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| Coastal Steamer coming in to Honningsvåg |
It is tempting to say that Honningsvåg is a city of opposites. Bright and full of life in summer, dark and devoid of life in winter. But that is just apparently true. (Things that are apparently true, are in fact not.) Winter places a blanket of snow on the island that shuts people into their own homes. There they take all the creativity they previously used for the summer festival, and start preparing the winter festivities. In the christmas, music shows and cabarets pop up, created by the local inhabitants. It’s not professional, its better than that; It’s local. All standup is normally based on what common denominator the up- standing person can predict the audience has. But the cabarets can be downright personal. And personal can be extremely funny. The jokes have a harsh north norwegian tone, but that’s okay. People who stick their heads into publicity, expect people will take a few crack- shots at them. It’s satire silly.
The creative tour the force that is Honningsvåg is never dormant, just diannually encapsulated by the snow - waiting to spring out in it’s two best seasons, summer and christmas. These two periods of the year, mark the return of family of friends from their self imposed exile. The returned are markedly happy to be back in that special way reserved for those who’s glorified memories can fuel them for a week or two. The returnés are happy to be home, and happy to be spending some of that well- earned money in Honnigsvåg. But they have a lot to thank the residuals for.
The residuals are the makers and retainers of the culture. Those who stayed behind. It is hard to say why someone stay, and someone leave. Mostly those from my class left to get some sort of higher education. Most of those who stayed home now have children. I suspect that is to be expected, they often took jobs right after hight school, and quickly bought a house, a car and a dog. Then the child. Then they make cabarets, music shows, and join the hiking association. Well - some of them do.
The same names circulate the very limited number of sheets in the local paper. (I wouldn’t recommend trying to see an eclipse through it). Many of them were actually not originally locals, but there is a good mix. Whatever they are, they are the agents. The ones who fuel the creativity of the island. They are often highly educated, and very interested in local life. Then there is the huge number of actors. But whatever position they can be said to have, they do it well. Even the disinterested are interesting, and the uninterested are at least partaking. A girl or boy, woman or man of North Cape are themselves to the fullest - and though that may be said about any person anywhere, I feel that often there is more person to be full of. As if, since the society is too small to be anonymous in, your only option by default is being extremely present.
But Magerøya kind of is that way. We don’t just have night and day; we have two whole months without sun, and two months with nothing but sun. We don’t just have small trees here, the tree line of Magerøya is beneath sea level. When there is a storm roofs are ripped of houses, when the snow melts rivers spontainously form on the roads. When Magerøya is something, it becomes that truly. And this quality is reflected in it’s people. When you grown up on Magerøya, then you are truly from Magerøya. It leaves a stamped imprint on your soul hard to rub off, and when it wanes people travel thousands of kilometers to have it re-imprinted.
My observations are based on prejudice. They are strange but entertaining. Still I suspect that Honningsvåg as a society tends to produce an outgoing personality, prepared to elbow their way through most social situations. I saw what happened when my father was introduced to the little island of Gran Canaria. He has a personal sphere so robust, it bumps into you with an almost physical quality. I wonder if that is the effect that many from Honningsvåg have when they move away. I my self, have a comparatively quiet demeanor to the average residual. I have been called an uncharacteristic Honningsvåging, and even I occasionally bump into people. As a man returning, I notice how much the residuals put into Honningsvåg. In many ways they lay down their lives for her.
We, the returned, have much to thank those who stayed behind for. So I guess I’m saying: Thank you.
