Reykjavík Grapevine - 15.08.2008, Síða 6

6 | REYKJAVÍK GRAPEVINE | ISSUE 12—2008
INTERvIEW BY BY HAukuR S. MAgnúSSon — pHoTo BY gASOPINION
Grímur AtlAson: the future's so briGht, he should be weArinG shAdes.
Tell us about yourself, your background and
how you wound up becoming mayor of two
small towns
I was born in Reykjavík, but as a first generation
“gravel dweller”, meaning that my parents are
emigrated to the city from the small towns they
originate from. As such, I have strong ties to the
Icelandic countryside and spent all the summers
of my youth either in the small town of Raufarhöfn
or at farms in the country. I have a degree in So-
cial Pedagogy and father a large family, with four
children.
I started playing in bands in my teens and
it quickly became apparent that I had a knack for
organisation and management, so I often over-
saw that aspect. I also started promoting shows
through my school’s arts clubs; one of my first
ventures into that world was when I booked the
Happy Mondays to play here in 1990. I’ve held jobs
in the care industry since school. For the last de-
cade I’ve gotten more and more involved in the
music industry, as a promoter, along with actively
participating in politics, representing political
parties [namely the Left Greens and the Left Co-
alition] in various boards and councils. Then, in
2006, I was appointed mayor of [small Westfjords
town] Bolungarvík, effectively starting my govern-
ment career. To sum it up, you could say I started
off in the care industry, moving along to the mu-
sic business before settling in my current post as
mayor. But I still play music.
I’ve never been the “101 or death” type, so
moving out of Reykjavík was an easy decision.
As I said, my base is in the countryside, and be-
ing there has always felt good for me. I attended
Ísafjörður’s Aldrei fór ég suður [I never went south]
festival with my wife in 2004, and that was the first
time I visited the Westfjords, even though my fa-
ther was born in Súðavík. To put it plainly, some-
thing within me clicked and I started thinking that
maybe the region offered a lifestyle that could suit
the family. I even looked at some houses. And
when I got the job of Mayor in Bolungarvík, we
decided to jump at the opportunity.
And then you left Bolungarvík this spring
and became Mayor of Dalabyggð.
Yes, after the majority in Bolungarvík burst and
I had to abandon my post I was disappointed. I
wanted to continue with the
great work we’d been doing. So I
feel taking the job in Dalabyggð
is an opportunity to do that, in
a way.
As a born and bred Reykjavík
dweller, what is your experi-
ence of living in these small
towns? What are some of the
benefits and downsides in-
volved?
It’s a good life. I felt very good in
Bolungarvík, and I just moved to
Búðardalur and am happy here.
Sitting by the window in the eve-
nings, looking over Hvammsfjörður, surrounded
by mountains and valleys. This is a beautiful envi-
ronment, and a good and wholesome one to raise
children. Shorter distances mean less time spent
behind the wheel. That’s also very economical.
This is the main difference between life in cities
and small towns is probably the simplicity of it,
and therefore its quality, is much greater.
Of course life here has its downsides. There’s
no Bónus store in Dalabyggð, so we have to pay
three or four times the price for many household
necessities. But I digress, complaining isn’t what
life here is about. It’s not about the bad roads or
Internet connections, it’s about something else.
People tend to focus on the wrong things, com-
plaining about trivialities instead of looking at the
big picture and what each place has to offer. Of
course it would be great to have a Bónus here, but
an incessant complaints choir will not encourage
them – or anyone – to come.
What are some of the problems faced by Ice-
land’s smaller towns?
The countryside’s biggest problem is probably the
government’s regional policy, that’s been effect for
30, 40 or even 50 years. It is incredibly short sight-
ed and mainly involves building roads that ensure
local produce can be moved quickly to Reykjavík
harbour, where it can be shipped abroad. This
means that less value is created locally – it’s all
shipped to the capital. This is the dumb hand of
efficiency at work; changes and things that may
seem convenient and clever for the short term of-
ten have the opposite effect in the long run. We
seem unable to look beyond four years in either
direction, which is a problem. If we focus on the
long term, if we look back twenty or thirty years
and see what we could have done differently then,
we have a much better chance for success.
A lot of mistakes like this have been made,
that have resulted in rural Iceland being drained
of good people and left with a
negative vibe. And that’s per-
haps our biggest problem; we’re
stuck with a feeling of loss, with
thinking about what’s wrong and
what needs to be different. This
makes us forget what we have,
the qualities of life that are right
by our doorstep. This is partly
a result to the quick transition
Iceland went through, from be-
ing a nation of oppressed farm-
ers in huts to living in towns and
cities, elsewhere in Europe this
development took much longer
and was therefore more balanced.
But the future is bright for Iceland’s small
towns, and there are many opportunities here.
We just need to adapt to the current situation and
build on that. People have already started looking
to life outside of Reykjavík; people can do their
work anywhere now and if the smaller towns with
their pristine environments are cheaper, healthier
and more fitting for raising families, then why stay
in the city? The future is definitely bright.
When I first came to Iceland as a tourist two years
ago, I was astonished at how friendly everyone
was, especially at dawn when liquor bottles had
vanished into seeping mouths. My first night I
walked around aimlessly until I got to Austurvöllur,
where I saw a group of people attempting to play
Twister. Apparently my facial expressions weren’t
subtle because one of the participants came over
and made the following remarks: “You must think
us Icelanders are fucking crazy!” and the question
I would hear from that day on: “How do you like
Iceland?” My answers were: “No,” and “I have only
been here for a few hours.” I was immediately
asked to join them in the rúntur, to take a toke, and
to drink my weight in vodka. It was a welcoming
committee befitted for a king or a member of the
Rolling Stones.
Once I mustered up the courage to island
hop over here where the cool oozes unto the
polyphonic streets, I discovered the Great Wall
of Iceland. It is invisible to the naked eye but
nonetheless strong as steel. It is a subconscious
wall that maybe Icelanders aren’t even aware of.
Or maybe I have x-ray vision because I come from
a culture that is outgoing and loud to the point of
obnoxiousness, but with those qualities comes an
open arms mentality.
This wall is the arm lengths friendships that
tend to form between Icelanders and foreigners
living in their country. It is as if Icelanders are
one big tribe and the only way to join is through
marriage or partnerships. Icelanders’ genuine
friendliness, giving nature and curiosity towards
foreigners still amazes me. I have actually made
a lot of acquaintances because of where I am
from and Icelanders wanting to know more about
my country, Puerto Rico. However, it has been
very hard to climb over that Great Wall from
acquaintance to friend. Upon talking to foreigners
who have lived here from several years to a decade,
I have been told that they still deal with this great
divide and that falling in love with an Icelander
coincided with their kinship acceptance.
I admit that my expectations were high after
having experienced such riveting conversations
and drunken stupors (separately) with the
Reykjavíkians. They were also high because the
motto in my culture is “mi casa es tu casa,” which
means my home is your home. Therefore I am
used to inviting people into my life and my home
with great ease and joy.
I have chipped at some bricks and managed
a few peepholes and good friends at the other
side. As I squint with my x-ray vision, I can see the
Great Wall about to crumble.
Staying Focused
A gravel dweller discovers his country
IT’S noT ABouT THe BAD RoADS oR
InTeRneT connecTIonS, IT’S ABouT
SoMeTHIng eLSe. peopLe TenD
To focuS on THe wRong THIngS,
coMpLAInIng ABouT TRIvIALITIeS
InSTeAD of LookIng AT THe BIg
pIcTuRe AnD wHAT eAcH pLAce
HAS To offeR.
The Great Wall
of Iceland
BY ALexAnDRA HeRTeLL
Concert promoter, bass player,
social pedagogue and recently
instated mayor of Dalabyggð
Grímur Atlason is a true jack of all
trades and has recently become a
powerful spokesman for Iceland’s
countryside. The Grapevine caught
up with him and learned his take
on life in Reykjavík, outside Reyk-
javík and the difference between
the two.
Dalabyggð is located two
hours (153 Km) north of Reyk-
javík and counts 700 inhabit-
ants. Its main municipality is
Búðardalur (pop. 249). The
region is very rich in history;
it has been populated since
the settlement of Iceland and
counts Leifur Eiríksson (“Leif
the lucky”) as one of its first
inhabitants.