In the next couple of weeks I will be staying in Herhúsið in Siglufjörður, as writer in residence. This little town in the north of Iceland has given me a most cordial reception.
It is snowing, there's a strong wind blowing, the house is creaking and groaning, but apart from the weather everything is just fine. The local Herring Museum offers a wealth of information and I am allowed to browse at any time, all on my own. The museum has been awarded various prizes, to which I would like to add one: a medal for making foreign writers feel welcome.
Today I spent in the hold of an ancient fishing boat in the vast museum-hangar. What better place for writing can you hope for?