By Scott Sullivan
Editor
Ancient Realms
A Polish archaeologist thinks he’s found proof of a long-lost “medieval New York” on the Baltic Sea island Wolin.
Wojciech Filipowiak believes he’s discovered remains of the mythic Jomsborg, a trading center and fortress mentioned in 12th-century Viking texts.
He is not the only one excited. “Vikings are sexy and attract lots of interest,” Wolin Mayor Ewa Grzybowska told the New York Times.
Extrapolation feeds exploitation. Filipowiak may be full of it, but island tourism stands to boom. Look what songs of Singapore do for Saugatuck. Some are even true. Skepticism about the new finds remain.
Still, you can’t miss with mythic. Saugatuck’s Venetian Festival featured a Viking Invasion a few summers back. Hagar the Horribles and Horriblettes in hairshirts and bikinis filled inflatable rafts firing water cannons at peers while vying for poker cards placed at pier ends around Kal Lake.
New York City Dutch settlers were likely Jomsborg-inspired too. It all fits. What doesn’t is why Popular Mechanics runs archaeology speculation. What, no muffler tips.
What also doesn’t is why I don’t fit. Wild, unkempt, savage … check, check, check. Why aren’t I Viking sexy? When I shambled with camera onto docks at the aforesaid dinghy mashup I was showered with abuse and beer. What a baptism. Ruins get people excited, why not me?
MapQuest doesn’t list Jomsborg yet, so I figured my shortest route is imagining. Could I ride with the Valkyries, sup with Thor and Odin on mead and mutton?
New York on the Baltic would be like the Wagner opera played onscreen for “Apocalypse Now” when Robert Duval/Col. Kilgore orders Lance to surf on the China Sea. Choppers blare Die Walkürie’s third-act prelude (“The boys love this,” he tells Martin Sheen/Capt. Willard) while strafing a Vietnamese stick village; smoke and flames rising rhythmically.
Through stone canyons I’d stroll, craning neck in awe at the steel and glass rising heavenward till swallowed by wildfire smoke, then rise each morning to the smell of napalm at Barney Greengrass.
Saugatuck has Vikings like Kirk Cousins, but there are others. Most maintain a veneer of civility, but scratch the surface they hurl bon mots with glee.
Ticking time bombs sell. Be outrageous but glamorous and disciples will love how you mock and yet rule The System. Never mind you’re behind and part of it, working the other end.
“What is this System?” I asked Odin — the one-eyed, all-seeing god of sorcery and the more rational of my dinner mates. His son Thor was prone to blow up and hurl his hammer; Valhalla’s hole-pocked halls bore testament.
Before I could focus on Odin’s answer my mind skipped to dogs named Odie. One was beta noire in the cartoon “Garflied”; the other inspired Eric Chaitin to hawk gourmet hot dogs one summer from a Douglas trailer.
“He has possibilities,” Odin said.
“Could I be a scribe?” I asked.
“Dad!” Thor shouted. He’s trying to inveigle you!”
“In Vegas?” said The Wise One. “Everyone’s a gamble.” Thor shook halls raining chips of drywall.
“Now, now. You’re just like your mother.”
In walked Jöro.
“I’m out,” I said.
“I’d give a kingdom for a lawyer.”
“I write and take pictures. No domestic disputes for me.”
I soon wooed my prurience. Don’t all words and images rise from disturbances that strike near home? Why be greedy? We could share the wealth!
I tried getting back to Valhalla, but the Valkyries were on strike. “I could find a lawyer for a fee,” I told the Union rep. “You’ll rule when this dynasty ends.”
WHAM!
“You took Thor’s hammer?” I asked.
“I’ll take him for everything.”
“You are one wild soul guide,” I said. “Do you think I’m sexy?”
“You’re no Rod Stewart.” WHAM!
“Break it up,” said Odin.
“You can’t make us,” I said. “You’re just made up anyway. Show me Jomsborg.”
“Look around you,” said Thor. Marvel movies were being filmed, there were tourists everywhere.
“Souls from the dead,” Thor said.