I was trying to find a definition of "frontier", a term commonly used when referring to Alaska, but there seems to be no international consensus. What it implies is an area largely without infrastructure and a very low population, think something along the lines of 1-3 people per square kilometer. Or less.
In my perception, if not officially, Skagafjörður with its 0.95 people/km² qualifies.
Imagine yourself to be in an area where a hamlet of around 120 people deserves a big dot on the national map. The smaller dots refer to actual individual farms. The little hamlet offers everything you could possibly want, a supermarket in which you can also buy horse shoes and windscreen wipers, a hotel, a swimming pool, a bank, a fire department, a tourist information, a petrol station and much much more. The supermarket has a great selection of food. As long as you don't insist on finding a particular thing on a particular day, particularly meat-wise, but are able to improvise, you do not ever need to leave the area. If you need something more fancy, like clothes, electric appliances or alcohol, you drive 25 km into the fjord's biggest city, Sauðárkrókur. I have been told that once you have used the words "biggest" and "Sauðárkrókur" in the same sentence, you have become truly Icelandic. Sauðárkrókur is home to around 2,500 souls and I have it on good authority that whatever you cannot find in KS (cow-ess) in Sauðárkrókur, you do not need. And this is the mindset that reflects very well what I have experienced. The next bigger town with better shopping is around 100 km away, on the other side of a mountain pass, which might or might not be passable. So the little KS in Varmahlíð and the big KS in Sauðárkrókur are your best and often only chance to get what you need. The mind is a wonderful thing and while initially, you might wonder how you will survive without organically grown tofu bunnies, you will learn to make do with what's there. And more often than not, that tiny little shop actually does offer the elusive ingredient you are after, in my case Japanese rice vinegar and everything else you could possible want to make sushi. Apart from the fish; they had run out that day.
But then, I did not have to buy the fish anyway. The fish for my sushi came directly out of the water. 2 hours before we shoved elaborately rolled maki and nigiri down our throats, that fish was still with its friends. My friend's significant other who does "fish" brought our most important ingredient. It seems to be similar with meat. People don't seem to buy a lot of meat in stores (and the reason is by no means that they are all vegetarian, far from it), but a lot of people have half a horse or lamb in their freezer or know someone they can get it from in large quantities. Horse is a lot more popular than beef or pork and much less expensive, I guess in an area where there are more horses than people, the ones that don't behave well during training have to go somewhere, after all.
Speaking of animals, I have found that the people around me had a beautiful relationship with their animals. There is mutual respect and reverence, but also an acceptance of some of the baser facts of life. Dogs have more freedom than they could possible want, but biting a human is usually a death sentence. Horses have the most amazing life in the mountains with only a few short months of work every year and unlimited freedom to be horses for the rest of time, but they are expected to take care of themselves and might end up in the freezer, if they are out of commission for one reason or other. In an area that makes most of its annual income during the three short months of summer, a horse that is not working and cannot feed itself on a long-term basis is not sustainable. To me, using it for sustenance is the utmost sign of respect.
Being a city girl, I did find some of these truths hard to stomach at first. But I also experienced that life is hard up north and that there is little space for romanticised ideas of country life with fluffy horsies and kitties and piggies. At some point, my housemate responded to a call for help at 10 p.m. in a snow storm where a friend of his had gotten their tractor stuck in a pile of snow on their way to feed the animals. A group of 6 or more people (I don't remember exactly) spent their whole night outside in a snow storm in early December to dig that tractor out, so that the friend could feed the animals. They also had to change a tire in the process. My housemate returned home around 5 a.m.
It's a wonderful life up there. While initially, I feared the isolation, it allowed me to relax in ways that I hadn't experienced before. Going back to the city with its buzz, smells, lights, traffic, total sensory overload and people, so many people was a hard adjustment to make. I'm sure there is more to frontier life than what's in this post. There might be another post in the future.
Not all ideas in this post are my original thoughts. Some of them I have taken from conversations with other people and stories I have been told.
In my perception, if not officially, Skagafjörður with its 0.95 people/km² qualifies.
Imagine yourself to be in an area where a hamlet of around 120 people deserves a big dot on the national map. The smaller dots refer to actual individual farms. The little hamlet offers everything you could possibly want, a supermarket in which you can also buy horse shoes and windscreen wipers, a hotel, a swimming pool, a bank, a fire department, a tourist information, a petrol station and much much more. The supermarket has a great selection of food. As long as you don't insist on finding a particular thing on a particular day, particularly meat-wise, but are able to improvise, you do not ever need to leave the area. If you need something more fancy, like clothes, electric appliances or alcohol, you drive 25 km into the fjord's biggest city, Sauðárkrókur. I have been told that once you have used the words "biggest" and "Sauðárkrókur" in the same sentence, you have become truly Icelandic. Sauðárkrókur is home to around 2,500 souls and I have it on good authority that whatever you cannot find in KS (cow-ess) in Sauðárkrókur, you do not need. And this is the mindset that reflects very well what I have experienced. The next bigger town with better shopping is around 100 km away, on the other side of a mountain pass, which might or might not be passable. So the little KS in Varmahlíð and the big KS in Sauðárkrókur are your best and often only chance to get what you need. The mind is a wonderful thing and while initially, you might wonder how you will survive without organically grown tofu bunnies, you will learn to make do with what's there. And more often than not, that tiny little shop actually does offer the elusive ingredient you are after, in my case Japanese rice vinegar and everything else you could possible want to make sushi. Apart from the fish; they had run out that day.
But then, I did not have to buy the fish anyway. The fish for my sushi came directly out of the water. 2 hours before we shoved elaborately rolled maki and nigiri down our throats, that fish was still with its friends. My friend's significant other who does "fish" brought our most important ingredient. It seems to be similar with meat. People don't seem to buy a lot of meat in stores (and the reason is by no means that they are all vegetarian, far from it), but a lot of people have half a horse or lamb in their freezer or know someone they can get it from in large quantities. Horse is a lot more popular than beef or pork and much less expensive, I guess in an area where there are more horses than people, the ones that don't behave well during training have to go somewhere, after all.
Speaking of animals, I have found that the people around me had a beautiful relationship with their animals. There is mutual respect and reverence, but also an acceptance of some of the baser facts of life. Dogs have more freedom than they could possible want, but biting a human is usually a death sentence. Horses have the most amazing life in the mountains with only a few short months of work every year and unlimited freedom to be horses for the rest of time, but they are expected to take care of themselves and might end up in the freezer, if they are out of commission for one reason or other. In an area that makes most of its annual income during the three short months of summer, a horse that is not working and cannot feed itself on a long-term basis is not sustainable. To me, using it for sustenance is the utmost sign of respect.
Being a city girl, I did find some of these truths hard to stomach at first. But I also experienced that life is hard up north and that there is little space for romanticised ideas of country life with fluffy horsies and kitties and piggies. At some point, my housemate responded to a call for help at 10 p.m. in a snow storm where a friend of his had gotten their tractor stuck in a pile of snow on their way to feed the animals. A group of 6 or more people (I don't remember exactly) spent their whole night outside in a snow storm in early December to dig that tractor out, so that the friend could feed the animals. They also had to change a tire in the process. My housemate returned home around 5 a.m.
It's a wonderful life up there. While initially, I feared the isolation, it allowed me to relax in ways that I hadn't experienced before. Going back to the city with its buzz, smells, lights, traffic, total sensory overload and people, so many people was a hard adjustment to make. I'm sure there is more to frontier life than what's in this post. There might be another post in the future.
Not all ideas in this post are my original thoughts. Some of them I have taken from conversations with other people and stories I have been told.
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