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Sunday, August 24th, 2003
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10:00p - Raging against the inevitable
I am so furiously angry about this Iceland whaling issue, having just seen the pictures on the news of a dead Minke being hauled out of the water and cut into bits.
There may be people reading this who think I care far too much about this. Well there it is. I do care, and probably far too much. Sorry about that.
If you don't like it, skip on to the next item on your friends list, likely to be an item of much greater world significance (not) and ignore the whole problem.
There are two things going on here. Firstly, I simply do not believe that we have the right to kill mammals as large and intelligent as whales, nor to shut them up in little concrete pools that interfere with their sensory systems as effectively as putting humans in pitch-black or sound-proof rooms.
That's straightforward enough. The reason I am so bloody cross and miserable about it is that it is Iceland that chose to do it, a country otherwise so pleasant and civilised that I had seriously considered going to live there.
I'm sitting here thinking of all the things I now can't do as a result of this - because I won't spend money in a country that is prepared to act like Iceland is now. And, believe me, it's a lot of money, given that it has one of the highest costs of living on the face of the planet.
[![[info]](http://www.deadjournal.com:8080/userinfo.gif) _random_ might want to stop reading at this point, as I have a feeling the next bit might upset him too, and I don't want to do that. Well, you've been warned, mate...]
Now there's a very good chance I have been swimming at Laugadalurslaug in Reykjavik for the last time, although I was counting on going back within a couple of years, at the most.
I may very well never stand in the Hallgrimskirkje again, a fact that is actually reducing me to tears as I sit here and type.
I could never actually hike to the very top of Mount Esja, or drive the Kjolur route across the interior, or see Geysir's little brother Strokkur spouting. Random once came very close to qualifying as one of the seven stupid tourists a week who scald themselves each summer, except in his case he was soaked from head to foot, having got right in the way of the eruption.
Seafood at Galileo's is now off the menu. As are pizzas from the world's most northerly Domino's branch, up in Akureyri. Don't even get me started on Akureyri, that's too painful to talk about. I'm glad no-one told me at the time it would be the only time I'd see the place, leaving was hard enough as it was.
All I wanted to go up to the top of the world and stand under the mountains and breathe fresh air, and now I bloody can't. And here I am, crying again.
No more drinking ridiculously weak beer from the grocery store on the corner of Skolavordustigur, or running up mobile phone bills calling back to England. Or being kept awake at night by the curious fact that the sun refuses to set.
Or buying outdoor gear from 66 Degrees North (well, we do have rather a lot already) or seeing the point of 4x4 vehicles, or wondering about the bizarre sculptures at Keflavik airport.
There's this heap of holiday photos, Icelandic maps and guide books that are going to have to go to the back of a very deep cupboard.
Every couple in every place has some symbolic location to call their own (Random, I did warn you about reading this). For us it was the Sun Voyager on Reykjavik harbour, an abstractish sculpture with a strong suggestion of the Viking longship and a lot of horned helmets about it.
It was known to us as the Dawn Treader, and was a very handy spot for eating your pizza bought from the nearby Domino's (look, it's a good standby when you're a vegetarian in an expensive city where they eat mostly fish. Though they do put blue cheese and gouda on the things.)
I've stood under that and looked across to Esja and cried buckets at the thought of having to come back to smelly, aggressive, problem-laden London. Another one to cross off the list, then.
When I get bored about or depressed with my present circumstances, which can be anything from a long evening at work to a whole bad week, I tend to wander off mentally.
Iceland was one of the major places I used to go. It's like a door has shut, cutting off a whole big area of my mental horizons with it. I keep remembering all the above things, not with my customary little nod of recognition and anticipation at going back, but with a horrible jolt.
We had no less than three years' worth of holidays planned, at vast, horrible expense - but that didn't matter, it was worth every penny. There was the trip up to see the north-west, which might also have taken us up Kjolur if Random could ever be persuaded to do it, the long trek south to see the black beaches and the glaciers, and the little city break to Reykjavik in winter - because you've not really seen Iceland until you've been there in the dark months.
All those bits of paper about London's only Icelandic-language course, and the requirements for EU citizens working in an EAA country can go for recycling. Because to me, to visit now would be to condone the decision to restart whaling, and I can't do that.
And the knowledge that I can't do damn-all about it just makes it worse. No-one in Iceland gives a hoot if I don't agree with whaling, it's their country not mine, and if I don't like it, I should stay at home.
Yes, fine, and that's what I'll be doing. Bt that's every bit as hurtful as being let down by a good friend. And I feel very disappointed and, in fact, very nearly bereaved.
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