Middle-earth in Iceland

 

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away ere break of day
Far over wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell,
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And wither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!

- From The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

There are certain places that capture a sense of something else. Something told before. Some bigger story. Occasionally I find myself caught in a scene from such a big story. Usually this happens when I travel and my eyes are open to the different tune of landscape and place. My imagination is an open book, and stories fall into the pages.

J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis were extremely fond of the old Sagas from Iceland, Norway, and Finland. They both were part of a society that would meet in their early days of Oxford called the Kolbitars. Or "coal biters", which comes from the Icelandic notion of telling stories/sagas around the fire and sitting so close (because it's so cold) to the fire they could literally nibble on the coals. In this group during their early years of teaching at Oxford, Tolkien and Lewis became close friends, in their shared loved of Icelandic and Norse Sagas. If you read any of Tolkien's writings from Middle-earth you will find bits of such Sagas steeped in, along with images of the landscapes and ancient feeling of the places and the legends. Everything feels old, and part of something bigger than the moment being described.

It's no wonder that when I am in Iceland, I see glimpses of Middle-earth almost everywhere. I hear the words of the books in my head in certain places - the Fellowship travelling on the Great River seeing the grand old statues of the kings of Númenor; the visits into Lothlorien - a wooded realm of the Elves with trees and ancient woods adorned with round staircases and glowing lamps; the grand stone buildings and kingly places of Rivendell, Gondor, and Númenor clothed in white. All the atmospheric locations along the way. Paths into the mountains, leading around kingdoms, venturing into the mist and fog. 

As Frodo was borne towards them the great pillars rose like towers to meet him. Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening. Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned: the craft and power of old had wrought upon them, and still they preserved through the suns and rains of forgotten years the mighty likenesses in which they had been hewn. Upon great pedestals founded in the deep waters stood two great kings of stone: still with blurred eyes and crannied brows they frowned upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning; in each right hand there was an axe; upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished kingdom.

- From The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

In these places I pause and look around me, feeling as if I have fallen into the story and suddenly something is going to happen as we enter the next chapter. I memorize the space with my eyes, ears, and feeling. I hear the story in my head. I take a deep breath realizing and appreciating that I am in such a place. 

I could go on and on with examples of this in Iceland (and other places I travel to and have written about). Perhaps if you are more curious to read Tolkien you might catch some more glimpses of this sense of the long-vanished kingdom. My journey to Iceland has refreshed my desire to re-read The Lord of the Rings. It might have to happen soon.