Eating Hákarl In Iceland from Jesse Keller on Vimeo. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of sampling Hákarl, an Icelandic delicacy made from what most people describe as putrid or rotten Greenland Shark meat, but what the museum¹/Hákarl producer in the video above pointed out was not rotten but rather fermented. Hákarl is made by burying chunks of Greenland Shark in the earth for several weeks, then hanging it out to dry for several more. This leeches out the ammonia that is naturally present in Greenland Shark due to its lack of kidneys, making the finished product nearly edible, at least when accompanied by several shots of Brennevin (the local schnapps). Still, a significant amount of ammonia remains in the Hákarl, so while the consistency is definitely that of fish, the taste makes one think of old cheese soaked in Mr. Clean.

I was recently fortunate enough to marry a lovely and adventurous young woman, now Mrs Laura Marie Keller, née Kuebel. And better yet, thanks to generous wedding gifts, we found ourselves possessing of the means to have a hell of a good honeymoon. That is why I am writing this dispatch from the town of Ísafjörður, in the remote Westfjords region of Northwestern Iceland.

Laura’s preffered brand of adventure involves dramatic landscapes, sleeping outdoors, and long hikes without encountering another human being, and Iceland’s steep-sided fjords and vast unpopulated areas offer plenty of that. But while I love these rugged, outdoorsy adventures, I also like to savor some of the other adventures a country has to offer. So when I saw mention of the Museum of Icelandic Sorcery and Witchcraft in the town of Holmavík (pop. 420), I knew I had to pay a visit.

And, Gents, let me tell you: it was worth the detour. It turned out to actually be a fairly serious collection of ephemera relating to witchcraft trials in the region in the 17th century, alongside some displays and recreations of folk magic rituals taken from actual Icelandic grimoires from the last several hundred years.

These grimoires contain what appears to be a mixture of contemporary European hermetic magic, complete with Enochian scripts, and older Viking traditions, using Futhark runic inscriptions.

Among the spells were one for calling up storms to afflict one’s enemies at sea, involving runes and the head of a lingcod.

But perhaps the strangest ritual was that of the Necropants.

First the sorcerer must convince a man to willingly bequeath his skin after his natural death for the purposes of the ritual. Then, after the donor is buried, the sorcerer exhumes the corpse and removes the skin, without a tear or scratch, from the lower half of the body. He then steals a single coin from a widow, and places it in the scrotum, and puts on his new Necropants, which will then produce coins anytime the sorcerer reaches down and desires one. I guess it beats working…

If the opening monologue of every Star Trek series (except Enterprise of course; what was up with that theme song?) is to be believed, space is the final frontier. The first step into that frontier – 1969’s Apollo moon landing – is considered one of Mankind’s greatest achievements. Unfortunately, we haven’t been back since 1972 and the moon colonies that science fiction always told us we’d have remain science fiction. Worse, many space-minded experts now say that there isn’t much point. They argue that the future lies not in going back to the moon, but in going forward to Mars.

Of course, this proposal presents a number of technical hurdles to overcome in and of itself. After all, reaching Mars with the goal of studying it and eventually colonizing it means we have to master not only getting there safely, but also getting back. Or does it?

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Special Event: Dante’s Divine Comedy in the Arena of Verona. When this poster presented itself to me and my wife yesterday evening, I was intrigued. When I read that this opera would be on stage just one night – that very evening – I immediately understood that all of the obligations, charters, bylaws, codes, and maxims of the gentleman adventurer canon demanded that we attend.*

The Romans built the amphitheater in Verona in 30 AD. Despite the Romans’ best efforts to wreck the place with civil wars; nonstop invasions by Visigoths, Ostrogoths, Byzantines, Lombards, and Charlemagne; and a strictly-enforced anti-bridge policy imposed by the Nazis, the arena is still just as much an amphitheatre now as it was two millennia ago. And wow could the Romans build themselves some sweet amphitheatres.

Click the link or you’ll end up in the Fifth Circle of Hell. And you don’t want that. Really, you don’t.
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