On a Friday night in early July, the campsite in Borðeyri is buzzing with activity.

Having made the two-hour trip from the capital for the Hátíðni arts festival, a crowd is rushing to set up tents in time to catch some of the late-night shows. The wind is wreaking havoc, trying to lift tents off the ground, and generally messing with their poles and pegs. A pink sun is setting on the water, just to raise again two hours later. It’s organised chaos — everybody seems to know their task, but the elements interfere, slowing the process down.

Adding to the mayhem, noisy and aggressive Arctic terns swoop down sporadically, their piercing cries and sudden dives creating a scene both comical and slightly terrifying. Known for their record-breaking migrations, today they act like airborne assassins. They appear out of nowhere, denying onlookers even a moment to admire their flight against the sunset. They don’t care if you respect their nesting season and have no intention of disturbing their chicks; they make it loud and clear: in Borðeyri, it’s Arctic tern versus human. 

“I would run,” an anonymous voice screams to their companion, peeping out of a neighbouring tent. 

“The birds are my friends,” the other unnamed character replies, protecting their head with both hands as they make their way to the car. 

“Not these ones,” comes the swift retort. 

And so it begins

Once the shelters for the night are secured, with or without damage from the birds, the crowd heads to the festival. Some boldly wear big puffy jackets, conveniently unpacked from their winter closets. Others layer up with whatever they can get their hands on. 200 kilometres away, Reykjavík is enjoying a couple days of rare “bongóblíða” weather, while here the temperature drops to +5°C at night.

“I forgot my hat, I’m gonna die!” a friend of mine screams, returning to the car before making her way to the concert. Summer in Iceland, though coloured with its purple lupines and pink sunsets, can be brutal.

The venue of Hátíðni is a former slaughterhouse, cold and unwelcoming at first sight despite a sign stating “Borðstokk.”

By the time I’m ready, the lineup for Friday night is almost complete. I manage to catch just one band, which seems to be a Gen Z take on punk but, to my ears on this particular night, sounds like a lot of screaming.

“Why are they called Diamond Dads?” a friend asks after the gig. It’s actually Diamond Dolls, but tonight it doesn’t matter.

More than music

With most attendees this year looking fresh out of high school, and a few seemingly needing a note from a parent or guardian to be here, the audience is traditionally mismatched — young grassroots musicians, art school students, a whole choir, a few expats, Björk, two village residents, and an occasional tourist.

The scale of the festival might seem small, but compared to Hátíðni’s previous editions, it almost feels like the festival is outgrowing both the slaughterhouse and Borðeyri. With less than 10 permanent residents, a few dozen cars make the village feel crowded. The organisers, however, try to nurture the community, making Hátíðni a place that welcomes everyone with open arms. There’s a safe space at the festival where you can slow down and chill in silence when feeling anxious. Harm-reduction organisation Matthildur has set up a temporary residence in someone’s garden shed and is ready to offer help to anyone under the influence of drugs or alcohol. Here and there, organisers are offering chocolate milk, adding to the overall “party at your parents’ summer house” vibe.

Hátíðni is not just a music festival. It celebrates art in any form, and “any” is not an exaggeration. On Saturday morning, workshops are held that embrace topics from human rights to community-building textile and embroidery.

Though the latter sounds appealing, I skip the workshops, trying to bring myself to life with a Primus-cooked breakfast after spending the night on a friend’s half-deflated mattress.

Highlights of Saturday’s programme include an acoustic set by Bjarni Daníel from Supersport!, a combination of very old (the musician himself seems slightly embarrassed) and new songs, illustrated live. Yes, Bjarni is joined by an illustrator Teresa Rosso, who doodles each song, projecting her creations on the screen behind the stage. It’s one of those sets where everyone unanimously decides to sit on the floor and respects Bjarni’s request for quiet.

The foreign guests from Italy, Tanz Akademie, bring incredible energy to Hátíðni with a six-piece post-rock meets marching band vibe. But the act that steals the show for me personally is Mineo Kawasaki, a solo drummer and composer from Japan. He doesn’t say a word until his set is done, allowing the audience to fully immerse themselves in the music — a mixture of electronica, post-rock and indie with MIDI-manipulated effects.

Sun-soaked sounds

“Do not forget that we have an amazing concert outside tomorrow at 12:00,” Hátíðni’s irreplaceable infokeeper, Kári, shouts into a megaphone around 2:00 a.m. on Saturday night, addressing the tired and slightly tipsy crowd. He promises the weather will be great.

An outdoor concert is a new addition to Hátíðni, at least in my experience of attending. Luckily, Kári’s weather forecast proves accurate and festival attendees wake up to clear blue skies. 

Tired, with backs aching from two nights sleeping on the cold grass and craving a shower, Hátíðni attendees arrive on time and the set doesn’t disappoint. First up is Wooly Kind, who refer to themselves as a fuzz-folk band. Composed of familiar faces from the festival lineup of the past few days, the show is a great start to the day. And no, I’m not mistaken — the guy who was just playing the violin a moment ago is now playing a hand saw.

Lúpína, whom I discovered at this very festival last summer, plays audience favourites like “ástarbréf” and new material from her upcoming album due this autumn. “What happens in Borðeyri, stays in Borðeyri,” says the artist before playing a new track — an exciting collaboration she has asked to keep secret.

For one of the final acts, a live sculpture is created in front of the audience — a blend of hair and clothing cuttings, with an emphasis on negative space. It’s very abstract, but no eyebrows are raised in this crowd.

Looking to the sky, I spot two Arctic terns, this time peacefully flying away, much like our time at the festival. Tomorrow, the slaughterhouse will be empty again, the campsite quiet and only the birds will reign over the grounds until Hátíðni returns.

Hátíðni took place on July 5-7. The team is throwing a post-festival gig at Smekkleysa on July 12. Find more info on Instagram @hatidnifestival