The next day there’s a rumour about an opening so the cage goes in the car, the medicine in a syringe and we drive off to wait at the by-way. There’s a news article on Vísir that they are letting people into the fjord. I show it to the rescue team members and demand to be let in, but they have not heard anything yet. It is obvious that there’s a leak at the Department of Civil Protection and Emergency Management. 15 minutes later we get the green light and drive off. The situation in Seyðisfjörður is dark. The weather is dry, still and the only thing that is heard is the barking of dogs and the whirl of drones that are hovering above the destruction across the corner of Hafnargata. Floodlights light up the mountain and scientists from the Icelandic Meteorological Office walk up the slopes to place listening equipment that is supposed to hear the next destruction that waits to colonise the fjord. Straight down to the maintenance station, argue with the police and make them understand that I am a difficult individual and that they will not get rid of me until my kitty is safe. But the answer is a hard NO. nobody enters that area. What disappointment. Let’s give it 14 more hours – if not then, its kayak and a helmet. RÚV catches sight of me and a chance for a sentimental piece, I agree to show my face to the camera if I can talk about the importance of the caretaking of pets. The interview takes place and I make a demand that the rescuing of pets is made a priority and then I say some nonsense. Off course they edit out the stuff about the pets and on the evening news they show the nonsense. Back over the mountain to Egilsstaðir and I try to catch some sleep.
Kristjan Torr. (2020, December 27 th). A narrative and photographs from Seyðisfjörður, posted in order not to forget [status update] (is. Frásögn og myndir frá Seyðisfirði, birt til að gleyma ekki [stöðuuppfærsla]). Facebook. Retrieved from: https://www.facebook.com/KristjanTorr/posts/10158811460578540.