Reykjavík Grapevine - 11.08.2006, Blaðsíða 20

“There are plenty of people who come here
late at night after the clubs close, especially
in the beginning of summer. Some even ar-
rive at six o’clock in the morning and try to
make a quick round before the staff arrives,” a
woman tells me at a parking lot somewhere in
Reykjavík while putting her golf gear into the
trunk of her car.
It is almost midnight but the sun is still
up. The golf club closed two hours ago, and
no one is around except two of my friends and
the lady just leaving. As soon as she does, we
three become members of the group she was
just talking about.
But why be sneaky? Why not just pay the
price and enjoy a game with the rest of the
crowd?
“The waiting lists are so long that I can’t
be bothered to apply. Plus, it is so expensive to
become a member. Being a student, I just can’t
afford it,” one enthusiastic golfer had told me
when asked about the subject.
After doing a little research I found out
he had a good point. Golf is without a doubt a
posh sport, and, in recent years, it has become
so hyped in Iceland that those interested in
joining the clubs and practising golf some-
times have to wait up to two years just to
become members, although being married
to a member can speed up the process. The
price to pay for joining is another factor. The
fee for one year ranges from around 35,000-
55,000 ISK in the capital area plus an extra 50
percent for a special entrance fee the first year.
In addition to that you have to buy all the cool
gear, clubs, a trolley, gloves and trendy cloth-
ing, as jeans and sweatsuits are, of course, not
appreciated in this elite company.
But even though the price might strike
the regular worker as a little too high, a large
percentage of the population has become
infected with the golf virus. Today, a remark-
able number of about 20-25,000 people play
golf all around the country, and roughly about
15,000 of them are members of a local golf
club.
The rest? Well, most of them pay a day
fee ranging from 3,000-5,000 ISK per round.
And then there are people like us. People who
find that ridiculously overpriced and just de-
cide to sneak in when no one is watching and
play their round for free. Being a cheapskate
or getting a rush out of breaking the law is
not the whole explanation for this behaviour
though. The main factor is the desire to have
the whole course for yourself, free from any
hassle or comments from other club members.
“It’s just fun to go with a couple of friends
once in a while when no one is around. Also,
I don’t golf so often that it’s worth becoming
a member. And I like practising at night. It
is a special feel to be able to golf long after
midnight. Start the round on one day and
finish it the next. Some of my best rounds I
played at that time. No harm done really,” an-
other golfer told me. The third one admitted
the same thing: “I started sneaking into golf
courses a couple of years ago. Then my friends
and I drove to various courses on weekends,
even with some beer, and had fun for hours.
After playing like that for some time I became
a member, but I still love going at night in
good weather and enjoying the special atmos-
phere.”
All of them agreed on how different it is
to play midnight golf in Iceland. Being able to
golf until morning without the sun setting is
something that the majority of the world’s golf-
ers would enjoy. In Iceland there are about 50
golf courses all around the island, some located
right by the sea, others hidden in valleys or next
to riverbanks. Although the weather usually
isn’t ideal, and the summer is short, Iceland is
a great place for practising the sport. Almost
24 hours of sunlight in June and July means 24
hours of golfing and this is the reason golfers
from all around the world pay high prices just
to try the unique experience midnight golfing
so close to the Arctic Circle provides.
The courses in Reykjavík and the neigh-
bouring area are quite remarkable. The Haf-
narfjörður course has the panoramic view over
the sea on one side and the aluminium smelter
on the other. At Seltjarnarnes, I couldn’t hear
any noise at all, except for a few terns f lying
around. The hustle of the city was far away
at the course I chose as my victim (and the
location will remain secret), although it was
only minutes away from a traffic-filled street.
It was immediately apparent why people stay
awake and drive to hidden places to play golf
after hours.
After our friendly woman had left the
parking lot, my friends and I headed out to
play. The weather was unusually good and the
peace and quiet just amazing.
“Do you think someone will come?” my
friend asked as a couple of cars had been
driving past us when we were practising
our swing. But none seemed to care what
we were doing. Our worries of being caught
soon vanished. With every hole we finished,
our swings got a little bit better. In the end,
I could almost hit the ball once in every five
attempts. (This was my first time golfing, I
should point out.) It being the end of July the
sun wasn’t as strong as in early summer, so
at a little past 1 a.m. we couldn’t see the ball
anymore, so my first (but certainly not last)
golf session ended there.
Not all are as satisfied with this situation.
An employee at the GKG golf club was well
aware of the situation. “It is quite common
that people sneak into the courses. The most
traffic was around the Jónsmessa night when
the sun was up for 24 hours. Around that time
we sometimes spotted 20-30 people play-
ing golf at 2 a.m. when making our routine
check. Then we had to approach them and
hand them a fine,” he said and added that
the feedback was often less than pleasant. “A
group of people think it is really clever and
funny to play around like that, but they don’t
realise all the effort we have to make just to
keep the courses perfect for our members.
Those who sneak in are maybe driving around
on a Saturday night and decide it would be a
great idea to go golfing, but that is just like
sneaking into Laugardalsvöllur football field
to play a game. Who does that?”
Golf is an elite sport all right, and those
paying high prices to practise it don’t like
those who cheat. Understandably. But those
not ready to commit to a whole year or who
are forced onto waiting lists to join the club
don’t have much choice. Some courses don’t
even allow people to play after 2 p.m. unless
they are members and most have day jobs.
It is neither cheap nor easy to become
an honest golfer and as the popularity of
the sport continues rising, it will almost be
necessary to be a club member to even get a
tee-time in the future. Will the sneaky golfers
be forced to pay tens of thousands to practise
their hobby? Maybe. But while there aren’t
any 24-hour guards or bloodthirsty watchdogs
preventing them, a number of kids and work-
ers will be practising illegally in the midnight
sun.
Midnight Golfing
The beautiful, isolated, illegal side of Iceland’s new elite sport
by steinunn jakobsdóttir photo by skari
recreation
>>> cited about the place, their metropolitan
affairs these days being limited to visits to the
Ísafjörður slot machines when there’s nothing
else to do.
Although the Filipinos in Flateyri like to
stick together (many of them are in fact fam-
ily), they still consider themselves a part of the
community when asked. As Berto told me:
“This is our home. We have many Icelandic
friends, many Filipino friends and Polish
friends. I have a Polish girlfriend in [the
neighbouring town of] Suðureyri, she works
for Íslandssaga [the Suðureyri fish processing
plant] and I went to her home in Poland for
two months, for vacation.” Berto tells me his
girlfriend doesn’t know a lot of English and
that their communication mostly takes place
using their limited Icelandic skills or through
pointing at words in the dictionary.
The three do however disapprovingly tell me
that some immigrant workers seclude them-
selves, stating that many of them like to stay
in watching TV after work, being tired and
all. They complain about the lack of a place to
meet other townsfolk after the Vagninn pub
closed and get excited when I tell them that it
is in the process of being opened again due to
the hard work and effort of some of the locals.
We talk for a long time, trading jokes, hor-
ror stories from the fish-gutting industry and
slot-machine tips. They like it here and plan
on staying for a long time to come.
Missing nation
And then there is the generation of Flateyri
folk now in their twenties and thirties, the
one that seems almost entirely missing from
the town. This is not limited to Flateyri, of
course, most if not all, of Iceland’s proud
small towns have experienced a huge drain
of young people during the past few decades,
with young people going off to Reykjavík or
even further to seek an education and staying
there, whether it be for lack of suitable work in
their hometown or other reasons.
Georg Rúnar Ragnarsson, 24, was born
and raised in Flateyri, save for a brief stint in
Ísafjörður in his pre-teens. He left the town
for Reykjavík to pursue further studies as an
engineer and mans the Viðey ferry as a sum-
mer job.
“Growing up in Flateyri, I didn’t really
envision ever moving away. I always supposed
I’d be a sailor there. All of my role models
were. I think Flateyri is probably one of the
best places in the world to spend one’s youth,
tons of kids hanging out, playing unsupervised
in the streets, a lot of life in the town and a
closeness to work-life that you probably miss
out on in places like Reykjavík. Everybody
was real close.
“The town is rather drab these days, and
that kind of troubles me. I remember it being
so vibrant and full of life, even a few years
ago. I guess it comes in waves? Kids my age
don’t come to work there during the summer
like they used to. My hope is that Flateyri will
once again find its glory… I would very much
like to go back, and if I find a suitable job, I
probably will. At heart, I am a Flateyringur.”
When asked about the immigrant work-
ers, Georg says he has no qualms with them
and counts many of them as acquaintances.
“You try to be friendly, inviting them to af-
ter-parties and such, often they come. I guess
some of them keep to themselves, although
that is understandable in a way, and maybe
some of them are a little afraid?”
Ultimately, Ragnarsson has a positive
outlook on the future of Flateyri, telling me
that “Flateyri has a bright future ahead of
it. There’s always someone doing something
cool over there, some artists recently bought
a house there and are remodelling it, and I
hear that Önni [more on him later] is build-
ing a professional studio there. Yeah, I think
that we’ll see people building new houses in
Flateyri soon enough.”
Halldór Gunnar Pálsson currently works
as manager of the Skífan record store on
Laugavegur, the main shopping street in Rey-
kjavík. He is 25, born and raised in Flateyri
and, like Georg, really loves the town. “Man,
Flateyri was the best place to grow up in, at
least for a kid like myself. In those days, we
had 50-60 kids roaming the streets without
parental supervision every night, looking for
mischief and often finding it. And the whole
town was very lively. You have to understand
that in those days, before the tunnel and our
joining Ísafjörður, we had a thriving main
street. A post office, bank, bakery, two con-
venience stores, a video store, a bookstore and
pub.
“The town’s population counted 500
people back then, and we had a lot of migrant
workers from Australia and South Africa
who were there just for the thrill of it, as op-
posed to saving money like I guess some of
our current ones are. They went out drinking
and spent their money freely, participating in
every activity. The immigrants now are busy
keeping their families back home fed while
the Australians were just young people look-
ing for adventure. Flateyri was a world in and
of itself, especially during the winter when
communications with the rest of the country
were often severed. Driving to Ísafjörður on a
whim was not plausible back then, the way it
is now the tunnels are here.”
I bring up the avalanche – surely that must
have been the key factor in the town’s chang-
ing character.
“In such a small town, you know everyone.
It doesn’t matter if it was family or not, you
know and love everyone. And it really hurt.
It really hurt and was a great loss to every
Flateyringur. Last year, when ten years had
passed since the tragedy occurred, one inevi-
tably got to thinking about it again. Of course
it affected us greatly, as did the tunnels and
unification to Ísafjörður, although I probably
didn’t give that much thought at the time.
“I guess the townlife would probably be a
lot different had the avalanche never occurred,
although there are a lot of towns that share
Flateyri’s current circumstances without ever
having an avalanche. Mentally, it would be
different. A lot of people can’t envision living
there in light of those events and that certainly
makes a difference. On the other hand, it re-
ally brought us close as a community. There is
a special bond between us. Maybe it’s best not
to speculate.”
Pálsson also says that he is quite happy
that the town is hosting the number of im-
migrant workers that it is, even though he
would be thankful if they participated more.
“I guess we have both. There are Poles there
that I have known since I was a teenager who
participate greatly, then again some of them
only plan on staying short term to save up
some money… If there’s 50 foreigners living
in the 300-person town of Flateyri who stay
to themselves, that of course makes a differ-
ence, much the same as if there were 50,000
foreigners in all of Iceland who kept to them-
selves. I would very much like for some of our
guests to participate more in our community
and on occasion they do and I think it’ll only
increase. The kids in the schools learn our
language and have Icelandic friends, I think it
will all work out in the end.”
With all this, I ask him if he, a young na-
tive of Flateyri, will return.
“The only reason I ever left was so I could
attend the FÍH music school. I am still a
citizen of Flateyri, both mentally and legally.
And I intend to live there again. There are
of course limited job opportunities, I’ve held
nearly every job you can in Flateyri with-
out being in the fishing industry – and I’ve
worked most of the fishing industry jobs too.
Most of them involve teaching. But here’s
what I think: If we indeed plan on living there
in the future, it mostly depends on ourselves.
“We have to create our own opportunities,
and there is a lot of will to do that and a lot of
things working in our favour, such as cheap
housing. You know, Esso planned on closing
their convenience store. Some people from
Flateyri pooled their money, bought it from
them and are now operating it. The same is
happening with the Vagninn pub, which was
bought out by a coalition of townsfolk that is
now in the process of renovating it. There is a
lot of will to live over there and that is impor-
tant and encouraging. No one is handing you
anything in Flateyri. The government’s all but
written us off, but we do things for ourselves
instead and that is going to have to be the
case if we are going to continue to inhabit the
place.
“Of course, most people aren’t interested
in manual labour in the fishing industry any
more. That’s understandable, I’m not and I
won’t pretend I am. But there are a lot of other
options – as if it really matters where your
computer’s located when writing this article,
for instance. The thing is, we have to do it
ourselves, and I think we will. Take my older
brother Önni for instance, he’s 29 and lives
there with his wife and two baby girls. He
makes a living teaching in the Ísafjörður mu-
sic school, produces records by local musicians
and is currently in the process of financing
a recording studio in Flateyri. That’s enter-
prise!”
The new locals
But Flateyri is shaped mostly by the experi-
ence of the immigrant workers, who drive the
economy. Michal Jerzy Kocinski, known to
the locals as Mikki, is 20 years old and moved
to Flateyri from his native home of Darlowo,
Poland (a town slightly larger than Akureyri)
at age 11. “I hated it here at first. My mom
had been working here. She told me I was
visiting for summer vacation and that was
nice enough, but in the fall, when I told her
I wanted to go home, she said I was already
there. That came as a shock.
“I attended the school that fall and it was
awful at first. I didn’t understand the lan-
guage at all and since I was the first Polish kid
to attend the school, they didn’t really know
what to do with me. I spent most of the Ice-
landic classes studying math. I communicated
solely in English at first. And the snow and
mountains were kind of scary. This was a lot
of change for a young man like myself. Then
I made some friends and they taught me the
language – still do in fact. Always correct me
if I misspeak. That’s a lot of help. But for me
to learn the language, I guess it was a lot like
teaching a baby to take its first steps.”
Mikki has lived in Flateyri ever since,
save for a winter in the Sauðárkrókur dorm
(“I did a lot of partying there…”) and really
likes it. “I feel good here. I really don’t want to
go back to Poland, except maybe to vacation.
Flateyri is my hometown and I am one of the
locals.”
An immigrant who came so soon after
the avalanche and who has watched the town
recover, Mikki has a much more optimistic
view than those of us who knew the town be-
fore the avalanche. “Man, Flateyri has gotten
a lot cooler since I first came here. Vagninn
is opening again, that’s awesome; the com-
munity centre was refurbished this winter and
looks really great. New f loors, activities, it
really is something. In my opinion, the town is
steadily getting better. And I am having a lot
of fun here, I know practically everyone in the
neighbouring towns and we have a lot of fun
driving around and meeting people.”
And then Mikki indicates that he truly
has become a local. “I’d like to live here, but I
plan on maybe moving to Reykjavík this fall,
to try and ‘make it’. I’d like to rent an apart-
ment, maybe get a job doing some construc-
tion. I’ve worked in the Kambur fish process-
ing plant and am not interested in doing that
for a living. Not at all. I am studying to be an
engineer and have to complete nine months at
sea to get my rights. I might do that soon, but
I’d like to take a break and live in Reykjavík
for a while first.”
>>> continued from page 21
“I guess the townlife would probably be a lot different
had the avalanche never occurred, although there are a
lot of towns that share Flateyri’s current circumstanc-
es without ever having an avalanche. Mentally, it would
be different. A lot of people can’t envision living there
in light of those events and that certainly makes a dif-
ference. On the other hand, it really brought us close
as a community…”
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