The Elfschool
Reykjavík, Iceland
I AM RIDING in a taxi on my way to an afternoon class at the Elfschool, an activity I found online while searching for unusual and different things to do in Iceland. I was here once years ago and did all the typical touristy things. I swam in the Blue Lagoon, watched geysers blow, took pictures of the Gullfoss, the huge waterfall which in February was frozen solid, a very unique sight. I saw the northern lights flash in the sky. This time I’m here in summer, the midnight sun of August blazing almost all night long, blackout curtains in my hotel room providing a good night’s sleep.
My taxi driver has never heard of the Elfschool. Born and raised in Reykjavik, I ask him if he believes in elves. I have read that elves are known as the “huldufolk”, hidden people, here in Iceland where 55% of Icelanders believe they truly exist. Recently the construction of a major highway was halted, to carefully relocate a huge boulder thought to house elves.
My driver rather sheepishly tells me he’s pretty sure elves do exist. He’s 30, handsome and blonde. I suspect there’s a story here involving folktales passed down from parent to child through the centuries, but I don’t have time to ask for more details. I just agree with him. There are many unseen things we cannot explain and though belief in elves at first sounds like a childhood fairytale, if I compare it to faith, such belief in the other worldly is almost universal.
My driver drops me off at the address which is oddly a residential neighborhood in a suburb of Reykjavík. A large sign on the building indicates this is the Elfschool. The directions say “second floor”, so I cautiously walk up the stairs of an apartment building and find myself standing in front of a blue door with a sign in Icelandic taped to it. Two large elf figurines stand guard outside. I knock but no one answers so I try the doorknob which is unlocked. I boldly walk right in. “Hello?” I ask. “Is this the Elfschool?”
A man yells “Yes it is,” from down the hall. I’m in an actual apartment. I see the kitchen with appliances, a sink, dishes on the counter. This is definitely not a storefront or an office. The man comes out and introduces himself as Reynir, then takes me to a sunny front room and offers me a chair in a semicircle of eight mismatched chairs. I am then introduced to the headmaster of the Elfschool, Magnus.
Magnus is a big heavy man, with gray hair and a neatly trimmed white beard. He tells me three other people were supposed to attend the Elfschool this afternoon but they canceled half an hour ago so I am the only student. He also informs me he requires a minimum of two students to proceed. I have no intention of paying $80 x 2 to hear about elves, no matter how revered they are in Iceland.
The place is quite bizarre. It looks like a hoarder lives here. Books and magazines are stacked in piles on shelves, on tables and on the floor. There are figurines of elves everywhere- some small, some big, male elves, female elves, elves of indeterminate gender. Bedsheets are draped over tables and stacks of things, hidden from curious eyes like mine.
Reynir comes back into the room. I had read online that he is the one who makes the famous homemade cake and elf pancakes which are part of the Elfschool experience. “Since I’m here, could I possibly try the elf pancakes? I hear they are delicious,” I ask Magnus. After all, I spent $15 on the cab ride out here for a canceled class. Since four students were expected, surely the pancakes are already prepared. A discussion ensues in Icelandic and finally with Magnus’ permission, Reynir agrees to make me some elf pancakes.
The doorbell rings and a man enters the room holding a package. The delivery man is a former minister of agriculture named Gudni Agustsson, who served from 1999-2007, Magnus informs me. Gudni proudly speaks no English. He’s the only minister since 1907 who has steadfastly refused to learn English. He is a patriot and a nationalist. Iceland is on the verge of joining the European Union and Gudni is very much against it. “Iceland for Icelanders,” he says, raising his fist in the air and pumping it. Magnus translates everything for my benefit. “Keep Iceland free and independent!” I say, raising my fist in solidarity.
Reynir appears with a tray of elf pancakes, homemade currant cake and cups of coffee. Magnus picks up a slice of cake with his fat fingers and puts it on my plate. He takes a pancake for himself and one for me, and using his fingers eats the little crepe-like pancake filled with whipped cream and jam. When I look distressed, he gives me a fork, but I cannot cut my pancake with the puny fork so I pick it up with my fingers and eat it.
Magnus slips small pieces of cake and pancakes to Lea, a chubby little white dog I immediately befriend. I ask if I can take a picture of her posing with one of the elf figures in the room. Magnus agrees and little Lea complies. Magnus mentions Gudni’s father has interacted with an actual elf so I ask Gudni to tell me the story which he does with a flourish, with much handwaving and exaggerated facial gestures, Magnus translating sentence by sentence.
Gudni’s father was on a multi-day fishing trip. After finishing for the day, he decided to spend the night in a deserted fishing hut. As he approached the hut, he noticed a strange blue light emanating from the windows. No one was there but him in this isolated fishing spot. He cautiously opened the door and saw a beautiful woman, immaculately dressed in a luxurious dress, her daughter by her side, a blue light glowing around the two of them. The woman was fastidiously setting the table with elegant plates and silverware. She looked up, saw Gudni’s father entering the fishing hut, and suddenly disappeared into the blue light, never to show herself again.
After he returned to Reykjavík, Gudni’s father asked the owner of the fishing hut about the strange, beautiful woman in the blue light. His friend confirmed she was one of the “huldufolk”, the hidden people, and she made the hut her home. Elves are believed to watch over and protect the property and the family from harm or bad luck.
Years later, there was a volcanic eruption and all the houses including the fishing hut were completely destroyed. Gudni said the beautiful blue elf must have moved on, otherwise she would have protected the fishing hut from destruction.
Everyone sitting in the room with me nods in agreement, with absolute conviction, that an elf woman, one of the hidden people, had indeed occupied the fishing hut and unwittingly revealed herself to Gudni’s father that evening.
Magnus hands me the workbook from the elf class that I will not be taking. He once again tells me that he will only teach the class with a minimum of two paying students, which is fine with me because I actually don’t want to sit for three hours and listen to him pontificate. He tells me for $50 I can keep the workbook and he will tell me two elf stories. The class was originally $80 which included the workbook, elf pancakes, cake, coffee and tales of the supernatural for three hours so I figure, $50 is fair.
Then the afternoon takes a weird turn. Magnus says he will only tell me the elf stories if I take off my clothes.
TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES??
I hide my shock and say, “You don’t want to see me naked, I’m too old!” He had already asked me my age which I answered truthfully. I feel very uncomfortable. No one knows I’m here, a woman alone in an apartment on the outskirts of Reykjavík, in a room with 3 strange men and a little white dog. And I don’t know where I am and I have no transportation back to the city.
Magnus starts asking me all sorts of personal questions. Am I married? Why not? Have I ever been married? Do I have any children? Why not? I turn the tables and ask him the same questions, although he has already told me Reynir is his husband.
My mind is whirling. I’m doing everything I can think of to take the focus off me and put it on him. I’m not afraid, but I’m wary, and the conversation is getting awkward. Magnus makes more off-color remarks about me taking off my clothes in exchange for his storytelling. I have no idea where that came from. He’s openly homosexual, his husband is walking in and out of the room serving us, and I’m a paying customer.
I remind him I want to hear his two elf stories. He starts telling me a story that his great aunt told him, of her encounters with elves. He himself has never seen one, Magnus confesses. I’m a little surprised by this as I thought he would have made up a story just to give himself credibility, but he honestly confesses he’s never seen an elf. Thirty-three years of running the Elfschool and he tells his students that he himself has never seen one. He tells me two stories of his great aunt’s experiences with the hidden people who lived in a little house in the mountainside on her farm. I’m distracted, can’t absorb the story, can only think about getting away from Magnus and his spurious “school” as quickly as possible.
Reynir offers to drive me back into town, so he picks up Lea and we walk out to his car. Nothing is said about the school, the stories, the command to disrobe. He drops me off in front of my hotel and I dash inside.
I can’t believe the Elfschool is still in business. If Magnus did and said such things in the States, he’d be arrested, sued or shut down. A part of me wishes when Magnus told me to take off my clothes that I had stood up and removed my jacket.
The look on his face would have been priceless.