Thursday, 6 December 2012

A not-so-Hobbit's Tale: There and....probably not back again

Norman the Troll

I feel like an eccentric, rock-dwelling elf writing from my Reykjavík attic apartment, complete with fairy lights, candles and a little Viking troll for company. I have just returned from work, feeling rather proud of myself. Not only did I manage to dodge the china cup which was lobbed somewhat unceremoniously at my head, but I learnt the phrase: ‘toggaðu upp buxurnar! nei, ekki typpið, EKKI TYPPIÐ! ’ (‘pull your trousers up!’ I will let you google-translate the rest…). My endeavours to stop disabled children eating glitter, however, were marginally less successful. Nonetheless, I am in Iceland. After three years of Old Norsical dreaming, I bade farewell to Cambridge and began my journey to the frozen North. With no job, no house, no plans and (alas) very little common-sense, I rocked up in Reykjavík with only a back-pack and pair of cowboy boots to my name.

At last, I had made it across the Whale-Road.

In Iceland, home of hipsters and brennavín, over-sized jumpers and Sigur Rós, many exciting things happen. The aim of this blog (cunningly named to reflect both my literary interests and general giantess-ness) is to document my adventures in the Land of Fire and Ice. I shall regale you with tales of naked communal showering and my mission to combat Icelandic grammar, of skyr-curry and ‘Björk stalking’, of knitting obsessions and chasing hat-eating autistic children through shopping malls and car parks. I shall recount my struggle to survive as a ‘vegetarian Viking’ in a country which favours svið (sheep’s-head) and hákarl (fermented shark) over hummus and falafel. Like the intrepid Viking warriors who first set foot in Iceland over 1000 years ago, I have a lot to learn from this quirky little island marooned in the North Atlantic. Although often labelled as the odd, tea-drinking Brit, an útlendingur (‘foreigner’) who cannot rave until 6am and has never eaten whale, I nonetheless embrace the challenges posed by a new country and culture. Yet whatever the (Odinnic?) trials, nothing will deter me from my ultimate quest: to marry a Viking farmer, write novels and make jam in my little Icelandic farmstead surrounded by íslenskir hestar (Icelandic horses), mountains and, most probably, trolls.



  1. you can have your viking farm when you're old, YOU BETTER COME BACK

  2. You should mention me a lot because I'm awesome and I want to be famous. :)