An Introduction to Hofsós and My Literary Idol

So far, in my mind, Hofsós is like the Southern California of Iceland: gorgeous, sunny, and (relatively) warm day after day. I have all summer for it to prove me wrong, and I doubt it will take that long, but on day four here, it hasn’t let me down yet. Erica and I arrived here Saturday afternoon via a combination of car and bus. Both of us were running on less than an ideal amount of sleep, after having celebrated the National Day holiday the night before with great exuberance.  I blame the disconcerting and ever present sunlight, and the 2016 Snorris with their contagious excitement…not that I need much of a push to be excited about anything here.

This is what Hallgrímskirkja looks like at 5am (when all the responsible people are sleeping).

The river running through town

Upon our arrival, we were left to settle into our adorable little house and rest for a while. The house we are staying in is called Siða, and is one of the old homes in the harbor area of this tiny village. With some creative use of the space we both have our own bedrooms, which is nice. With living and working together all summer, Erica and I will want to have our own space from time to time. The view from the house is spectacular, though that can be said of almost any place in Hofsós (anywhere in Iceland, truly).  Our walk to work in the morning takes all of three minutes, and I find myself wondering if I’ve somehow managed to write myself into a fairytale. We stroll across a picturesque old bridge which spans a rushing, wildflower-lined river, and past colorful, quaint little homes, while the fishing boats bob cheerfully along the piers. This place is magical.

The harbor

I had been to Hofsos once before this, in 2011 for Snorri, as is tradition at the end of the program. My memories of our time here in 2011 consists of a tour of the Emigration Center, watching my friends playing cards in the guesthouse, and a whole lot of time attempting to skip rocks on the beach, much to the detriment of my elbow. I remember the town being quiet, aside from us Snorris, who were running amuck for two days on the basalt columns that line the beaches here. There is a steady stream of tourists now. There may have been when I was here before too- I was just too lost in my own Snorri dream and generally unaware of anything outside of our group. People arriving in tour busses and rental cars pass regularly by the house and come to check out the Emigration Center and gift shop. It’s tranquil, but not undiscovered.

I’ve been anticipating coming back here for several months now; since my acceptance letter arrived for the internship. In preparation, I reread several of my favorite Bill Holm books, Eccentric Islands, and of course, The Windows of Brimnes. Bill Holm was a Minnesotan of Icelandic ancestry, who died in 2009 at the much too young age of 65. He was born and raised in Southwestern Minnesota, in and around the Minneota area. The son of farmers, and the grandson of Icelandic immigrants, Bill aspired (and succeeded) to be a poet and author from an early age. Bill was enamored with Iceland, (especially Hofsós) and explored his Icelandic roots and his passion for this part of his heritage in many of his written works. Though I did not have the good fortune of meeting Bill, I have heard him described by both those close to him and those somewhat acquainted with him in a wide variety of complementary ways. He was “a character,” “larger than life,” “a great friend with a big heart,” and “a literary giant.” At nearly six and a half feet tall, and not delicate, his physical form was said to match his expansive personality.

I like to think that Bill Holm and I would have gotten along well, though our heights and ages would have been in sharp contrast. His writing speaks to both my inner curmudgeon (some might say my outer curmudgeon) and the pride I have in my Icelandic heritage in a unique combination that gives me great glee. Each time I pick up one of his novels or essays I mourn the fact that I missed my opportunity to meet this fascinating man. Here in Hofsós this sentiment is especially present. Bill’s summerhouse, Brimnes, still owned by his wife, is directly across the road from Siða, viewable from the kitchen, the sunny front porch, my bedroom window. Valgeir, my boss for the summer, was a close friend of Bill’s. Yesterday I shared with him my admiration for Bill’s writing, and Valgeir spoke of him with great warmth and nostalgia, obviously still missing his friend. Valgeir was a present character in several of Bill’s books, and Bill no doubt thought incredibly highly of him. He is introduced in Eccentric Islands this way:

“Valgeir Þorvaldsson, a farmer´s son from north of town, couldn’t bear to see Hofsós die. While working as a carpenter for the Skagafjorður Folk Museum’s project to restore the old Danish pack house, he fell in love with history and the physical refurbishing of old buildings. Endowed only with a dreamy impractical imagination, his great skill as a carpenter and refurbisher, and what money he could raise from anyone crazy enough to invest in his schemes, he spearheaded the restoration of the old cooperative store, to transform it into an elegant museum of the western emigration with a genealogy center and library.” –Eccentric Islands, page 206

Valgeir didn’t stop there. He continued to renovate and inspire renovations of various buildings in the town: a restaurant, guesthouses, and additional museum buildings. He has even bought a flag factory, which is now housed in a wing of one of the museum buildings. This factory makes incredible Icelandic flags of all shapes and sizes, just a few feet from where I am working this summer.

The gift shop/lobby in one of the museum buildings at the
Emigration Center

It is impossible for me not to think of Bill Holm here in this place that he wrote of with something akin to worship. My connection to him may be all in my head, but I long to say to him, “Me too! I understand! Aren’t we lucky to have experienced such a place?” I plan to invoke the name and memory of Bill often in my blog this summer. I cannot begin to imagine someone who could better describe the look and feel of this place, so I'm not going to try to reinvent the wheel.

I will end this entry with one final story, but I will let my pictures, and Bill Holm, tell most of it. Yesterday was the longest day of the year. Erica and I started a walk a little before midnight and made our way north along the shoreline, towards the mouth of the fjord. Destination: The best midnight sun view possible. Outcome: I think we found it. 

1AM on the Solstice

“Your place on this planet, if you are a human of some sort, is where (among other things) the light feels right to you. The light in Skagafjorður feels right to me, and, with remarkable consistency, to other travelers intrepid enough to arrive here.” -The Windows of Brimnes, page 22.