the team has come up with convincing evidence that
the area was heavily forested with low willow and birch trees before it was
settled by Vikings around 900 A.D. Where did the trees go? He shows me a
trench where the researchers have uncovered a rustic iron works. Apparently
iron ore mined in a nearby marsh was smelted here in tiny stone furnaces.
The process, using charcoal to create intense heat, produced small amounts
of "bog iron." The forests here, and perhaps elsewhere on the island, were
harvested to feed the primitive mills, fanning the flames for the low-grade
metal.
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Sirius - The Sledge Patrol
Greenland is protected by a team of law enforcement officers that drive sleds instead of cars. See photos of the team in action and the dogs
that make their travel possible.
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© Copyright 2003, WBUR
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