S2, E9: The Iceland of North America

In 1875, Icelandic immigrants began establishing roots in Gimli, Manitoba, now part of the Interlake region, which became known as New Iceland in North America. This episode features host Liz Beatty visiting two towns, separated by a border yet forever intertwined by their rich Icelandic heritage.

Transcript

 Aislyn Greene, host: I’m Aislyn Greene, and welcome to Unpacked, the podcast that delves into one complex travel topic each week. This week, we’re off to Iceland—sort of.

Our destination is the North American Iceland, where we will explore how immigration unfolds. Liz Beatty, host of the North Americana podcast, will lead us as she delves into the Viking spirit of New Icelanders, traveling from Gimli, Manitoba, to Mountain, North Dakota. These two towns, though separated by a border, share deep Icelandic connections. Plus, we’ll witness a Viking battle reenactment at Gimli’s annual Icelandic Festival with journalist Robert Reid. It’s an event not to be missed!

Let’s journey north.

Lindy Vopnfjörð: About 140 years ago, my family departed from Iceland and settled in Manitoba’s Interlake region. It’s truly wonderful to be welcomed back here. Thank you!

[Singing] “You say you love her like a sister…”

Liz Beatty, host: In 1875, Icelandic immigrants began to establish themselves in and around Gimli, Manitoba—similar to the ancestors of the artist Lindy Vopnfjörð. This area is now recognized as the heart of New Iceland in North America.

At that time, up to a quarter of Iceland’s population was fleeing from famine caused by volcanic eruptions and other economic hardships. Approximately 15,000 Icelanders made the journey across Canada to reach Lake Winnipeg, roughly 520 miles north and slightly west of Minneapolis, Minnesota, and just an hour’s drive north of Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Life in Gimli in 1875 was challenging. There were massive floods and outbreaks of smallpox, but many say it was the harsh winter cold that pushed some Icelanders south to North Dakota. Yes, you heard right: off to Pembina County for milder weather. Fast-forward 144 years, and the connections between these two New Iceland communities are stronger than ever. Today, we’ll discover why, as we meet the locals and traverse the expansive rural landscapes that define these Viking descendants on both sides of this remote prairie border. Join us on this journey.

Today, we’re diving into New Iceland, where foam swords clash on the shores of Lake Winnipeg, all while villagers enjoy ice cream. Plus, we’ll hear a live rendition of an Icelandic children’s folk song that, quite frankly, should be avoided by young ears.

We’ll delve into the deep-rooted connections of New Iceland that stretch from Gimli to Mountain, North Dakota. But first, let’s hear from Robert Reid. He’s on TV, radio, and YouTube, but above all, he’s a fantastic storyteller, and he’ll guide us into the Viking heart of Gimli’s Icelandic Festival.

Tune in.

Robert Reid: I’m cruising through Manitoba on four wheels, and I’ve often wondered why Canadian literature lacks an On the Road, similar to Jack Kerouac’s iconic road trip novel. Canada deserves one, especially as you explore Manitoba’s back roads.

Experience the charm of Route 66, where cozy diners, intriguing little histories, and quirky roadside attractions abound. For instance, in Gladstone, there’s a cheerful rock that waves at travelers as they pass by.

Exploring the back roads of Manitoba was an eye-opener for me. It turns out there’s more than just farmland. I ventured into Riding Mountain National Park, hiked steep canyons, and took a refreshing plunge into a chilly lake. Even before I left Winnipeg, I learned a lot from local music historian John Einarson, who guided us through the city’s musical heritage. We visited the spot where The Guess Who penned “These Eyes” and sampled Neil Young’s favorite doughnut.

Spoiler alert: it’s the delicious chocolate-on-chocolate cake doughnut from Salisbury House, just south of downtown. And Neil, if you’re tuning in, it remains a treat! Yet, my ultimate road trip destination lies ahead: New Iceland. Signs of it begin to appear as I veer off the Trans-Canadian highway, journeying through the woods of the Canadian Shield, on a gravel road whimsically named Reykjavík Street after Iceland’s capital, complete with the vibrant red, white, and blue of the Icelandic flag waving in the breeze.

But this journey isn’t just about traveling miles; it’s a voyage back in time to explore the roots of New Iceland.

[Sounds of battle]

The Manitoba sun casts a tired gaze over a disconcerting spectacle. At first glance, the expansive, sloping field along the western shores of Lake Winnipeg resembles a chaotic death metal festival gone awry.

But look a little closer. The fierce men with thick, flowing beards and a few clean-shaven women aren’t there for music. They’re decked out in chain mail, wearing steel conical helmets, forming two long, intense lines. They bang their weapons against wooden shields, unleashing spine-chilling war cries as they charge into combat under the August sun.

Robert: Is there a class for learning how to do that?

Participant: It’s all about practice; you really have to work on it to avoid cracking your voice.

Robert: Groans echo as several bodies collapse into an inert pile.

Announcer: Are you ready? I can’t hear you! Are the kids ready to go?

Robert: Look at that! A wave of children, brandishing foam swords high above their heads, are storming the field to finish off any remaining opponents. The outcome is brutal. There will be no mercy shown in Manitoba today. This is a staged Viking battle from the 11th century, possibly the most entertaining reenactment in the world. I’m enjoying it comfortably behind a rope barrier, along with a couple hundred others—mostly local families who are laughing and enjoying ice cream as the Viking carnage unfolds.

Welcome to Gimli, Manitoba’s Icelandic Festival, celebrating its 130th anniversary next August. This four-day festival takes place in the lakeside town of Gimli, about an hour's drive north of Winnipeg. The town’s population swells into the thousands as visitors flock to enjoy amusement rides, Icelandic cuisine, fireworks, folk music performances, parades, and quirky games like trying to push each other off long poles into the lake. And of course, the highlight is the Viking battles. These Vikings aren’t here just because everyone adores them—though they certainly do. Gimli is the heart of Canada’s New Iceland, home to the largest Icelandic community outside of that Nordic nation. The history behind this is quite fascinating.

Around 150 years ago, in the 1870s, Iceland was a harsh place to live. With earthquakes, erupting volcanoes, measles outbreaks, and famine, about one in five Icelanders sought a new life across the North Atlantic. Many settled in Manitoba as part of Canada’s controversial initiative to promote agriculture through prairie resettlement.

The newcomers received a grant of 60 square kilometers west of Lake Winnipeg, initially called the Iceland Reserve. However, conditions were tough; the winters were severe, and the reserves eventually reverted to Canadian control, but not before Icelandic culture had taken root. Today, that culture is a significant part of Manitoba’s identity.

Approximately 26,000 Manitobans, or about one in 50, boast Icelandic ancestry. In Winnipeg, there’s a weekly newspaper published in Icelandic, and the University of Manitoba offers degrees in the language and literature of Iceland. However, I can’t shake the feeling that New Iceland’s true essence flourishes most in its historic lakeside communities.

Upon arriving at Hecla-Grindstone Provincial Park, one might easily confuse New Iceland for a maritime locale rather than a prairie one. Old wooden homes and boats line the windswept shores of Lake Winnipeg, a massive body of water once mistaken for a sea. Here, a solitary shop serves locals with gas and fresh smoked goldeye fish filets, the perfect snack for those hiking along the limestone cliffs. Just 90 kilometers to the south lies the bustling heart of New Iceland: Gimli. Its compact center invites exploration, featuring a golden-sand beach with a pier adorned with local art. You’ll also find H.P. Tergesen and Sons, Manitoba’s oldest continuously operating shop.

Established in 1898, it’s the go-to spot for Viking T-shirts and Icelandic souvenirs. Nearby stands a statue of a resolute Viking gazing westward, alongside the New Iceland Heritage Museum, which chronicles the journey of Icelandic settlers who arrived in the late 1800s.

Here, you can discover the origins of the name Gimli. In Norse mythology, a series of calamities and wars known as Ragnarök caused widespread devastation, leading to massive casualties—even Thor met his fate. Those who survived sought refuge in Gimli, meaning "fire shelter," regarded as the most beautiful place in the universe, even more stunning than the sun, according to legend.

Announcer: We’re battling the scorching Manitoba sun with no shade in sight. Let’s hear it, come on!

Participant: We shall vanquish them all!

Robert: The sun definitely shines down on Gimli. Every August, as the festival buzzes to life, the green space at Harbor Park, where the Viking camp is established, transforms into an 11th-century haven. Dozens of reenactors set up their camps with remarkable authenticity, ensuring no horns are on their helmets. They stir cast iron pots brimming with stews of bacon, apples, and nuts.

Inside the tents, they showcase traditional methods for crafting arrows and axes. However, a few concessions to modernity are evident. They happily pose for Instagram photos and shout a lot. During battles, some warriors even don TED-talk-like microphones to engage the crowd as the chaos unfolds. I’m enjoying this amusing spectacle next to a middle-aged woman who appears particularly invested.

Curious, I asked her why, and she revealed that her son is making his battle debut today. “He’s worked so hard for this,” she says, brimming with the kind of pride only a Viking mother could possess. I glance up to see her son—a small, barefaced, thin boy—being carried horizontally by eight burly men in chain mail.

They plan to use him as a battering ram against the wave of attacking children. Unsurprisingly, the strategy falters, and soon he joins the array of fallen Viking figures sprawled across the field. If this sounds a bit silly, it certainly is. But in Gimli, speaking with reenactors and local Icelandic Canadians, you realize this isn’t just play; it’s a heartfelt tribute. Once you experience the local history, it becomes infectious.

Visiting Gimli may not make you Icelandic, but be warned—you might just leave as a Viking. Next time, I’m definitely bringing chain mail!

***

Liz: The Gimli Icelandic Festival, or Islendingadagurinn. I apologize for butchering that pronunciation, but I believe the effort is what matters. This festival is among the oldest continuously running cultural celebrations in North America, closely followed by the Deuce of August, observed by the Icelandic community in Mountain, North Dakota.

Located about three hours south of Winnipeg across the border, these two communities have supported each other in their festivities for many years. This makes me ponder: what truly defines or solidifies this New Iceland identity over centuries, miles, and even national borders?

Well, at least half of the answers to that question can be found in Mountain, North Dakota.

A couple of hours south of Winnipeg, Manitoba, as we near the border, this misty rural landscape remains utterly unchanged. The terrain is as flat as can be, and the roads are perfectly straight. There’s a poignant rural beauty here, yet it’s worlds apart from Iceland, a place I often liken to the love child of the moon, the Arctic, and Western Ireland.

Conversely, Icelanders are characterized by their expansive, uninhabited landscapes, so it makes sense that Icelandic immigrants would find comfort in this setting.

As we travel about an hour south of the border, a thick fog has descended, a result of a sudden temperature rise following an unexpected early October snowstorm. We nearly overlooked the town, which wouldn’t be surprising, given its population of fewer than a hundred residents.

At last, we arrive at our destination: a simple yet beautiful white clapboard church that materializes from the mist, recognized as the oldest Icelandic church in North America. A stained glass window displaying the Icelandic flag adorns the central spire. Inside, Loretta Thornfason Bernhoff is playing the organ. Vikur is her home church.

Loretta: I was baptized, confirmed, married, and I expect to be buried here. This place holds a special place in my heart. I’m a native of the Mountain area, and I currently serve as the honorary consul of Iceland to North Dakota, as well as the vice president of our Icelandic communities association.

Liz: Established in 1884, the church has always been the heart of the community, and it remains so today. However, for Loretta and others, their Icelandic roots extend well beyond the borders of Mountain.

Loretta: Absolutely. We’ve intentionally scheduled our annual Icelandic celebration to coincide with the Gimli festivities, allowing visitors from near and far, including Iceland, to enjoy Friday and Saturday here before heading up to Gimli for that Icelandic celebration as well.

They are very closely linked in that regard. Many of us have relatives living up in Canada.

Liz: So, genealogically speaking, you’re still very much interconnected.

Loretta: Oh, without a doubt. We all share a deep appreciation for our Icelandic heritage and love to celebrate it at least once a year.

Liz: Loretta emphasizes that the struggles faced by their ancestors continue to shape their identity today.

Loretta: When the Icelanders first arrived, they immigrated to Canada and endured some incredibly harsh winters. As a result, they chose to journey further south in hopes of...

Liz: Like others we’ll hear from, Loretta is eager to discuss the unimaginable challenges faced by these Icelandic immigrants on both sides of the border. They arrived without adequate clothing for prairie winters, lacking survival skills for such a climate, and then faced diseases.

Despite all of this, they persevered and ultimately thrived. One of her key points is that North American Icelanders come from remarkably resilient stock.

Loretta: You know, we’ve been labeled as obnoxiously proud of our Icelandic heritage. My grandparents emigrated from Iceland, so I grew up hearing tales of their journeys—leaving not by choice, but by necessity due to the severe conditions at that time.

Consequently, it only fueled our determination to succeed and take pride in our heritage. Over the past eight years, we constructed a $1.75 million community center and café here. We often hear the question, “How could a tiny community of less than a hundred people accomplish that?”

One of our board members replied, “Well, nobody told us we couldn’t.” This reflects our mindset that we can and will succeed. Our ancestors overcame challenges, and so shall we.

Liz: As my colleague Kate and I enjoy bacon and egg sandwiches with Loretta at the community center café, she shares that as a young girl in Mountain, she aspired to be an interior designer and leave for the big city.

She stated, “I only wanted three things: I didn’t want to live in Mountain, marry a farmer, or become a teacher.” Yet, all three came true, and she’s content with it. Now, as a mother and grandmother and a community leader, she has welcomed Icelandic prime ministers and other dignitaries.

She has traveled extensively, representing the Icelandic community here. This is undoubtedly a woman without regrets.

Loretta: Whether it’s the celebration in Gimli or the one in Mountain, not many communities honor their heritage to such an extent. Perhaps that’s why some label us as obnoxiously proud of our Icelandic roots, but that’s perfectly fine with me.

Liz: Loretta is fantastic, and everyone in this little northeastern North Dakota town seems equally wonderful. However, it's time to head north to Gimli, the bustling heart of New Iceland, which boasts a little over 6,000 residents. We’re off to uncover more about the essence of these New Icelanders.

***

Visiting Gimli in late October might seem like an unusual choice. However, the locals have plenty of time for relaxed conversations where delightful insights into local life and culture come to light. For instance, my stop at H.P. Tergesen and Sons’ general store was memorable. [Doorbell sound] I love the nostalgic sound of that old-timey general store doorbell.

August is bustling here, but in October, I find myself alone in the store, enjoying a leisurely chat with Stefan, the fourth-generation Tergesen running the shop. His mother, Lorna, also plays an active role.

Stefan Tergesen: Check this out! This is the cash register from 1910. I actually have the original model that predates this one. This register can ring up to $99.99 and, of course, it has that lovely bell sound. That's why I tell kids it's called 'ringing in a sale.' Nowadays, cashiers don’t ring; they beep, buzz, or chat with you instead.

Liz: Founded in 1899, this is the oldest operating general store in Manitoba. Stefan likes to joke that they’ve outlasted the Canadian retail icons, Eaton’s, which was also run by a family with Icelandic heritage. This store is truly a living piece of Gimli's history, with Stefan recounting tales of the carbon stains on the cash register. He says locals used to strike matches to light cigarettes while discussing politics and the odd items like Vogue cigarette papers or Red Rock cola, which sit behind the counter for display, not for sale.

But eventually, the conversation shifts to what it was like growing up with such strong Icelandic heritage.

Stefan: For a brief period, we were actually known as the Republic of New Iceland. We had our own little country for two years!

Liz: Stefan is recalling the early days when the Canadian government established something resembling an Icelandic reserve. Although that arrangement didn’t last long, the sense of self-determination certainly endured. He shares stories of hardship and resilience that resonate with many New Icelanders, but he also emphasizes that this is a culture driven by literacy and a thirst for knowledge.

Stefan: The Icelandic community has always had a deep thirst for news. They established a newspaper even before constructing a town hall—such was its significance. Most Icelandic families, among their survival essentials, also brought along a trunk full of books. Knowledge and education were highly valued, and I feel fortunate to have grown up in that environment. It's easy to take for granted having a house filled with books as you grow up.

Liz: Along with their passion for reading, they also brought the belief in fairies and sprites, many of whom have a mischievous side.

Stefan: Ah, the Huldufólk! These little spirit beings from Iceland were part of the original settlers’ lore. They supposedly settled here in the store, and there were always tales of mischief. People would come in to find things all disarrayed each morning, as if the Huldufólk had been up to their tricks.

Liz: I first learned about this in Iceland, and I'm reminded of it here in Gimli. Don't mistake this for mere whimsical folklore. To many Icelanders and New Icelanders, the Huldufólk are very much real. It strikes me that this blend of imaginative belief, Viking resilience, and a strong work ethic creates a culture capable of remarkable visionary thinking.

Here’s Juliana, who leads the New Iceland Heritage Museum.

Juliana Roberts: Iceland is a society that empowers women significantly. For instance, Icelandic women retain their own names after marriage instead of adopting their husbands'. Did you know that?

Liz: No, I didn’t.

Liz: Many of us are aware of Iceland's progress, such as the legal enforcement of equal pay for men and women.

They've had female prime ministers, but New Icelanders have taken this further. Allow me to introduce Maxine Engels from Hecla, about an hour north of Gimli. Like Lorna Tergesen, Maxine is of a certain age and has been recognized in New Iceland as the fjallkonan.

Maxine Engels: The fjallkonan is known as the Maid of the Mountain. In Canada, the fjallkonan is typically an older woman who has significantly contributed to or promoted Icelandic culture and heritage.

Liz: The robes and headgear associated with this prestigious honor in New Iceland are truly remarkable, and interestingly, Iceland has adopted this tradition from New Iceland and Canada. It really makes me ponder—can you think of any other culture that not only acknowledges but actually celebrates older women? That's pretty significant.

***

Liz: Mountain, Gimli, Hecla—none of these are large towns, yet they swell with thousands of visitors during the summer, especially during festival season. In a way, I’m thankful for the production scheduling hiccup that brought me here in late October instead of late August, giving me the shores of Lake Winnipeg all to myself.

It’s brisk out; the waters are somewhat tempestuous, and the sky is unpredictable, which makes it easier to envision the raw, unembellished roots of New Iceland here.

And sometimes, that’s how the best trips unfold. You can plan meticulously and schedule every event, but you can never predict when you’ll have that moment of clarity—the instant when you truly understand a place in a way you hadn’t before you arrived.

Oddly enough, this moment of realization hit me right after I returned to Ontario during a conversation with singer-songwriter Lindy Vopnfjörð. Lindy is a tall, slim man in his forties, exuding a calm depth. He begins by singing a haunting Icelandic children’s folk song.

Lindy: This song tells the tale of a man galloping towards the sunset. In Iceland, when the sun goes down, the Huldufólk emerge along with outlaws, and they’re coming for you.

Liz: I then asked him, "What was it like growing up in Manitoba’s New Iceland?"

Lindy: Well, I was raised in the Icelandic community of Winnipeg and Gimli, completely immersed in its beauty, the songs, and the joy of singing with my parents in a folk group we called the Hecla Singers.

We performed at all the Icelandic folk festivals. My very first time on stage as a child was at the Islendingadagurinn, and we toured around in a little yellow school bus.

Liz: A couple of years back, Lindy returned to the Icelandic Festival in Gimli, but this time as the parade marshal.

Lindy: Leading the parade was an incredible experience. I got to drive in a car with my name on the side, waving to the crowd, and an astonishing 60,000 people showed up. For a moment, I was the mystery man everyone was asking about—'Who the heck is that guy?' So I embraced being the ‘Who the Heck Is That Guy’ guy.

After waving so much, I could barely lift my arms for days, and my face ached from smiling. It was just...

Liz: Lindy’s grandfather operated a fishing camp in Gimli, so he spent his childhood on these waters. I asked how the landscape's harshness and beauty influenced him, regardless of the season.

Lindy: It’s quite treacherous. My brother and I loved sailing, often waiting for small craft warnings just to get some airtime with our boats. One time, we capsized, and the mast got stuck in the lake bed. We kept swimming around the boat, missing each other, until I found a calm spot in the middle and waited. Eventually, he discovered me there, and it was quite a frightening experience.

He had to dive deep, an incredible swimmer, and retrieve the mast from the bottom of the lake before we made it back. There's definitely a strong sense of rugged individualism here, along with an adventurous spirit and determination to push on...

Liz: Like many we've encountered, the tales of his heritage are always at the forefront of his mind. Their influence is unmistakable.

Lindy: These stories of where we originated and the struggles endured really inspired me as a young songwriter, as someone eager to explore, tour, and perform independently.

And it embodies that spirit of adventure.

Liz: Throughout this journey, we've learned about the larger New Iceland community that, like Lindy, has traveled to distant places beyond Manitoba and North Dakota, yet their ties to these communities remain strong.

Liz: Do you miss that incredibly close-knit sense of community there?

Lindy: Absolutely, I do. I often think about what it would be like to return or if I had never left.

Liz: This is a song that Lindy attributes to his brother, as it truly encapsulates what it was like growing up along the shores of Lake Winnipeg.

Lindy: [Singing] I was just three when they tossed me from the window of our home/ where my parents found their place. Raised in a family doing their best for me/ by age 13 I was on the lake/ they call me Jumbo because I swam between the ice and the ice floes/ on Lake Winnipeg/I pulled in fish for the whitefish boats/ on Lake Winnipeg.

Liz: Clearly, I don’t learn from past experiences because I had to ask Lindy too, "So, what’s the deal with these sprites, the Huldufólk?" He replied, "What do you mean, what about them?" I asked, "Do you believe in them?" He said, "It would be quite unwise not to."

But honestly, who could deny that there’s something otherworldly about the place that inspired the artists behind this track? This is a song Lindy wrote for his young daughter, soon to be released.

Lindy: [Singing] I’ll help you learn to ride a bike. I’ll run alongside you, gripping the handlebars tightly. I’ll teach you how to move your feet and watch out for the cars. Even though I know you’re bound to scrape your knee on the dusty gravel road, I’ll hold on as long as I can until I have to let you go. I have to let you go.

Aislyn: Who needs to travel to Iceland when we have Mountain and Gimli? (Just kidding, Iceland—we still adore you!) Thanks, Liz. Liz is currently busy working on her new podcast season, which I can’t reveal much about right now, except that it will be released soon. In the meantime, you can tune into North Americana wherever you get your podcasts, and find out more about Liz and her upcoming projects at northamericanapodcast.com.

And for trivia enthusiasts, I have the answer to last week’s question—and a new one for you. Last week’s question was: Which country has the most islands? Canada, Indonesia, Sweden, or the Philippines? The answer is Sweden! It boasts over 250,000 islands, with 24,000 accessible to the public and fewer than 1,000 inhabited. Norway follows closely behind.

Now, here’s this week’s question: What is the origin of the word “map”? Is it from Sanskrit meaning "road" or "path"? Is it Arabic for "view" or "horizon"? Is it Greek for "disk" or "plate"? Or is it Latin for "napkin" or "towel"? We’ll reveal the answer next week.

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You’ve been listening to Unpacked, a production by Dinogo Media. The podcast is produced by Aislyn Greene and Nikki Galteland, with music composed by Chris Colin.

And remember: The world can be complex. We’re here to help you navigate it.