Icelandic Phallological Museum

Push open the door and the harbour wind falls away behind you. Inside, the light is soft and even. Rows of glass jars catch it and glow a pale amber. The liquid inside barely moves. There is a faint, clean chemical smell, the kind you might remember from a school biology lab. Somewhere nearby, someone is trying very hard not to laugh. Then you look closer at the shelves, and you realise exactly what this collection is.

This is the Icelandic Phallological Museum. Phallology is a playful name for the study of the phallus, the male reproductive organ. The museum collects penises and penile parts from mammals, and most of its specimens come from animals found in and around Iceland. It may sound like a joke at first. But the collection is serious, carefully labelled, and arranged with real curiosity. As far as anyone knows, there is no other museum quite like it anywhere in the world.

The story begins with one object and one man. Sigurður Hjartarson was an Icelandic schoolteacher. In 1974, someone gave him a bull's pizzle as a joke gift. A pizzle is a whip made from a dried bull's penis, and rural Icelanders once used such whips to drive cattle. Friends and colleagues found the gift funny. Soon they began to bring him more specimens. Several came from people who worked at Iceland's whaling stations.

What started as a joke slowly became a project. Sigurður kept collecting for more than two decades. In 1997, he opened his collection to the public here in Reykjavík. Some years later, the museum moved north to Húsavík, a small fishing town on the north coast that is known today for whale watching. In 2011, the collection returned to the capital. Sigurður's son, Hjörtur Gísli Sigurðsson, later took over the running of the museum, and it eventually moved to its newer home near the old harbour.

Now look at the largest specimens in the room. The whales take centre stage. Iceland sits in the cold North Atlantic, and many species of whale pass through its waters. Some specimens here are so large that they stand in tall tanks, or hang mounted on the wall. Their size is hard to judge until you stand right next to them. Many visitors stop here for a long time. It is a strange reminder of how enormous these animals really are beneath the surface of the sea.

At the other end of the scale, some specimens are tiny. A few are so small that you need a magnifying glass to see them properly. The collection moves through land mammals and sea mammals. There are seals, farm animals, and small creatures like rodents. Walk slowly along the shelves and you begin to see the patterns of anatomy. Different animals solved the same biological problem in very different ways. This is the quiet scientific heart of the museum.

Not everything here sits in a jar. Some specimens have been dried, and others are mounted on wooden plaques, much like hunting trophies in an old country house. You will also find objects made by people. Look for art, carvings, and household curiosities on the theme. Some of these pieces are made from animal parts, and some are pure decoration. Together they show a long human habit of treating this subject with a mix of embarrassment, humour, and fascination.

Here is a detail that surprises many visitors. For years, the collection had no human specimen. Sigurður wanted one to complete the set. Several men signed letters promising to donate after their deaths. The first human specimen finally arrived in 2011, from an elderly Icelandic man named Páll Arason. The long search for a human donor even became the subject of a documentary film called The Final Member, released in 2012. It follows the quest with both humour and tenderness.

Now find the folklore section. Iceland has a long tradition of stories about elves, trolls, and the hidden people. The hidden people, called huldufólk in Icelandic, are said to live inside rocks and hills, unseen by ordinary eyes. Some Icelanders still treat these stories with gentle respect. The museum plays along. Some displays claim to hold specimens from these folklore creatures, and a few jars appear almost empty. This is a joke, of course. The hidden people are said to be invisible, after all.

Another surprise waits near the displays about sport. Iceland's national handball team won an Olympic silver medal in 2008. For a small country, this was a huge moment, and handball is followed closely here. The museum holds a set of silver-coloured casts that honour the team. It is a perfect example of the museum's tone. The subject is cheeky, but the pride behind it is real. Many Icelanders still smile when they talk about that summer.

Watch the other visitors for a moment. Most people arrive giggling. Couples nudge each other and friends take photographs. But after ten minutes, something changes. People start to read the labels. They ask each other questions about whales and seals. The labels are clear and factual, and the tone stays calm. The museum seems to understand that laughter is often the first step toward real curiosity. Here, nobody is told that they should be embarrassed.

When you leave, you are only a short walk from the old harbour. The glass walls of Harpa, Reykjavík's concert hall, rise near the water. Fishing boats and whale-watching boats sit at the piers. In a way, this location makes sense. Many of the largest specimens inside came from the same sea that you can see from the harbour. If you plan a whale-watching trip, you may see those animals again, this time alive and moving.

Take one last look around the room before you go. The amber jars, the wooden plaques, the soft lights over the glass. A schoolteacher's joke gift became a lifelong collection, and then a museum that people cross the world to see. Step back outside into the cold Atlantic air. Listen to the gulls over the harbour. And notice that you will probably never look at a whale, a seal, or a bull in quite the same way again.