The next day, people are relieved at an action center where they're free of difficult pet owners and can finally turn to important rescue jobs when I walk in and start pexing them, there's another cat, he's dying, and yes, there are also hens... The wrecked rescue vehicle is on its way over and we're listed. The Red Cross provides us with food for chickens, dried fish, donuts and ham (pork ham, pretty sure it wasn't chicken 😕 ham) My partner draws an accurate picture of the chicken coop, but he's an artist and a fairly skilled illustrator. Open here, close here, the hen goes out here, the rooster lives here etc. Then we wait and wait and it's clear that more people than us who are hopeful are entering the area today as there is some tension in the air at the aid station.
At the height of anticipation, a crowd of journalists rushes in and the government enters the chamber to be photographed with the "poor people". Most turn their backs to cameras, and some flee out the back door through the kitchen. How much delay did this visit cause for people's journey into the disaster area to access necessities before Christmas? The number of responders in the disaster is low due to viral outbreaks and a squad of at least 30 is allocated to look after the politicians. We decide to try our luck and wait at an operational station for clearance to enter the area. Once there, many residents are waiting for the same thing we are; to get into the area and pick up things you need in order to celebrate Christmas. I'll spot an acquaintance of mine in the rescue team. He shows signs of swimming in the crawl, but I still walk firmly on him, telling him that my partner has to take care of animals in starvation, not dead things, and therefore has priority into the area. Voices behind me call that they need to enter the area as well, and a young rescue worker doing the priority list is looking in all but one direction.
Agony and panic take hold in the action center where everyone talks at once, afraid they won't be able to get home before Christmas. An acquaintance of mine from the rescue team points me to two men standing aside and tells me these are ruin rescuers who escort people into the area. The information is exploited, I call and point at us and tell them that we are next and we have clear plans and goals, they should just hit us with flooded gps and we can get going RIGHT AWAY – They do my call and we get in the car and drive past the people staring at us in agony and me this idiot who took their trip home, the hard disk data, the gifts and Christmas.
I hope they got home for the rest and if not, that's just the way it is. Into a disaster area and immediately get stuck in the landslide, untie the car, find trails and drive up to Fossgata. Park the car, the rescue worker says he's going to biba if there's a landslide. YOKE. Into a chicken coop where the chicken came flying towards me (chickens fly?) give, give, give – leave water and then out to the car, my partner then meets me with a meowing cage, Again: lives! Drive back, come to a cat for a shelter, to a hotel, pack (for the hundredth time?), heat the car, cat in a cage, and drive to Egilsstadir. Kitty's whining all the way and we're way too late for the flight. At the airport, a Isavia employee gives me the information that we can go along if we arrive NOW! Numb a cat, check in the cage, board, fasten your seat belts, put on your headphones, and hang up nicely. I've rarely been so dizzy during takeoff.
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.