The Wild Hunt (https://wildhunt.org/category/features/pilgrimages/page/2)
It had been seven years since Anaar and I had traveled to Europe to offer this work. In many ways, we expected it to unfold much as it had before: a celebration of community, of poetry, of ritual, of art. And while it did indeed fulfill all that, there was another, more global reality that inserted itself into the mix: Covid-19.
The Midgardsblot festival, taking place each August in Borre, just south of Oslo, Norway, has slowly but surely become ubiquitous among Viking nerds, Norse Pagans, and metalheads alike. With its unique blend of extreme Metal and nordic folk acts (among others), alongside numerous artistic and academic entertainment acts, it was only a matter of time that I checked it out for myself.
I was twenty-one, and that was the first time I had ever seen the ocean. I slept that night as close to the window as I could, straining my ears for the sound of waves. The ocean was a poetic trope, the longing of Tolkien’s elves, a setting for adventure and tragedy. I loved the idea of it, and I wanted to be lulled into sleep like the heroes of my favorite books, but that was all I knew of the water.
Exhausted, sweaty, and painfully hungry, I take my back into the gravel road of what must be Sōdra Ugglarp. On the horizon a long earthen-colored brick building stands against the deep blue sky, like a wall. In front of it, I notice a concrete-pit filled with horse manure. Closest to me, nearly as long as the barn, lies the stone ship, shaped by dozens of massive standing stones, like teeth of a giant rising from the green earth.
Although my trip companions think that the driving in Delhi, Dharamsala, and Agra is horrible, and that I’m crazy for even considering driving here, my heart salivates over the opportunity. I think of you and wonder whether you’d be up to renting scooters in Dharamsala or Delhi and taking a turn or two.