Brent Hartinger and Michael Jensen are a gay “digital nomad” couple — two men who travel the world continuously, living in different countries for anywhere from one to three months at a time. Subscribe to their newsletter at BrentAndMichaelAreGoingPlaces.com.
My husband Michael and I recently spent three days in Iceland, a stop on our latest cruise. A local woman told us about the ancient Icelandic (and Faroe Islands) legend of “Huldufólk,” or “Hidden People,” mischievous beings who live in hiding alongside humans.
They’re invisible. Or, wait, no, maybe they’re visible but just hidden. Except sometimes you can see them, their faces outlined in rocks and on trees — and, uh, maybe in your morning toast?
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The Hidden People look exactly like humans. Unless they’re more like elves, or, no, they could be small like fairies — tiny enough to fit in the miniature houses that see all over the place that Icelanders have put in their yards for the Hidden People to live in.
The Hidden People are good, which is why Icelanders leave food out for them on Christmas Eve. Except maybe they’re evil, and you’ll sometimes meet a Hidden Person at a crossroads, and if you eat the food they offer, they’ll steal your soul.
Hmm, the more this woman talked, the more it all seemed like a bunch of contradictory nonsense.
Do Icelanders really believe in Hidden People, or is it more of a national myth — like how the Chinese celebrate flying dragons or how the British act like fresh vegetables will kill them?
Our Icelandic friend told us a story about a construction site where all the machines kept breaking down. An old woman living nearby warned the builders that the Hidden People were sabotaging the tractors because the workers were about to bulldoze their homes. She said she needed five days to talk to the Hidden People and lure them away, and when the builders finally agreed, and she supposedly did, the malfunctions stopped.
I’ve since learned that this event supposedly took place in 1971, and Icelanders have been repeating it for decades, giving it the feel of a giant game of Telephone.
I doubt much of this actually happened, but if they’d ever made a movie about it, a foul-mouthed Betty White would have almost certainly played the old woman, and she’d also be secretly feeding a giant alligator that is terrorizing the neighborhood, like in that old movie Lake Placid.
Our Icelandic friend also told us a story about her own best friend, who recently “recovered” memories of being able to see and talk to the Hidden People as a child. She’s now convinced the Hidden People exist, and she’s determined to make contact again—even as she apparently gets very annoyed when you mention that her memory of talking to the Hidden People sounds a lot like, er, the imaginary friends that a lot of kids have.
I’ve met people like our friend’s best friend at cocktail parties and such, and I’m always fifty percent curious to hear their stories and fifty percent suddenly fascinated by the pickled beet hummus dip.
Frankly, if the Hidden People exist, they would explain much about our world. And I don’t mean the usual things like missing socks and misplaced keys — those are all clearly Michael’s fault.
No, I mean things like when I wake up in the middle of the night with a fantastic idea for a story, and I write it down, and then when I look at it again in the morning, it’s a piece of crap.
And how someone decided it was a good idea to require every single website to ask if they can install cookies on your browser, and it’s the most annoying thing ever, especially since this same requirement didn’t forbid the websites from making it incredibly difficult to decline their damn cookies.
Also, Katy Perry suddenly can’t seem to do anything right, and, yeah, pumpkin spice everything.
These things are all pretty clearly the work of the Hidden People — except maybe pumpkin spice everything. I have a feeling that’s Michael’s fault too.
I’m making jokes about the Hidden People and the people who believe in them, but the truth is, I find this to be a very beautiful myth.
Legends like the Hidden People are more than mere curiosities. They mean something. Why did this one develop?
Were the Hidden People a way to teach children the danger of the forest — a particularly important lesson in the harsh climates of Iceland and the Faroe Islands?
Or maybe they were a way to create a stronger community, uniting the first Icelandic villages against all external dangers—a “shadow” version of themselves that helped shape and define exactly who they wanted to be.
Or maybe the Hidden People were simply a way for those early Icelanders to acknowledge a profound and obvious truth that our modern world desperately tries to deny: that there are still many things about our existence that humans don’t understand and over which we have no control.
I love many things about the modern, science-based Western world, but if there’s one thing I find off-putting, it’s our complete lack of humility.
I’ve written before about the vast forest below our house when I was a child. I felt an incredible connection to that place.
I didn’t “speak” to it exactly — not like that woman says she spoke to the Hidden People as a child. But I think maybe once that forest spoke to me.
I was about twelve years old, still a boy, but with the vague shimmer of adulthood rising on the horizon. I was reading in my bedroom when I suddenly felt a strange urge to enter the woods.
I resisted for a bit but finally put down my book and headed off into the forest.
But I didn’t stay on the trail. No, I now had this strange desire to go into the trees. I had no destination but still felt a clear sense of direction.
Before long, I came upon a small tree on fire. What? Had lightning hit it? More likely, some asshole kids had set it and then run off.
But if that fire kept burning, it could spread to the whole forest.
I ran to a nearby pond and gathered water in my hands. It took a while, but I eventually doused the flames.
I swear to God this is a true story, and to this day, I wonder: why was I drawn to that place at that particular time? Most likely, it was all a coincidence.
But what if the forest and its own Hidden People were…calling to me? Who better than I, their longtime friend, to protect them in their moment of danger?
When I was a kid, I desperately wanted all the so-called mysteries of the world to be true: UFOs, ESP, ghosts, Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster.
When I reached adulthood, I realized, sadly, Ohhhh, that’s all a bunch of superstitious nonsense.
But the older I get, the more I realize it doesn’t matter if certain things are “real” — they can still communicate profound truths. And they can still make us feel things.
That’s why I’m so excited to visit Loch Ness for the first time in a couple of weeks.
The greater takeaway is that if you ever see me at a cocktail party, you should probably think twice before talking to me. You might be better off with the pickled beet hummus dip.
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