Every year, the Lady of the Mountain walks out onto stage decked out in the most expensive costume this island has to offer. Surrounded by tight security, adoring fans, a secret selection process and an ironclad schedule, it’ll be a tough nut to crack. If I’m gonna pull off this heist and get away with the Fjallkonan’s costume, I’m going to need a squad.
Hi, Charlie here, if you’re not entirely sure what I’m talking about, it’s 17. Júní soon, which is Þjóðhátíðardagur or Icelandic National Day. A day full of nationalism celebrating Iceland’s independence from Denmark.
It’s got food, fancy costumes and, most importantly for my purposes, a speech from Reykjavík’s Lady of the Mountain or Fjallkonan, as she is known. Every year, they choose a prominent feminine figure to read a poem in front of parliament. It’s quite a big deal and there’s quite a bit of planning involved, meaning stealing her garb will be all the more worth it. If I want to get away with it, I’m gonna need some more info.
I was able to talk with Fjallkonan expert Anna Karen Unnsteins to learn more about the mysterious Mountain Woman. “The Fjallkonan originates in the 19th century when Icelanders were starting to fight for our independence,” she tells me. “People start writing poems in which they use the word ‘Fjallkonan’ for Iceland, so in that regard the Fjallkonan is just Iceland as a whole. Then she became humanised in 1924 in Canada.” So emigrant Icelanders in Canada embody a sense of the homeland in the shape of the Mountain Woman. “Her name was Sigrun Lyndar and she was the first woman to become a Fjallkonan, not just as a picture or a word in a poem.”
Marvellous, so when did the tradition move over to Iceland? “In 1944 on June 17, when we actually got our independence, there was supposed to be a Fjallkonan at Þingvellir, but she never arrived on stage,” Anna Karen tells me. “Then there’s Alma Möller, she was the first Fjallkonan in Reykjavík and she was the first as we know her today wearing Skautbúningur.”
Now we’re talking, history is great and all but I’m in it for the money. Tell me about the clothes. “The costume that she wears in Reykjavík is usually the same one worn since 1974” Anything else? “That specific costume has a lot of fancy jewellery,” Fancy, you say? “The belt is really, really luxurious. We call it víravirki. It’s this specific type of gold working — I think it’s probably silver that is gold coated.”
Anna Karen also tells me about how, in the early 2000s after one of her speeches, the Fjallkonan was hit in the head with an anti-Falun Gong protest sign because Icelanders were protesting the Chinese cult, but that is a topic I am not ready to unpack.
Chinese cults? Expensive jewellery? Historical artefacts? We have our target. It’s heist time baby. Let’s meet the squad: Steinunn, a hacker with attitude who works at ELKO. Karl, a fisherman/thief coming out of retirement for one last job. And Bjarki, my only friend who owns a getaway car.
When not on display, the Fjallkonan’s Skautbúningur is kept under lock and key in Árbæjarsafn, the turf house museum. There’s no way into the dirt vault. But the Fjallkonan always gives her speech at the end of the morning ceremony, meaning that there is a small window of time between the dress leaving the museum and the Fjallkonan putting it on. That’s when we’ll strike.
Steinunn will disable the alarms, making sure Bjarni Ben has no idea what’s going on. Karl will crawl through the air ducts to hook, line and sinker the Fjalkonan’s dress right from under their noses. Bjarki, that two faced schemer, will probably double cross us and we’ll end up in Litla-Hraun, but that’s a chance we’ll have to take.
See you on Independence Day!
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