First Day of Summer

After all the fuss of the last days, when the whole world was hungry for details and information about local volcanos going bonkers, at least some peace has been restored. Everybody feels safer now that air travel companies and travel agencies seem to have reaffirmed the victory of human power over nature – and everybody with a valid plane ticket with them for a transfer process. In the Reykjavík area, where the ash cloud has never really arrived – depriving a few nerds of the pleasure of having DIY dust masks made in the McGyver style – the greatest part of tourists have finally gone home, leaving the city kind of empty. The streets are finally once again in the possession of their entitled owners, the Icelanders. And since today the weather was so nice, the people of Reykjavík couldn’t let the opportunity to enjoy their regained possession slip. For a lucky coincidence, the pleasantness of today’s weather coincided with a public holiday, the First Day of Summer (or Sumardagurinn Fyrsti).

One could wonder a lot about the “Summer” part that is frankly rather confusing for outsiders. It’s true, the climate was nice and sun was shining, but summer is supposed to be a different matter, entirely. The wind is still chilly and most people are still going around wrapped in heavy coats and concealed by hats and scarves. Far from summery, I must concede. Learning only yesterday about the upcoming festivity myself, I was baffled regarding the whole question of first days and summers and all the rest. In this case Wikipedia proved to be a good friend. Looking up the Sumardagurinn Fyrsti entry, I was taught in old times in Iceland distinction among seasons was limited to winter and summer only; milder climate and longer days meant summer was approaching. And it also meant it was a good opportunity to celebrate.

Summer is approaching, indeed. Very slowly, very quietly. All the lazy critters are roaming the streets, after days and days of glum spent indoors, with only a few excursions outside the protective doors and windows of their houses. Seagulls and the most different birds now give to their cries a different tone from before, as they too are acknowledging the seasonal change and their welcoming signs. Cats and dogs and their exuberant will to live, a will to live far beyond the sophisticated joy a human can feel in the presence of sun and warmth, truly express the original meaning of the festivity’s denomination, with their ecstatic rolling on the tender grass, with their way of sniffing the air, at the same time full of excitement and of awareness, as this renewed air contained some hidden messages people are unable to grasp with the inadequacy of their senses.

I spent most of the afternoon strolling along the streets, running after the warmer sunrays, trying to catch a glimpse of a dark tail, or the murmur of paws on the concrete paving: a bliss I couldn’t experience in a long time.