Words by

Catherine Magnúsdóttir

The Grapevine answers your most pressing questions

The first time that I visited Iceland more than 40 years ago beer was illegal, but Brennivín was readily available, as was vodka and whiskey. What’s up with that?

We know what we’re about buddy. Plus, it’s harder to find an excuse for keeping the cheap, yellow monk brew around – yeah I said it! – when the cops come sniffing. “What do you have that high percentage-alcohol for?” – “Disinfecting. Cleaning. Medicine.” – “Well, that’s alright then, I suppose. But wait, what’s that smell of watered down vomit, yeast and poor decisions? *Gasp!* Do you have b-b–beer??” – “No officer! My dog ate the bread dough and puked it up and I haven’t thrown it out yet, I swear!!” – “A likely story! That’s it, you’re coming with me!” – “No, please, I got tickets to Oktoberfest!” – “You can tell that sin-infested beer and sausage fest auf Wiedersehen!”

(It’s okay, I’m German)

What are the top used names that originated in Iceland for women?

We could probably look into official statistics but what would be the fun in that. Personally, I seem to keep running into people named Birna. Nice ones, too. There’s also lots of ladies with double name combos and then there’s a bunch of shortenings and nicknames and generational recycling that make these nicknames necessary at family gatherings. When in doubt, Helga.

Has anyone seen my phone?

Is there any chance you have lost it among the vast fields of moss, between rifts of volcanic rock, on your way to discover one of the magical waterfalls of this island, where it also could have fallen into a rushing stream? Could one of the local creatures have taken it, either a mighty raven for its nest, or even one of the Hidden People, who were curious about such a quaint human object? Or could it be that you just carelessly shoved it into your butt pocket, sat down on the couch, where it naturally slipped out and fell between the cushions along with the remote? Best to retrace your steps, I’d say.