Daði Jóhannesson, the District Commissioner for Snæfellsnes og Hnappadalssýsla drove me across a great part of the district. He stopped at a solitary farmhouse to deliver advance ballots for the upcoming constitutional referendum, which will be held in October. Along the way, we discussed the district’s social problems, which consisted, for the most part, of nothing more dramatic than a few bar fights. Few of the people in this quiet district of farmers and fishermen had chosen to involve themselves in the currency speculation and borrowing that characterized the Capital in the boom years, so not many have suffered significantly from the crash. Over the course of the day, I spoke with two farmers and fisherman. The fisherman started working at the age of thirteen, and now owns a 50-ton ship.
Stykkishólmur is a typical Icelandic fishing village.
The sheep farmers here don’t use dogs. The sheep are tagged on the ears, then left to wander over the mars-like landscape however they please. Come shearing time, a sort of posse comitatus of 30–35 men and boys combs the mountains, brings them in, and sorts them. I asked how many would be lost in the process: no more than two or three, usually from falling over cliffs, as there are no predators.
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