There's no witty title for this one. Sorry.

So, lots of things to show and tell you people since last I updated (I know, I know, it's been far too long since I've last done so).

First, the telling.

I got my first MA paper back last week, and I was pleasantly surprised - an 8.0/10, which puts me tied for sixth in the course, marks-wise. Not that I'm competitive or anything like that.* This is good news for me, as it greatly boosts my academic confidence, especially in this post-Old Iceland midterm environment.

Also, Ásdís and I handled our discussion leadership on Sigurður Nordal's Icelandic Culture fairly well, I think, so things are looking up for my mark in Viðar's Medieval North class. Assuming I don't self-destruct through a combination of hubristic arrogance and overconfidence on this second paper, of course.**

The past week or so has been relatively uneventful, save for the 'David trying to get us killed' incident detailed earlier. Speaking of that, by the way, those kids have been apparently bird-dogging Paul ever since. I saw them on Wednesday evening, while chatting with Ren on the phone, and the whole group of them just moseyed on by; The leader of their ever-increasing gang of ne'er-do-wells was, no doubt, intimidated beyond reason by the majesty of my handlebar moustache.

I also got my hands on some moustache wax and have grown what is possibly the finest handlebar moustache mankind has ever seen. Much to the chagrin of Emily and most of the women in Iceland, apparently. Ah, well, c'est la vie, non?

Last Sunday, Ryder, Paul, Sarah, Bond, Miriam and I went to the Saga Museum, and it was very cool - short, unfortunately, but loaded with wax figures - some of whom were animatronic and were nearly punched when they twitched in my unsuspecting direction!

Today, we went to Njála country, which was beautiful land, if you like that stark, almost barren quality most of Iceland possesses. Fortunately, I do like that quality, and I quite enjoyed it. Even the mountain which defeated Paul, Bettina, and I was beautiful, if cruelly punishing on my old and out-of-shape joints. We also went to the Njála museum, which was pretty cool.

This Sunday, we head to Þórsmörk and get to see Eyjafjallajökull, Ren's old nemesis.*** There will be photos uploaded of that, as well.

Now, I did promise not only telling, but showing as well, so showing there shall be! Below, of course, an appropriately placed jump.

The view from the top of Perlan, the place where the Saga Museum is located

A papar - Old Icelandic for "insane Irish ascetic monk" - from the Saga Museum

Hrafna-Flóki Vilgerðarson, the first man to deliberately sail to Iceland.  The above-mentioned papar don't count.

Ingólfur Arnarson, the first settler of Reykjavik, and Mrs. Ingólfur, who doesn't get a name.

A slave, working the bellows in a smithy.

Freydis Eiríksdóttir, frightening the skraelingr by performing her famous "boob and sword" trick

Þorgeir Þorkelsson Ljósvetningagoði, preparing to go under his blanket and agree to the conversion of Iceland to Christianity.  Sarah just wanted to get in on the momentous occasion.  Þorgeir does not look impressed.

A witch!  BURN HER!

And this is why you never get into debt with a Viking, ladies and gentlemen.

Bond, decked out in mail and wearing his Gjermundbu helm.

Sarah, our resident Valkyrie

Ryder, our resident dirty Anglo-Norman spearman

Paul, our 10th Century Yorkshire Viking.

Hekla, one of the more active volcanoes in iceland

Þríhyrningur, which means "Three-horned" - looks like it could be right outta Mordor, doesn't it?

Possibly the best artistic rendering of Kári cutting Kol's head off in Njáls saga ever.

There was a sword in a stone at the Njála museum.  Alas, Sarah was not destined to be Queen of Iceland

Nor was Kazuho.

Ryder failed in his bid for Kingship as well.

Alas, I am not destined to be King of Iceland either.

If any of us would be destined to be King, it would be Torfi.  It seems, however, that Iceland has no King, and Iceland needs no King.

The mountain which defeated Paul, Bettina and I.  It seems small, but we're a fair distance away.  Also, it is called Rauðaskridur, but I now refer to it as the Mountain of Shame.

Trolls!  At least, that's what they were before the sunlight got to 'em.

Another view of the Mountain of Shame

Trolls and the valley surrounding Rauðaskridur, from around a third of the way up.

This picture, so you know, is 100% unaltered.  I believe it is Þríhyrningur.  Either way, it's an impressive picture.

So there you go, ladies and gentle beings. The next update will be laden with photographs as well, as it will be from a trip to one of the Famed Icelandic Forests!****


* I am.
** Admittedly, that is a big assumption.
*** It disrupted her travel plans when it erupted. And by 'travel plans,' I mean 'moving to London plans.'  Fortunately, she got there in one non-volcanic piece!
**** A joke: What do you do if you get lost in an Icelandic forest? Stand up! Because the trees are so short, if they exist at all. Because the island was deforested fairly quickly after settlement. It's funny because the destruction of an ecosystem is no laughing matter, normally.