june unbound
unbound* *Not your tourist’s travel guide
Local’s Guide to Puerto Rican Culture Backpacking Essentials The Un-Tourist-y Side of the Island
Not So HOT SPOTS
Puerto Rico Iceland In Search of NORDIC CUISINE How to know it’s authentic
Hiking Trails Off the Beaten Path A Minimalist’s Packing Guide & An Insider Look at the Iceland Snowboarding Scene
may
*Not your tourist’s travel guide
unbound*
UNBOUND May 2017 / Contents
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Table of Contents
Departments 03
BASICS A Brief History of Iceland Phrases to Know Destinations
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OUR PICKS The Boot of Your Dreams Iceland’s Most Underrated Destinations
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ON THE TRAIL Trail Guide Icelandic Flora and Fauna
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FOOD Local Flavor From the Kitchen
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THE MINIMALIST Travel on a Budget Minimalist’s Packing Guide
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In Search of Nordic Cuisine Unbound heads to Iceland to find the best Nordic cuisine, complete with sheeps’ heads, ingredients found right along the roadside, and even the occasional reindeer.
Icelandic Insight Pia Kaipainen catches up with Icelandic local and Nikita Marketing co-ordinator Asgeir ‘Geiri’ Höskuldsson to get the lowdown on the shred scene on the isolateld island in the North Atlantic.
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Letter from the Editor
“No one realises how beautiful it is to travel until they come home and rest their head on their old, familiar pillow.” — LIN YUTANG
No matter how often I travel or how many trips I make in any given year, I look forward to each and every journey with a sense of anticipation and, yes, almost juvenile excitement. Even when returning to a familiar destination, I always find there’s something new to discover: a restaurant that wasn’t there before, a hidden cove with sandy beach that I’d overlooked, or perhaps a well-known attraction that I simply hadn’t had time to take in last time around. I can remember travelling enormous distances as a child in Africa, and I honestly don’t recall ever asking the proverbial “are we there yet?” that so many parents seem to dread. With family and friends spread fairly diversely throughout southern Africa, trips like a Cape Town to Johannesburg jaunt for a weekend wedding were fairly common practice. We’d leave right after work on a Friday and be back at our desks first thing Monday. Going back even further in time, I recall hunting and fishing trips with my parents; weeks and weekends spent dodging mosquitoes and hippopotami in equal measure. Elephant, lion, crocodiles, snakes; they were all a part of my life as a child, as were the often long distances travelled and long periods spent patiently stalking prey. Those hours were never completely idle, though. The African bush was alive with life and interest, if you just let yourself notice it! My husband, Gary, and I have done our best to pass on our love of travel to our two kids. We’ve pulled them out of school to accompany us on trips overseas and they still talk about things they experienced on those trips far more often than they discuss the history paper they studied the week after their return. Some of their memories go way back to trips we undertook during their toddler years. I firmly believe that travel is a great educator, whether it’s around your own country or discovering new cultures and beliefs in far flung locations. So long as one’s mind is open and one’s spirit is alive, there is just so much out there to take in and to absorb: things to see, smell, taste, feel and hear. Each time I begin my packing ritual, butterflies set in. These are not butterflies of anxiety or fear; these are the excited and happy breed, eagerly anticipating a whole new adventure. As I took the suitcase down yesterday, I felt the feint stirrings of my friendly butterflies; they knew a trip was imminent! As you read through this issue of Unbound, I hope we manage to awaken a tiny cluster of butterflies somewhere deep within you, and that you let them have full reign as you plan your next venture around our incredible part of the world.
Happy travels, BRIE KRAMER
Editor in Chief
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In Response Letters from our viewers in response to April’s Mexico issue. Have somthing to say? Email your personal response to editor@unbound magazine.com
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Mark Jenkins’s “Universal Guide to Hitchhiking” (February’s Mexico Edition) was an inspiring piece of writing and a powerful social commentary. I spent last year traveling abroad in Israel, where hitchhiking is the cultural norm and a major source of my transportation during my traveling. In a smaller country where everyone seems to know everyone else, it’s rude to pass by somebody on the side of the road. Everyone is more than happy to give even the strangest of strangers a ride along the way, as long as you’re good for conversation! This may or may not be different in Mexico, I’ve never been. Knowing a little about the culture, though, I can assume it is similar since the Mexican culture has always seemed a very open and hospitable one. I’m not sure what happened here in the States that took hitchhiking out of fashion, but it is a shame. People just seem to be too wrapped up in their own worlds to lend a helping hand to a traveler in need of a lift. Or maybe we have all just become too wary or judgmental of strangers. Though in a society where having a vehicle is essentially a necessity (unlike much of Europe), I suppose there is not much of a need for hitchhiking these days. Nonetheless, Jenkins left a glimmer of hope out there on the interstate for those of us who are happy with being a trusted confidant, or with just getting a good lift.
I want to thank the author of “The Last Days of Gerry Largay” for their sensitive portrait of a truly remarkable person. No one expects something so terrible to happen to them, and yet these tragic things happen all the time, whether we hear about them or not. Whether it is getting lost on a hike, encountering wild animals, or running out of water, I think it is important to give hikers the skills and tools necessary to avoid these situations and be prepared for the worst, even while hoping for the best. One thought keeps gnawing at me: She would have been found quickly had she been carrying a personal locator beacon. These small devices can transmit a distress signal and your precise location to search-and-rescue teams via satellite with the simple click of a button, no matter where you are. Also, the cost and risk of the massive search effort to find her would have been avoided, since PLBs cost about $250. Why doesn’t the state buy a few hundred PLBs and rent them out to hikers? Saving even one expensive search would recoup the cost. Establishing such a service would be a meaningful tribute to Gerry Largay’s memory and I thoroughly believe that every hiker should carry one with them. You never know when an everyday hike could turn into a life-ordeath situation, and it isn’t something you could ever predict. Even the most experienced hikers have accidents.
BRANDON HYDE, MA
TAIA BRANT, WA
I had a good life — a beautiful wife, two daughters, a house, and a job. But despite all that, my life had become boring. I’d forgotten that there’s so much out there to explore. I picked up Unbound at the supermarket. That week, I told my wife, Tammy, that it was time we started seeing the world. Our first trip was to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Tammy and I watched the sunset every night, and I fell in love with her all over again. That was in 2001, and we vowed we would travel whenever we could. We took our kids to San Diego; Myrtle Beach, S.C.; Gulf Shores, Ala.; and Florida, going even when we could barely afford it. Our trips brought my family together in ways that I will never forget. For our 15th wedding anniversary, Tammy and I wanted to go to the Florida Keys. Money was tight, but we went anyway. We came back amazed — it was so great. Not long after, Tammy died in a car accident. She was my best friend, and I wake up every day missing her. But I also think of how glad I am that we didn’t put off traveling: every day, the setting sun reminds me of her beauty and how fortunate I was to experience so much with her. Last January, 42 family members and friends joined me in Puerto Vallarta for a sunset toast to Tammy. Some of them had never left our town, so taking a trip was a new beginning for them, just as it was for Tammy and me seven years ago. I wanted to thank you for all the wonderful times I shared with my wife because you brought these places up close each month. You have changed my life and my friends’ lives forever. We will always travel! ZAC FOWLER, WI
I first felt Mexico’s pull when reading, as a teenager, the barely credible story of Cortés and the Aztecs. My first visit wasn’t until I was 23 when I went backpacking for three months from Ciudad Juárez to Ciudad Cuauhtémoc, and I found a kind of spiritual home in the misty, mysterious highlands of Chiapas. Since then I’ve wandered over most parts of Mexico on many trips and come to love every corner of its coasts, jungles, volcanoes and cities and its superbly tasty food, spectacular ancient civilizations, inspired art and handicrafts and, most of all, its charming, hospitable, so very real people. There are touristy spots, just like anywhere else, but what struck me was that it was not pretending to be anything it wasn’t. It’s an amazing place to have an authentic travel experience. I thoroughly enjoyed this month’s Mexico edition and thought it an accurate representation of the beauty, rustic charm, and humbleness of a region that is so often overlooked and undervalued. It is a place so rich with heritage and life that you can’t help but feel as if you’ve really stepped into another world.
unbound* PUBLISHER
Jordan Boone EDITOR IN CHIEF
Brie Kramer MANAGING EDITOR
Emma Kayhart RESEARCH EDITOR
David Gorelik ONLINE EDITOR
Marlene Cole SENIOR EDITOR
Aubrey Daugherty-Costa ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Nadia Deroy CREATIVE DIRECTOR
Sherri Pelletier DESIGNER
Emily Pintavalle JOHN NOBLE, NC
PHOTOGRAPHERS
Julia O’connor, Casey Pinkney, Caitlin Geary, Andrew Grimanis, Tyler Smith COPY CHIEF
Jena Barton CONTRIBUTING WRITERS
Shane Mitchell, Pia Kaipainen, Andy LeJeune, Josh Kramer, Megan Snee, Robert Pelletier, Ha Nguyen, Missy Nuzzolilli, Daniel Callaghan, Ryan Treat, Rebecca Hart, Lucy Boogaerts MARKETING COORDINATOR
Austin Georgiades PRODUCTION SUPPORT
Ceili Peng
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Our Picks
The boot of your dreams
Unbound’s Austin Georgiades tells us his picks for the best hiking boots out there.
SALOMON MEN’S QUEST 4D 2 GTX HIKING BOOT I began my thru hike of the Appalachian Trail (AT) in February with the original version of this boot. It lasted me over 1,000 miles until the rocks kind of tore them up a bit. I decided to purchase the new Quests and had them sent out to Vermont. With about 484 miles left of the AT I received the new boots. They felt a little stiff but I knew they had a short break in period. It was only 10 miles before they felt worn in. I completed my thru hike a couple days ago and I’ll say that I will never use another pair of boots. They’re extremely comfortable, I never had a blister in them. The lacing system is unique, you can loosen or tighten each of the three top levels of the lace to how you want. I will say that the laces they provide with do not stay tied throughout the day. I recommend you double knot it. The boot can take quite a beating. I took the boots straight from the box and into the White Mountains and they held up extremely well. I noticed that the seams on the front of the boots do come open though. The boots still worked fine but I was a little upset to see that. Against water, they do very well. You can fully submerge the boot up near its collar and you will stay dry. I remember one stream that I had to ford. In the middle of it I would have to put both feet completely under running water to get across. To my surprise my feet were still dry, I couldn’t believe it! Now that being said, if it’s raining all day your feet will begin to get wet after a few hours of hiking so it’s not completely waterproof. If you’re like me and need good ankle support, these boots will do the trick. It’s a high cut boot so if you roll your ankle while hiking you’ll be fine. The same goes for overall foot protection. The soles are pretty tough, you’d have to step on a very sharp pointy rock to feel it. These boots also excel in traction. I’ve had to go up some rocks that were nearly straight vertical up and down, the boot didn’t slip at all. Sometimes I feel the tread is too good, a few times I didn’t lift my feet high enough off the ground and the tread would get caught and cause me to nearly fall down. Nice to know the tread is that good. As I mentioned earlier, the boot is very comfortable. Almost like a heavy duty sneaker. I carried a load of 40-45lbs on the trail and these boots had no problem bearing that weight and keeping my feet comfortable. I also ran on the trail a few times when it was getting late and I needed to make up some distance, it seems to also be a good running boot if you wish to do so. If you’re looking for a good mid weight boot, look no further.
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TIMBERLAND MEN’S CHOCORUA TRAIL GORE-TEX MID HIKING BOOT I did a lot of research on boots. I had thought of trying a more common name in uniform boots, but wanted to try these because of the good reviews. These turned out to be an awesome find. I know that I was wearing an 11 EE in the big “D” and so I ordered the 11.5 EE (wide) in the Timberlands and that turned out to be a good idea. Their sizes run a tad small and definitely not as wide. Timberlands EE is more narrow than the big “D” EE. Since they don’t make an even wider size, I’ll make due. And the leather will surely stretch, it always does. The quality of these is amazing. They have a great build quality and are very comfortable. They do accommodate an orthotic, but not as well as some other wide boots may. Either way I have been wearing them since USPS delivered today and they feel good. This is a first, never had a pair of shoes or boots that I could wear the whole day and not have aching feet. The only real problem I see is that this size is sold out everywhere. Even Amazon. I can only hope they are not discontinued, that would be awful and would have to start searching all over again for something that fits and works with my feet. I even tried a pair of Timberland White Ledge or something, 11 EE, and those are being returned. They are not wide enough, not long enough, and they cut down across the top of my foot no matter how loose I make them. My goal is just to buy enough of these to have on hand as the others wear, to go into a new pair. I figure a pair of boots, worn all day and night, might last 9 months to a year, if I get more that is great. But a year is a good plan even per my foot doctor as they wear down over that year. If you like brown, or you can find these in your size, go for it. They are awesome boots and feel very comfortable, even on someone who has major foot issues with fit/comfort/etc. I’ve written to Timberland to see what their future plans are for this model. After about a week, my feet could not be happier. They are working out well. In fact, much better than my previous brand boot that I was wearing for 7-10 years. I would buy 2 new pairs of those other brand boots each year. I’d wear a pair to work, then come home and get changed, and wear the other. And after a year, they were both worn down pretty bad. I’d know because my knees would start hurting. So, I can only hope these hold up as well . . . . . so far, so good.
KEEN WOMEN’S TARGHEE II MID WP HIKING BOOT I purchased these for a 3 day backpacking trip. I typically wear hiking shoes, however, the terrain we were to be hiking this year was listed as “rugged” and “very difficult” as it was comprised of rock, rocky inclines, long stretches of cratered-rock (that seemed to resemble the surface of the moon), some mild rock climbing, and the presence of venomous snakes. All the reviews of the trail encouraged one to wear hiking boots. I was a little late in committing to hiking boots, and I only wore these for a 3 mile walk before hitting the trail with my 28 lb pack. One of my other hiking companions was accustomed to hiking in running shoes. To our surprise we found that we had both selected the same hiking boot (Keen Women’s Targhee II Waterproof Hiking Boot) to wear on this trip. She literally pulled her boots straight from the box before hitting the trail. So, neither of us had broken our boots in. Our first day on the trail turned out to be the most arduous; we both hiked in our new Keens for over 7 hours across incredibly rocky, rugged terrain. Neither of us ended up with a single blister that day or any day of the trip. Our husbands were shocked (and sporting blisters in their broken-in boots). The boots fit beautifully out of the box and held traction wonderfully on the trail. I have a wide foot, and I struggled with a good fit in other brands of hiking shoes; however, the Keen boots fit perfectly without any hot spots, foot numbness, or bruising. The lacing design works well to keep the toe box loose while allowing me to tighten the boot at the ankle. I was pleased to find that I did not notice any increased drag or feeling of a weighted foot despite being accustomed to wearing hiking shoes. The only problem I experienced was sweaty/smelly feet when I switched to my clean socks, REI mid-weight hiking socks, on Day 2. My feet were hot and growing dangerously damp from sweat (a problem I usually don’t have and haven’t had with these socks in hiking shoes). However, when I switched BACK to my Darn Tough Boot Socks (which I had worn on Day 1) and kept them for the Day 3 hike out and our Day 4 day hike, I experienced none of these problems. I recommend you consider your sock weight carefully with this boot if you are hiking in warmer weather. Each of our days had a high of about 75 degrees F. We were (fortunately) unable to test out how well waterproofed these boots were as we had gorgeous weather the entire trip. I will update my review when we next hike in rainy weather and after they have had to stand
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In Search of
Nordic Cuisine Article by by Shane Mitchell Photography by Zoe Hart
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O
On a chilly August morning in eastern Iceland, a herd of reindeer paused to graze along a granite ridge. Eymundur (“Eymi”) Magnússon, a dead ringer for the Bee Gees’ Barry Gibb, slammed on the brakes, and his truck skidded to a halt on the stony track. The two of us sat silently watching as these skittish herbivores, their enormous antlers swaying like velvet chandeliers in a windstorm, trotted toward a glacial lake outside the town of Eglisstaðir. “Do they know you don’t eat meat?” I asked. Magnússon chuckled. “Maybe. Hunting season is coming up soon, and they’ve been on my land for most of the summer.” Surveying the matted “Icelanders are champion crowberry shrubs and lichforagers of mushrooms, en-crusted rocks, I didn’t see much terrain that could be berries, moss, seaweed ; construed as sanctuary for anything deemed creatures that stuck out like a frost giant’s sore thumb. But remotely edible.” once we bounced around several turns in the rutted trail, the truck dipped into a hidden vale of barley fields. The wind died away as we drove between tall rows of mature aspen. Magnússon remarked at the curious hue of the sheltering foliage, possibly tinted by nitrogen from blue lupines blooming underneath. “No one thought these trees would grow,” he said, “but I have planted one million of them.” In a forestless realm where all virgin timber was cut down more than a thousand years ago, it’s an achievement worthy of a vegetarian visionary. For Magnússon, who supplies tiny white potatoes and fruit preserves to gourmet shops in Reykjavík, it was simply another day on the farm he calls Vallanes. Just kissing latitude 67 degrees north, this isoBELOW: Foraging for lated island of volcanoes and glaciers is what the fresh ingredients.
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Icelandic people have called home — literally between hot rocks and a cold place — since A.D. 874, when their intrepid Viking ancestors first rowed longships across the Norwegian Sea. Unlike its nearest neighbor, Greenland, Iceland is warmed by the Gulf Stream, so the climate is relatively temperate. Although summer is fleeting on the cusp of the Arctic Circle, plenty still grows here, and Icelanders are champion foragers of mushrooms, berries, moss, seaweed — anything deemed remotely edible. Word about these rare ingredients, not to mention the weird beauty of an untamed landscape, has spread far beyond the island’s lava-rock shores. Danish chef René Redzepi, the leader of the New Nordic culinary movement and an avid forager, sources Icelandic seafood, herbal teas, and the yogurtlike skyr for Noma, his Copenhagen bistro, which in 2010 was named the world’s top restaurant (edging out Spain’s El Bulli) by a prestigious international food academy. These modern-day Vikings can cite an ancient literary source for their foraging instincts: the Icelanders’ sagas, which are filled with heroic deeds by poet-farmers and warrior-shepherds. (With his fair hair and beard, Eymi would fit right into one of those medieval prose epics.) I’ve never managed to choke through an entire narrative, but undoubtedly the Old Norse words for locavore and sustainability are in there somewhere. I share a love of scrounging with these far northerners. My mother, an early convert to the health-food craze during the 1960’s, favored Euell Gibbons’s Stalking the Wild Asparagus as her guide to walking on the wild side. She taught me to be an edible opportunist, hunting the sides of streams for cress and picking windfall apples from abandoned farm fields near my childhood home. My own inspiration, however, is an obscure gem titled Icelandic Picnic, by Áslaug
Snorradóttir and Sigrún Sigvaldadóttir. Full of tart homilies, this merry collection of arty snapshots celebrates the outdoor pleasures of a brief yet bountiful season, when modern Vikings pack their camping gear and plunder the countryside with berry buckets. At the height of an Arctic summer, I also discover how short a distance it is in Iceland to journey from field to table. In a tie-dyed bunkhouse on Magnússon’s farm, a group of Wwoof-ers were wolfing down wild-blueberry pancakes and rhubarb compote. World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms is a grassroots cultural exchange for back-to-theland volunteers and growers eager to embrace the crunchy gospel. This crew ranged from a Bowdoin graduate student researching soil content to an elderly Englishwoman with a passion for tundra fungi—all extra hands in the farm’s prized potato patch. “Don’t let anyone in Reykjavík know they’re ready to harvest yet,” Magnússon entreated me. Icelandic Picnic: “Pjód veit, ef prír vita.” “If three have been told, the whole nation knows.” On an island with just over 300,000 residents, word gets around fast. With packets of freshly baked angelica-seed crackers from Magnússon’s wife, Eygló, in my bag, I left the gentle vale of Vallanes for a rough gravel road across a high pass to the nearby eastern seaport of Seyðisfjörður. As I gained elevation, the weather closed in. I found myself in the curious position of navigating a suspension bridge with a dense cloud bank underneath and zero visibility in a region where free-ranging sheep mobbed grassy shoulders. (Both excellent reasons why the speed limit in Iceland is 55 m.p.h.) Halfway through my route, the Gufufoss waterfall tumbled over a series of rock terraces next to the road. I parked and walked to the edge, where the spray, drifting upward, misted my face and hair. One of the most wonderful things about Iceland is the
ABOVE: A traditional Icelandic meal of sheep head.
BEHIND THE MEAT Icelanders will tell you their lamb is better than any other lamb in the world, and it is really, really good. Probably because they let their sheep merrily roam free in the highlands and valleys to much on grass and herbs before being corralled in the winter. The result of such a luxurious life is very tender meat with a gently gamey flavor. We ate lamb one night with a Moroccan guy who said his mom’s lamb was the best, until that night in Reykjavik (Moroccan Mom, you never read that). There’s plenty of meat available in Iceland that we didn’t try: horse, reindeer steak, sheep’s head, and fermented shark. (Ever see the No Reservations episode in Iceland where Anthony Bourdain calls fermented shark the worst thing he’s ever — ever, ever — eaten?) The “try it once” rule didn’t apply here for Unbound editor Robyn, however, did head over to Fljótt go Gott, the cafeteria at the BSI Bus Terminal in Reykjavik known for its sheep’s head, when she visited in 2009. Singed and de-brained then boiled, the sheep’s head (“svið” in Icelandic) comes with mashed potato scoops and mashed turnip. If you’re going to eat sheep’s head in Iceland — and that includes the tongue, eyeballs and ears — it should be at Fljótt go Gott. “Icelanders don’t eat the brain, as far as I know. It only takes about a minute to eat the parts worth eating. The best part was easily the tongue,” said Robyn.
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purity of plain old tap water, which tastes of minerals from the sunless halls of mountain kings. Icelanders laugh when you ask for imported bottles. Seyðisfjörður was preparing for a midsummer party. A heap of broken furniture and packing crates piled next to the town hall was to be torched at sunset — which, at this time of year, was just shy of midnight. At the reception area in the Hótel Aldan, the old checkout counter displayed temptingly iced fruitcakes and chewy nut cookies; oak tables and Windsor chairs looked out onto the waterfront. Setting my place with a crocheted doily and candlestick, a waitress recited the evening menu. (Magnússon’s microgreens made an appearance, paired with a smoked duck breast.) As I watched bonfire-bound townspeople stream past the front window, succulent langoustine tails arrived garnished with Gotland truffle foam. Closer in size to crawfish than lobster, Icelandic humar are rich enough on their own. The sauce made from mushrooms sourced on a Baltic island was a delightfully indulgent embellishment, particularly given the frugal culinary history of a people who once survived winters on putrefied shark and pickled seal flippers. Icelandic Picnic: “Margt et sætt í dag, sem súrt er á morgun.” “Sweet today, sour tomorrow.” An eight-hour drive away, on the opposite side of the island, the capital of Reykjavík has all the hallmarks of a small college town—street murals; vintage stores; Internet cafés on every corner. I was there to meet Siggi Hall, an ardent fan of the potatoes from Magnússon’s farm. Tall and jolly, Hall is the Icelandic equivalent of the Galloping Gourmet; he introduced his viewing public to imported comestibles such as olive oil and maple syrup, but now promotes a cooking philosophy closer to home. We met for langoustine chowder at Nauthóll, a modern bistro overlooking the city beach. I asked him what a summer picnic means to an Icelandic chef. “I like to go out to the country with blankets and sandwiches, smoked lamb, and cheeses,” he said. “Especially in August, when the berries get ripe. Everyone has their secret picking grounds.” He leaned in closer to stage-whisper: “You don’t tell where you pick your berries!” Set in grassy parkland on the outskirts of town, Nordic House was designed by Finnish master architect Alvar Aalto. The minimalist structure holds a library and exhibition space. It is also home turf for two culinary madmen. By day, Dill restaurant serves as the museum cafeteria; after hours, all that changes radically. Chef Gunnar
Karl Gíslason and his sommelier, Ólafur Örn (“Óli”) Ólaffson, produce poetry from an experimental kitchen slightly smaller than a bread box. Gíslason may just be the next René Redzepi. (He hosted his first Salone del Gusto workshop at the Slow Food festival in Turin, Italy, last fall.) Because Dill has only 10 tables, each plate gets his conceptual scrutiny, and what winds up on that rustic china is extraordinary. Often Gíslason will hear from a lone hunter who has bagged a reindeer, or a former Buddhist monk who combs the shoreline for kelp and moss. Arctic char might arrive from friends who have spawning streams flowing past their sheep paddocks. A ceramic artist will trade dinner for a pot with protruding lamb bones. And a waiter’s uncle supplies fresh-mown hay for one of Gíslason’s quirkier pairings. My table faced a pond where fat white ducks paddled in the twilight. The meal required a wicked sense of humor enhanced by a capacity for surprise: I’d never seen pickled green wild strawberries, birch oil, caramelized cheese whey, or pink beer. The cubed, salt-preserved wild salmon with capelin roe and smoked-rapeseed mayonnaise tasted like fishy Pop Rocks with a nicotine twist. A loin of Icelandic beef, cooked rare, was dusted with incinerated leeks. (At one point I spotted Gíslason setting fire to a clump of hay outside; the ash fell on a breast of wild goose.) Magnússon’s potatoes nestled next to scrambled duck egg and bacon in cream sauce. A dollop of whipped cider-vinegar butter perched precariously on a lava rock next to equally dark pumpernickel. When the kitchen finally closed and Gíslason pulled up a chair, I asked him why he scorched his food. He crossed his meaty arms and grinned like an oversize garden gnome. “For extra grill flavor,” he said, laughing. Foraging is a pursuit eminently suited to the road, and all the better if that byway winds around fjords leading to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula. Every few miles I stopped to scan for fragrant thyme and stalks of seeding angelica. The trip to Hótel Budir, a country house on the Atlantic — usually a 2 1/2-hour drive northwest from Reykjavík — took me most of a day. After a brisk walk along the pebbled beach to gather mahogany kelp washed up at low tide, I rinsed the sea salt from my hands in an upstairs guest room and headed to the dining room to settle onto a tufted banquette. Budir’s owner and chef, Peter Thordarson,
“The meal
required a
wicked sense of
humor enhanced by a capacity
for surprise”
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sources much of his menu from farms on the peninsula, with a few significant exceptions. I was intrigued by the gamy flavor of his seared puffin with parsley purée. Accompanying the buttery lamb fillet and pulled shank: a mound of Magnússon’s barley. (Was there no escaping this agricultural activist?) I couldn’t resist begging a small portion of wild cèpes, which smelled like chocolate from a bog. The windows faced west toward Snæfellsjökull volcano, which some Icelanders consider a vortex — one of those energy points where the earth’s magnetic core supposedly attracts supernatural phenomena. My waiter casually mentioned that in winter the aurora borealis seems to arch closer to it. Even at summer’s height, snow caps this mystic cone, the setting for the start of the fictional expedition in Jules Verne’s Journey
to the Center of the Earth. On my last morning, the Budir kitchen gave me a two-gallon plastic bucket. The lane leading back to the main road passed through a dormant lava field blanketed by soft mosses. I hiked among the jumbled rocks and climbed down into a wide crevice out of the wind blowing off the ocean. All around me were low bushes full of plump blueberries that no one had yet found. I picked and picked. Sitting there on the dry grass, with the sound of the surf at my back and the glacier sparkling in the sun above me, I finally had a taste of that transient delight relished by a Nordic race of alfresco revelers. Icelandic Picnic: “Nú er af mér gengið, sagði geitin, ég er bæði full og feit.” “Now I’m done, said the goat, I’m both full and fat.”
BELOW: Fresh meat is strung up, skinned, and cleaned every day.
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Unbound journalist Pia Kaipainen catches up with Icelandic local and Nikita marketing co-ordinator Asgeir ‘Geiri’ Höskuldsson to get the lowdown on the shred scene on the isolated island in the North Atlantic.
PHOTOGRAPHY BY TRISHA EDWARDS
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RIGHT: Snowboarders
hike to the peak for a day of backcountry shredding
hink about Arctic wilderness, volcanoes and glaciers. Think about hot springs, scarce population, constantly changing weather conditions. Where’s your head at? My head is in Iceland, talking to Asgeir ‘Geiri’ Höskuldsson — a passionate snowboarder, Marketing Coordinator for Nikita Clothing and former Director of ISA (Icelandic Snowboard Association). It’s always cool to meet someone like Geiri — who truly is so dedicated, proud of his heritage and in this case, rooting for snowboarding from a small, but perhaps surprisingly versatile riding environment. I must be the first to admit that I have never realized how much Iceland has to offer, and not only in snowboarding but surfing too. This place sounds amazing; let’s hear what the native has to say!
Heilsa Geiri! I hope I got that little bit of Icelandic right… your homeland is really unique from the language to the surrounding environment. You must be used to pretty extreme weather conditions over there too. Do trips to the sunny Alps feel like a picnic to you? Hey Pia, I am proud of you for saluting me in my native language. Icelandic isnt exactly the easiest language to master. I don’t even know how to say “Hi” in Finnish back to you but I can tell you that Pía is slang in Icelandic for cool chick. Yeah, we have a saying here in Iceland: “if you don’t like the weather just wait a minute”. You just got to stick your head out the window and see what the weather is like, the weather is the weather and you can’t really do anything about it, just have to go with the flow of it. I have definitely had plenty of good days freeriding some remote locations around the island but I also like going to resorts outside of Iceland and checking on that scene and resting my hiking legs by riding “blinged out VIP” chairlifts. My first snowboard experience was at 11 in Val Cenis, France and since then I have tried to go to mainland Europe for riding at least once a year, if not more often.
So, could you tell us something about the local snowboarding scene in Iceland? By reading the ISA website it sounds as if it’s a fairly tight knit community that pulls together. I got a feeling of some kinda true brotherhood that is really superb. The local scene is pretty local. Only 300,000 people live in Iceland and I would say the hardcore snowboard scene counts maybe 100-150 people so everybody knows everybody. A lot more people snowboard of course and on a regular day at the resorts snowboarders out number skiers roughly by a 60% to 40% ratio. Most events, sessions and days on the mountain are pretty relaxed and you can’t avoid meeting somebody you know, which is cool.
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Icelandic Insight / Unbound May 2017
It says on the site that ISA acts as the voice for all snowboarders in Iceland and that you aim to develop the local parks and make sure the resorts listen to the riders when making decisions regarding them. How is the atmosphere in general, do the snowboarders have to fight for their rights or is the co-operation with resorts going peacefully and smooth? The ISA was originally founded in 2001 as a common ground for Icelandic snowboarders to get their opinions across, hold events etc. I took over as Director in 2003 and quit in 2007 due to lack of time and wanting to spend more time with my family. Linda is the new director now, she has got some good plans for the future of ISA and is doing a really good job. Some of the resorts here listen to riders and some don’t, it all depends on the people working there. There have been some shouting matches and guerrilla park building. It can be frustrating sometimes, like banging your head against a big glacier over and over again. Sometimes it seems to be more about politics then actually wanting to do something to improve the overall conditions for snowboarders. That said I am really proud of the local snowboarders all around Iceland. They have to be really creative when it comes to jibbing and setting up jumps, nobody is going to do it for them and a lot of the time the weather is working against them. It´s really amazing that the local scene has already produced some world class snowboarders like the Helgasons brothers, Gulli Guðmundsson and Viktor Hjartarson. You will always be getting unique riders coming out of Iceland as the only way to progress up here is to be creative and face the elements head on.
What’s the level of the parks? Can you get some Freeriding days in too? I would say only one resort in northern Iceland has something which they could sort of call a park. They bought a pipe dragon and
some boxes but haven’t really gone the full distance in their commitment in setting things up and having them available to snowboarders on a daily bases. Most jumps, rails and boxes which you will see around resorts here in Iceland will have been set up by the local riders themselves. Endless Freeride possibilities here in Iceland. So many cool places to hike to and ride down. If you have a sled you can access so many untouched places. I have been hiking and Freeriding around Iceland for about 15 years and I am glad to say that I have still so many places left to go to and experience. I feel really lucky to have this playground in my back garden.
Could you ever imagine living elsewhere or is Iceland where you always wanna be based at? The Icelandic word for stupid is: “heimskur”. It translates directly to someone who stays too much at home and does not explore the outside world. The viking high code (Hávamál) also says: “who travels widely needs his wits about him, the stupid should stay at home”. So, yes, I love having Iceland as a base, I am proud of my background and I couldn’t think of a better place to raise our daughter but I also love traveling. It is definitely something I want my family to experience. I think it is necessary for everybody to travel, expand their horizons and experience different things. It opens your mind for so many things. The best thing about traveling though is coming back home. Iceland will always be my home and my base in life. There are few things better than returning to Iceland after a long trip and taking that first breath of fresh air and feeling the weather on your face when you step out from Keflavík airport.
Surfing in Iceland sounds pretty far off, but I read that the waves exist and are rideable? Being an island, Iceland is surrounded by the North Atlantic Ocean on all sides. There are some pretty good surf spots all over and we get some cool waves coming in from all sides. The surf scene is pretty hardcore. I would say around
25-30 people are surfing all year around but the scene has been growing steadily in the last couple of years. So you are never going to be fighting anyone for the waves up here except maybe a curious seal or two. There are some cool spots around, for example around the Snæfells glacier peninsula. If the conditions are right you can shred the glacier and go surfing all in one day. I really want to get more into surfing, I have only tried it a handful of times here in Iceland. It hasn’t really been surfing but more avoiding drowning. It’s one of the scariest things I have tried, definitely room for a lot of improvement on my half. I have heard pro surfers that have come up here describing the breaks, swells and wave conditions to that of Hawaii. If you think about it Hawaii and Iceland have a lot in common geographically. Both are volcanic Islands situated in the middle of nowhere so there are bound to be some similarities. The ocean is a “little” bit colder up here but if you have a good wetsuit on its does not really matter.
And as the last word you are free to give a little marketing speech why we should all book the next flight to Reykjavik and come check the local snow stash? The Icelandic tourist board has done a pretty good job of advertising Iceland as a hip, cool, beautiful, pure, natural, exciting, strong, unique, picturesque, geothermal, volcanic, party, absolutely brilliant must place to visit. So I wont go down that road with you. But I can tell you that if you want a different snowboard experience in untouched lunar-like landscapes riding untouched lines that end in the North Atlantic ocean then hop on a plane and ask for Geiri when you land. Not that we needed that marketing speech anyways… I could think of worse things to do than hiking & riding glaciers for a day and then jumping into a hot spring while admiring raw, beautiful nature. How about you?
BELOW: A typical Icelandic house sits in a snowfield.
Unbound May 2017 / Icelandic Insight
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