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Many centuries ago, a mysterious woman arrived in the small community of Nes in Borgarfjörður. No one knew where she had come from, but her beauty and grace quickly won the respect of the locals. She settled in Nes and gradually took control of the entire estate, becoming its mistress. Her name was Snotra, and though she was admired, she carried an air of secrecy.
This episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024.
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One day, Snotra appointed a steward to manage the estate and presented him with a challenge. She told him she would be leaving for the Christmas holiday, but when she returned, he must correctly guess where she had been. If he failed, he would forfeit his life. However, if he succeeded, she promised to reward him richly.
As Christmas approached, Snotra made preparations to leave. On Christmas Eve, she departed without revealing her destination. When she returned after the holiday, she asked the steward if he could say where she had been. He admitted he could not. Shortly after, the steward vanished, never to be seen again.
This same fate befell two more stewards, each unable to solve the mystery of Snotra’s Christmas journeys. Finally, a fourth steward was appointed. Like the others, Snotra told him he must uncover her secret or face dire consequences. The steward, however, resolved to succeed where the others had failed.
As Christmas Eve arrived, the workers retired for the night, but the steward stayed awake. Hidden in the shadows, he watched as Snotra slipped out of the house carrying a bundle. He followed her silently across the fields to the rocky shore, where she sat and unwrapped her parcel.
Inside were delicate veils. Snotra draped one veil over her head and threw another into the sea. As she leapt into the water, the steward boldly grabbed a veil and followed her. Suddenly, they were traveling through a swirling mist until they emerged in a land unlike any he had ever seen. The air was filled with the scent of herbs and fruit, and the landscape was lush with orchards.
In the distance, the steward saw a magnificent city surrounded by high walls. Snotra, now wearing her veil, entered the city gates to the sound of music and a warm welcome. She gestured for the steward to stay in a small building near two tall structures, from which he could observe what happened inside the grand hall.
Curious, the steward peered through a window and saw an incredible celebration. The hall was filled with people in splendid clothing, dancing and feasting. At the center of the festivities sat a noble man on a throne, and beside him was Snotra, adorned in regal attire.
Night after night, the steward watched the same scene: music, dancing, and Snotra by the man’s side. On the last evening, he noticed a disturbance. Two men approached the nobleman, reporting that a cow had given birth to twin calves, but one was dead. The two women tasked with caring for the cow blamed each other for the calf’s death. The nobleman grew angry at the dispute, and the steward could see the tension in the hall.
When Christmas ended, Snotra prepared to leave. A grand procession escorted her from the city, with the nobleman leading her by the hand. The steward followed her as she retraced her path through the mist, arriving back at the same rocky shore. She removed her veil and folded it carefully, and the steward did the same before throwing his veil to her.
Snotra said nothing and returned to the house. The steward followed her and rested until morning. When the workers rose for their daily tasks, Snotra approached him and asked if he could say where she had been. The steward replied, “I cannot say exactly, but I saw two women arguing over the death of a calf, and it angered the King.”
At this, Snotra smiled and said, “Thank you. You have broken the spell that bound me. Long ago, I was cursed to leave my husband and live apart from him, only able to see him at Christmas.
The curse could only be lifted if someone discovered where I went during the holiday. You are the first to succeed. For this, I grant you all my estate and possessions. May you enjoy good fortune.” With that, Snotra disappeared, never to be seen again. The farm was henceforth called Snotrunes in her memory.
Borgarfjörður eystri renowned for its breathtaking landscapes, vibrant birdlife, and rich folklore. Nestled between rugged mountains and the sea, this charming village is a paradise for hikers, with trails like Stórurð leading to striking glacial boulder formations and emerald-green valleys.
It’s also a prime spot for puffin watching at Hafnarhólmi, one of Iceland’s best bird-watching cliffs. The area brims with Icelandic legends, including stories of elves said to inhabit the mystical Álfaborg rock. Visitors can enjoy serene nature, local culture, and stunning views, making it a must-visit for adventurers and nature lovers alike.
Nes = headland
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024. To hear other stories, I have shared so far, check them out on my website All Things Iceland.
In a small Icelandic village, there was a young boy who loved to play tricks and frighten a girl who lived nearby. He’d pop up unexpectedly, trying to make her jump. But over time, she became so used to his tricks that nothing he did could scare her anymore. Anything strange she encountered, she dismissed as one of his pranks.
One day, the girl was sent to the churchyard by her mother to fetch linen hung there to dry. As she worked, she noticed a figure sitting on a tombstone, dressed in all white. Instantly, she thought it was the boy up to his usual tricks, so she marched up, grabbed the figure’s white cap, and declared she wouldn’t be scared this time. With a smug grin, she returned home with the cap in her basket.
But when she arrived home, the boy was already at the house, greeting her with a puzzled look. Confused and unnerved, she sorted through the linen and found the cap she had taken from the figure. It was damp with mold and smelled of earth. Realizing the figure hadn’t been the boy, the family understood the girl had encountered a ghost. Fear swept through the village.
The next day, the ghost reappeared on the same tombstone, this time without its white cap. No one dared approach it, fearing the consequences. Desperate, the villagers called for an old man from a neighboring village known for his wisdom. He advised that the cap had to be returned to the ghost, in complete silence, by the girl who had taken it.
So the entire village gathered in the churchyard as the girl nervously approached the ghost, cap in hand. She placed it back on its head and asked if it was satisfied. The ghost looked up, a cold gaze in its eyes, and replied, “Yes, but are *you* now satisfied?” It then raised a hand, struck her, and she fell dead on the spot. Without another word, the ghost sank into the grave, disappearing forever.
While you might think that this story might make Icelander’s afraid of going to graveyards because they could encounter a ghost, this doesn’t seem to be the case. In fact, in the days leading up to Christmas and especially on December 24th, Icelanders can be seen in graveyards decorating the graves of their loved ones with candles and decorative lights.
If a group of them go, they tell fond stories of the loved one that they are there to honor. I find it sweet and interesting because you can see the graveyards lit up from a distance.
Kirkjugarður – graveyard
Literally translates to church garden.
Kirkja – church
Garður – garden
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
Experiencing *Into the Glacier* in Iceland was like stepping into a different world—a frozen wonderland hidden deep within Langjökull, Iceland’s second-largest glacier. It was truly mesmerizing to see the glacier from the inside, which made me feel like I was in the heart of an enormous frozen giant.
When it comes to those wondering about safety, the *Into the Glacier* experience is indeed safe. The ice tunnels were engineered with extreme care, taking into account both glacial shifts and temperature stability.
The tour operators maintain the tunnels regularly, and visitors are provided with the necessary equipment, like crampons, to safely walk on ice. Additionally, experienced guides accompany each group, ensuring that everyone is informed about safety measures while they explore this icy wonderland.
The journey to reach this icy marvel began with an exciting ride in a massive truck, custom-built for navigating the rugged, icy terrain. This monster vehicle rumbled up the glacier for nearly an hour and a half, offering glimpses of the snow-covered landscape as we climbed higher. When we arrived, the true adventure began as we stepped into a small tent that led directly into the glacier’s inner sanctum.
Once inside, we were handed crampons, which are ice chains for your shoes, to safely walk on the icy surface. The temperature in the tunnels is a steady 32°F (0°C), so dressing warmly is essential. Moving through the tunnels, I was in awe of the surreal, radiant blue ice.
Being surrounded by walls of ice, created by a unique mix of nature and engineering, felt like discovering a secret known only to scientists and glaciologists—until now. The massive tunnel system, stretching through Langjökull, is an extraordinary feat that brings people right into the core of a glacier, something I had only dreamed of seeing.
There are several ice chambers that we visit, like the Chapel. People have actually gotten married in this chapel, which is pretty cool. I enjoyed exploring this icy wonderland and I think it is a once in a lifetime opportunity to be this deep inside of a glacier and it is stable. I learned so many cool things during this experience, including the facts below.
I went on the “Into the Glacier” adventure with Arctic Adventures. If you use my code iceland10 with them for this trip and other experiences, you can save 10% on the cost of the tour.
Among the many things I learned on this adventure, one stood out that surprised me the most. For the longest time, I knew that a glacier is an accumulation of enough snow that transforms into ice. Over time, that build up can be quite substantial. However, the key thing that I either don’t remember hearing or never knew is that in order for this accumulation to qualify as a glacier, it must flow outwards and downwards due to the pressure of its own weight. We drove by the now former glacier Ok, which still has some ice but there is not enough for it to move downhill under its own weight.
Langjökull – long glacier
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024. To hear other stories, I have shared so far, check them out on my website All Things Iceland
Once upon a time, a farmer named Bjarni lived in Skaftafell. He was known for his skilled craftsmanship and resourcefulness. High in a cave above the Skaftafell Woods, there lived a troll-woman who had become a loyal friend to Bjarni. She watched over his sheep in the mountains and guarded his driftwood along the shore.
One harsh winter, the troll-woman visited Bjarni with troubling news: a ship had wrecked on the coast, leaving only one survivor. But this wasn’t any ordinary man—it was a wild, dangerous brute, and she feared he would bring ruin to all of southern Iceland if left unchecked. Without hesitation, she took up an axe and accompanied Bjarni down to the shore, where she bravely fought the savage and defeated him.
Generations passed, but the troll-woman stayed connected to Bjarni’s family, protecting them as she had him. To this day, people say her cave still stands above Skaftafell, with a skylight in its roof and a bed carved right into the stone—a bed so large it could only have belonged to a troll. And they say Bjarni, ever thoughtful, crafted the cave’s door and its sturdy fittings to make it a cozy home for his unusual friend.
Years later, another man named Einar lived in Skaftafell. He, too, knew of a troll-woman. Once, while traveling through thick fog, he suspected the mist was no natural haze. Feeling uneasy, Einar took his axe and threw it far. Instantly, the fog lifted, and he was able to make his way home. But just as he arrived, one of his horses collapsed, and Einar found his axe lying on his doorstep—this time covered in blood.
The following year, Einar was setting off to cross the Skeidará river when he met a towering woman. She asked if she could borrow one of his horses to cross the water. At first, he hesitated, remembering how one of his horses had been strained the year before. But then, the woman explained it had been because of a prank he’d pulled. She showed him a scar where his axe had struck her, revealing that she was the one who had lifted the fog.
Einar believed her, and they crossed the river safely. During this crossing, the troll woman teased Einar a bit, which he did not take well. To get revenge, he went home and made a cooper gun. After tracking her down, the troll woman apologized for teasing him and they were on good terms again.
After that she vowed to do what he wished and his only ask of her was to not let anyone steal his driftwood. And so, the legend of the troll-woman and her friendship with the people of Skaftafell endures to this day, her protective spirit woven into the landscape and the lore of Iceland.
Skaftafell is a stunning nature reserve inside of Vatnajökull National Park. In that area, you can hike to the Svartifoss waterfall or go on a glacier hike/ice climbing adventure. There are many hiking paths in this area and I highly recommend checking it out. During winter, there are ice cave tours avaiable on the glaciers too. If you plan to take a glacier hike here, feel free to use my code Iceland10 with Arctic Adventures to save 10%.
goðsögn – legend
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
Eyþór is an Icelandic antiquarian with an impressive rare book collection. For many years, he has been collecting and restoring rare books, some of which are important original Icelandic manuscripts. We sat down to chat about his collection and so much more.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkKR4qoW67A
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This is episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024. To hear other stories, I have shared so far, check them out on my website All Things Iceland.
According to Icelandic legend, the stunning horseshoe-shaped canyon of Ásbyrgi was formed by the mighty hoofprint of Sleipnir, Odin’s legendary eight-legged steed. As the Norse god rode across the sky on his powerful horse, Sleipnir took an extraordinary leap, imprinting his hoof on Earth and leaving behind the shape of Ásbyrgi Canyon. This tale weaves Ásbyrgi into the fabric of Norse mythology, offering a mystical origin story that resonates deeply with Iceland’s cultural heritage.
Beyond natural explanations, folklore suggests that Ásbyrgi served as a sacred gathering site for Iceland’s hidden folk, or Huldufólk. Often referred to as “Álfakirkja” or the Elfin Church, the canyon is said to be a place where elves and other mystical beings held their celebrations and gatherings. This enchanting narrative adds a supernatural charm to Ásbyrgi, further heightening its allure as a place where nature and folklore intertwine.
The initial carving (8-10 Million Years Ago) of Ásbyrgi began eight to ten million years ago, during a time of dramatic glacial floods from the Jökulsá á Fjöllum river. Likely triggered by a volcanic eruption beneath Iceland’s massive Vatnajökull glacier, these catastrophic floods began carving the canyon shortly after the last Ice Age, setting the stage for its iconic horseshoe shape.
About 3000 years ago, further glacial floods from Jökulsá á Fjöllum once again surged through the canyon, deepening and refining its form. This powerful combination of volcanic and glacial forces crafted Ásbyrgi’s unique shape, etching a story of geological transformation that spans millions of years.
Ásbyrgi – the Shelter of the Gods
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This is episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024. To hear other stories, I have shared so far, check them out on my website All Things Iceland.
Once upon a time, there was an old man and his wife who lived in a small cottage with their son. They weren’t particularly fond of him, but they had little else in their life besides a single cow, Búkolla, who was their most prized possession.
One day, Búkolla gave birth to a calf, and after helping with the birth, the old woman stepped away for a moment. When she returned, Búkolla was gone! The couple searched high and low but couldn’t find her anywhere. Furious, they ordered their son to find the cow and told him not to come back without her.
Off he went, into the unknown, armed with only some food and new shoes. As he walked, he grew tired and sat down to eat. “Bellow now, my Búkolla, if you’re out there,” he called out. Far in the distance, he heard a faint bellow.
Encouraged, the boy walked further. After some time, he stopped again, calling, “Bellow now, my Búkolla, if you’re alive.” The bellow was louder, closer.
Finally, he climbed to the top of some tall rocks, sat down once more, and called out, “Bellow now, my Búkolla!” This time, he heard her right beneath him. Climbing down, he found a cave where Búkolla was chained. He freed her and began the journey home.
But before long, he noticed something terrifying—a giant troll and a smaller one chasing after him!
The boy panicked, realizing the troll’s long strides would soon catch up. “What do we do, Búkolla?” he asked.
“Pull a hair from my tail and drop it on the ground,” Búkolla replied. He did as she said, and Búkolla spoke to the hair:
“Become a river so wide that only a bird can cross it.”
Immediately, a massive river appeared between them and the trolls. The larger troll, undeterred, ordered the smaller one, “Go fetch my father’s giant bull!”
The smaller troll rushed off and returned with a huge bull, which drank up the entire river in a single gulp.
The boy’s heart raced as the trolls closed in. “What now, Búkolla?”
“Take another hair and drop it,” she said. Once he did, she proclaimed, “Become a flame so high that even a bird cannot fly over it!”
A wall of fire erupted before them. But the trolls were persistent. The larger troll commanded, “Fetch my father’s bull again!” The smaller troll fetched the bull, which spat all the water it had drunk from the river onto the flames, extinguishing them.
Once again, the boy asked, “What do we do, Búkolla?”
“Take one more hair and drop it,” Búkolla instructed. “Now, become a mountain so tall that nothing but a bird can cross it.”
Before their eyes, a towering mountain shot up. The giant troll, furious but determined, sent the smaller troll to fetch her father’s bore-iron. With the iron, the troll drilled through the mountain.
But she was so eager to squeeze through the narrow hole she had made that she got stuck. And there she remains, turned to stone, unable to pursue them any further.
The boy finally returned home with Búkolla, and for the first time, his parents were genuinely happy to see him. Their cow was safe, and all was well again.
There are many children’s books about Búkolla in Iceland. During Jónsmessa or Midsummer Night, cows gain the ability to speak among other strange things that happen that night. It is interesting how cows having the abiliy to talk comes up in Icelandic folklore.
Kýr – cow
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This is episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024. To hear other stories, I have shared so far, check them out on my website All Things Iceland.
Legend has it that Dimmuborgir, with its eerie rock formations and twisting lava fields, is more than just a natural wonder. Some say it’s a hidden gateway to a mysterious, parallel world – a realm where Iceland’s most elusive creatures reside.
Elves, trolls, and other mythical beings are said to call this shadowy place home, slipping in and out of our world through secret passages among the towering rocks.
In other tales, especially in Nordic Christian lore, Dimmuborgir takes on an even darker role. It’s believed to be the very spot where Satan crashed to Earth after being cast out of Heaven. From there, he is said to have forged the catacombs of Hell, using the strange landscape as his foundation.
For those who visit Dimmuborgir today, the air still hums with the legends of this supernatural past, making it feel as if you’re standing on the edge of another world.
It is estimated that Dimmuborgir was created about 2,300 years ago after a huge volcanic eruption. It‘s a beautiful and sort of eery place. In North Iceland and can be part of your Diamond Circle route.
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I personally use them for when I go on adventures, and I’m so glad to hear that many of my listeners and subscribers are also having a great experience with them. I mentioned in a previous episode that one of my listeners switched to Go Car Rental Iceland from one of the internationally known rental car companies here and she saved $400! That was for a rental during the summer when prices can sometimes double due to demand.
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If you plan to use a campervan, use my code Iceland7 to save 7% and get two free duvets with your GO Camper van rental. Also, I have a great episode coming up soon about how to choose the right camper van for your travels in Iceland, so keep an eye out for that.
Dimmuborgir translates to “dark castles” or “dark cities.
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This is episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024. To hear other stories, I have shared so far, check them out on my website All Things Iceland.
Many years ago, there was a farmer living in Vogar, famous for being the best fisherman around. No one could match his skill, and his farm flourished because of it. One day, while he was out on the water, something strange happened. He cast his line into the sea like usual, but when he tried to reel it in, it felt impossibly heavy, as if he had snagged a massive catch.
To his surprise, when he finally pulled it up, it wasn’t just a fish—he’d caught a strange creature with the body of a man!
Startled, the fisherman blurted out, “What in the world are you?”
The creature responded calmly, “I am a merman from the deep sea.”
Curious, the farmer asked, “What were you doing when my hook got you?”
The merman replied, “I was adjusting the chimney cowl on my mother’s house to make it face the wind. Now, let me go!”
But the farmer wasn’t ready to release him just yet. “Not so fast,” he said. “You’ll have to serve me for a bit first.”
Without further discussion, the fisherman dragged the merman into his boat and rowed back to shore.
When they reached land, the fisherman’s loyal dog ran up to greet him, barking happily and wagging its tail. But in a foul mood, the farmer struck the dog for being too excited. At this, the merman chuckled softly but didn’t explain why.
As the fisherman headed toward his house, pulling the merman behind him, he stumbled over a small hill. Annoyed, he cursed at it. The merman laughed again, louder this time.
Finally, when they arrived at the house, the fisherman’s wife rushed out to greet him, wrapping her arms around him affectionately. Pleased with her welcome, he smiled—only to hear the merman laugh a third time.
The farmer, now curious, asked, “You’ve laughed three times. Why?”
“I’ll only tell you,” said the merman, “if you promise to take me back to the sea and let me go.”
The fisherman agreed, eager to hear the reasons.
The merman began, “I laughed the first time when you hit your dog, who was only showing you honest joy. The second time, I laughed because you cursed the hill—yet beneath it lies a fortune in gold. The third time, I laughed because your wife’s embrace, though it pleased you, was hollow. She is unfaithful to you.”
Shocked, the farmer said, “I’ll believe you if I find gold in that hill. The rest, we’ll see.”
He immediately went to the hill and dug it up. Sure enough, he found a treasure of golden coins buried there, just as the merman had said.
Keeping his word, the farmer took the merman back to the sea. Before diving back into the depths, the merman said, “You’ve kept your promise, so I will reward you. Soon, you will come across something valuable. Be ready to claim it.”
Not long after, seven sea-grey cows appeared on the beach near the farmer’s land. They were wild and untamable, but the farmer noticed something unusual—they each had a small bladder attached to their noses. Remembering the merman’s words, the farmer chased after them, managing to burst the bladder on one of the cows. Immediately, the cow became calm, allowing the farmer to lead her home. The rest of the cows fled back into the sea.
That one grey cow turned out to be an incredible gift, giving more milk than any other cow in the land. She became the ancestor of a prized breed of grey cows, famous throughout Iceland.
The farmer grew rich and lived a prosperous life, but he never caught another merman. And as for his wife, well, nothing more was said about her after that, so we can only guess how that part of the story ended.
Stories of Mermen often depict them as being very ugly with hands and feet. While they might not be pleasant to look like, mermen are not described as harmful to people and they are not evil.
Marbendill – Merman who is the male counterpart of the mythical female mermaid, is a legendary creature which is human from the waist up and fish-like from the waist down, but may assume normal human shape.
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This is episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024. To hear other stories, I have shared so far, check them out on my website All Things Iceland.
Imagine making a pact with your best friend—if one of you dies, the other gets to use the body for something truly bizarre: making a pair of magical pants. These aren’t just any pants though. They’re called Necropants, and they’re made from human skin, specifically from the waist down.
So, when one friend dies, the surviving one digs up the body, carefully peels off the skin from the legs (without making any holes, of course), and puts them on right away. Sounds grim, right? But here’s the catch—the pants don’t just sit on you like a creepy costume. They actually fuse to your body, becoming a part of you. You can wear them as long as you like, but eventually, you’ll have to pass them on to someone else if you want to keep the magic going.
But wait, what magic, you ask? Just wearing the pants isn’t enough to unlock the wealth. For that, you need to perform a twisted ritual. First, you must steal a coin from a desperately poor widow, and the timing is key—it has to be done during a church service, right between specific readings on Christmas, Easter, or Whit Sunday.
You then place this stolen coin into the “pocket” of the Necropants. And here’s where things get even stranger: that “pocket” is more like the, ahem, scrotum area of the pants. Once the coin is in, the pants magically start producing more coins. Free money, but with a dark price.
But these aren’t your average enchanted pants. If you remove the original stolen coin, the magic stops working. And then there’s the even darker part—when you’re ready to pass the pants to someone else, you can’t just hand them over. There’s a strict process.
You have to remove the pants one leg at a time. First, the right leg comes off, and the new wearer has to immediately put on that same leg. Once they’re in, there’s no turning back. Even if they try to stop, they’re cursed to wear the full pants, like it or not.
If you fail to pass them on properly, your soul could be in danger, and your body, once you’re dead, will be consumed by vermin. Some say these
Necropants are a gift from the devil himself, a symbol of the pact made with dark forces in exchange for earthly riches. But no matter how much wealth you gather, wearing them comes with a heavy cost.
A replica of what these pants are supposed to look like are in the Icelandic Museum of Sorcery and Witchcraft in Hólmavík in the Westfjords region of the country.
Nábrók – necropants
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Þakka þér kærlega fyrir að hlusta og sjáumst fljótlega.
This is episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024.
In the heart of Icelandic folklore, there exists a strange and eerie creature known as the *tilberi* in the north and the *snakkur* in the south and west.
This mystical being is said to be the creation of witches, conjured specifically to steal milk from the farms of others. Only women have the knowledge and ability to summon and control this creature, using it to enrich their own dairy supplies.
Though the origins of the tilberi stretch back into the misty past, tales of it weren’t written down until the 17th century. Yet, one account from that time recalls a witch being punished in the year 1500 for possessing one.
The ritual to create a tilberi is both chilling and secretive. At dawn on Whitsunday, a woman must steal a rib from a freshly buried body. She then wraps this rib in grey wool—wool that must also be stolen, plucked from a widow’s sheep just after it has been sheared.
For the next three Sundays, at the communion table, she spits sanctified wine onto the bundle, slowly bringing it to life with each ritual. Finally, to complete the creature’s birth, she lets it suckle from the inside of her thigh, leaving a wart-like mark as a permanent reminder of the dark deed.
Once created, the tilberi becomes an insatiable thief. The witch can send it out to steal milk from the cows and ewes of neighboring farms.
The creature, able to stretch itself, leaps onto the back of its target, wrapping itself around the animal to suck from one or even two teats at once. When it returns to its mistress, it perches at her dairy window and cries out, “Full belly, Mummy!” or “Churn lid off, Mummy!” before vomiting the stolen milk into her butter churn.
However, milk stolen by a tilberi bears a curse of its own. When churned, the butter forms curdled clumps or even melts into foam if a cross is made over it or a magical symbol, called the smjörhnútur (butterknot), is drawn into the mixture.
Farmers, plagued by udder infections and other signs of a tilberi’s presence, would protect their animals by making the sign of the cross beneath the cow’s udder or laying a Psalter on its spine. Though the tilberi was lightning-fast, if caught or pursued, it would flee back to its witch, hiding beneath her skirts.
But there was a way to stop the creature and its master. A brave soul could sew shut the petticoat of the witch, trapping both her and her creation. Then, they would meet a grim fate, either burned or drowned together, ending the dark magic for good.
This legend serves as a chilling reminder of the power of superstition and the mysterious bond between the witches of old and their strange creations.
If the woman who created the creature has a child of her own, a nightmare scenario unfolds. Should the tilberi, always hungry for milk, find its way to her breast, the consequences are dire—it may suck her dry, leading to her death.
Ridding oneself of this creature, however, comes with its own perilous ritual. To banish a *tilberi*, the woman must send it on an impossible task. She orders the creature to climb the mountain and gather every lamb’s dropping from the vast common pastures. In some versions of the tale, the tilberi is told to sort them into three piles, or collect all the droppings from three separate fields.
But the number three is the tilberi’s undoing. Being an evil creature, it cannot endure the power of this sacred number. As it toils endlessly, trying to complete the task, it either works itself to death or succumbs to the mystical force of three. In the end, only the human bone that gave it life remains, lying abandoned in the pasture, marking the creature’s demise and freeing its maker from a dark and deadly bond.
I will have some images of a Tilberi in the notes of this episode on All Things Iceland. If you want to see a model of one in person then I recommend visiting the Sorcery and Witchcraft Museum in Hólmavík in the Westfjords.
Tilberi – carrier
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