Three Wishes

Mt. Helgafell

In western Iceland, near the village of Stykkisholmur, there's a small mountain called Helgafell. Icelanders of the Viking Age worshipped at its altar, believing the god Thor resided inside.

Helgafell features prominently in an Icelandic saga - one of the many historic tales that vividly describe the challenges early settlers faced. This one is the only saga believed to have been written by a woman. It's the kind of murder and vengeance story Shakespeare would have written - had he been Icelandic and lived in the 11th century.

A woman named Gudrun Osvifrsdottir is declared the most beautiful in all of Iceland. She keeps getting married, and the marriages keep ending badly. When Gudrun's on her third husband, Bolli, she persuades him to kill Kjartan, the guy she really wanted. Then she gets Bolli killed by Kjartan's vengeful brothers.  Finally, she marries Porkell, and he drowns.

Somewhere in there, Icelanders convert to Christianity, and the Viking altar turns into a church. Gudrun converts, too, and immediately acquires enough guilt to admit, "To him I was worst whom I loved most." Then she becomes the first nun in Iceland, a recluse when she dies. This, despite all previous mayhem, makes Gudrun a heroine, and they bury her at the foot of Helgafell.

That's 1008 - as in, the year 1008.

Like almost anywhere you go in Iceland, Helgafell is a mystical, magical place. Here, you have the opportunity to stand at Gudrun Osvifrsdottir's grave with a pure heart.  Then you climb Helgafell (which is easy - it's only 73 meters high), but you can't talk, look back, or even turn your gaze side to side. (Think: Orpheus getting the hell out of Hades.) At the top, stand inside the ruins of the Viking altar/Christian church, face east, and make three wishes. After that, talk as much as you want, dance around, turn cartwheels, whatever strikes your fancy. Just don't tell anyone what you wished.

If I'd known Gudrun made what amounted to a deathbed conversion, that that was what made her a heroine, I doubt I would have bothered with the ritual. As it was, blissfully ignorant on my last day in Iceland with my friend Wendy, I urged her to participate with me on our way to the airport. And I thought hard about my wishes as we looked for the grave. I knew exactly what I would've wished when I was 27: May I be a wildly successful author with a bestseller. May I live in Santa Barbara with an ocean view. May I marry Tom Cruise before he converts to Scientology.

Wendy made her wishes outside the altar -
will they still come true?

As I began to climb, I laughed at the younger me, her grandiose and selfish desires. What would I wish for today? I couldn't think of anything I particularly wanted, other than to actually hike for ten minutes without speaking or looking back. I'm infamously voluble and I dwell in the past, so arriving at the ruins both silent and looking forward felt like aspirations already achieved.

Of course, I can't talk about what I actually wished, but I can give three hints. I don't want for anything at this point in my life. I like where I live. And L. Ron Hubbard can have Tom Cruise.