Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.06.2013, Side 18

Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.06.2013, Side 18
Step into the Viking Age Experience Viking-Age Reykja­vík a­t the new Settlement Exhibition. The focus of the exhibition is a­n exca­va­ted longhouse site which da­tes from the 10th century ad. It includes relics of huma­n ha­bita­tion from a­bout 871, the oldest such site found in Icela­nd. Multimedia­ techniques bring Reykja­vík’s pa­st to life, providing visitors with insights into how people lived in the Viking Age, a­nd wha­t the Reykja­vík environment looked like to the first settlers. The exhibition a­nd museum shop a­re open da­ily 10–17 Aða­lstræti 16 101 Reykja­vík / Icela­nd Phone +(354) 411 6370 www.reykja­vikmuseum.is manner. Not long into our chat, I realise I shouldn’t have taken offence at the lady’s mistake. Approximately 4,000 to 7,000 people in Iceland between the ages of 18 and 70—or about 2.5% of the population— suffer from gambling addiction, accord- ing to a study conducted by the Univer- sity of Iceland. “And they come from every stage and layer in our society,” Ási says of the problem gamblers who come in for treatment. Soon after SÁÁ was founded, staff started to notice that there were Iceland- ers not able to take care of their addic- tion to gambling and started offering treatment. “But we did not invent the problem,” Ási says. “The problem was always here.” Ási tells me that about 50% of those he helps are also struggling with other issues. “They have different problems, but they are connected. Sometimes when people try to stop drinking, they start gambling instead.” At SÁÁ, the problems are treated separately. If the gambler cannot stop gambling, he or she is signed up for a motivational group that meets once a week and encourages addicts to rebuild their lives with day-to-day plans. “And if they cannot do that, if they cannot stop gambling, then we send them to Vogur, our rehabilitation centre,” Ási says. Cashing in your chips When I call the gamblers anonymous helpline, Svava answers the phone quiet- ly. A former gambling addict for almost 40 years, she tells me she didn’t realise that she had a problem until she tried to take her own life. “Only then did I re- alise that I was in a bad place,” she says. She tells me at first she did it for the money, but it intensified and soon became more about the release. “I just wanted to be alone in my place where I was gambling,” she says dejectedly. She pauses and takes a deep breath before saying quietly, “I was financially ruined when I quit.” Svava is much better off than others though. Weekly, she speaks with people who are gambling with their houses, their cars, their whole lives. Although now sober for two and a half years, Svava doesn’t believe her addiction has improved much since she quit. “I went to a place with a slot ma- chine the other day and I got a real…” she hesitates for a moment before con- tinuing, “It wasn’t a good feeling. It was like the slot machine hit me back. Then I understood I was just the same distance from my addiction as the day I quit.” So what’s different now? “I have a family around me to help, and gamblers anonymous,” she replies contentedly. The science of slot machines Ási bemoans that gambling addiction is too often talked about the way alco- holism was talked about 30 years ago. “People ask gamblers, ‘Why don’t you just stop gambling?’ It is easier to un- derstand why it’s hard to stop drinking. But it’s a similar thing going on in their heads. Their brain releases these…” Ási leans back and strokes his beard, stuck on the word. “The brain releases these [endorphins], then you get drunk. The gambler’s brain can do this through the eyes and ears and the thought of getting a big win soon.” My attention is directed to a diagram showing two almost identical images of a human brain, with the same small spot glowing yellow on each. I am told the one on the left is of a cocaine addict being exposed to cocaine use, while the one on the right is of a gambling addict being exposed to gambling. “You have heard of Pavlov’s dogs?” Ási asks me. “Where he rings the bell and gives them something to eat, and then they connect the food to the bell. That’s part of what happens,” he says. “The gambler sees things and connects it to money.” Svava can relate to the experience. “I was just watching a film the other day with my husband and it was set in a casino. I heard the noise of slot machines in the background; he didn’t. I noticed the slot machines; he didn’t—he just saw the people.” Her voice drops an octave. “That’s how the sickness is, you never get over it, but you have to control it.” I ask whether she still feels the temp- tation to gamble. “I have thought about it, not every day, but at least three or four times a week. I’m always just one step from the slot machines, the same as I was two and a half years ago.” Recognising symbols Back at SÁÁ, I am invited to wheel my- self over to Ási’s desk for a science les- son. He pulls out a sheet of paper, and starts explaining the process of gam- bling addiction. “You see, in the beginning when a gambler starts, he’s just having fun. He might start by putting 100 ISK in and just walking away. But then one day the machine gives him 1,000 ISK, and he starts to see the machine more often, and to put more money in. And the purpose of the machine is to tell you that you had something to do with this game.” Ási draws some symbols on the page representing the icons on the slot ma- chine. “Slowly the gambler starts to rec- ognise things. Say there are three ‘X’s in a row like this,” he says scribbling, “and then the fourth one is a ‘0’. The gambler sees this as a near win. So he starts to think he’s doing something right, that he’s close. But the reality is he lost.” Part of the treatment at SÁÁ involves educating the gamblers about why they’re addicted to gambling. “They are usually very defensive in the beginning, but when they understand that I am on their side, it’s easy to talk to them,” he says. While most in treatment grasp the concept very quickly, less are success- ful in completely quitting on their first attempt. Ási says for the gambler to con- tinue gambling they need to have some- thing to hold on to. “Some start to get hooked on num- bers, special numbers, special dates. Some amounts of winnings. On the bus going downtown, they might see a car with the license number RE213, and they are maybe reminded of winning 213 ISK, and think ‘we should gamble now,’” he explains. “We call it magical thinking.” Over the phone, Svava tells me for many years she thought she was the only one in Iceland who had a problem. “Then when I went to rehab I learnt that this thinking was a sickness.” Switching off the machines Even though SÁÁ receives much of its funding from Íslandsspil, one of the largest gaming groups in Iceland, Ási would still ban all gambling in Iceland if it were up to him. “In my opinion they are engineered for the gambling addicts. The machine wants the gambler to gamble,” he says. In recent years SÁÁ has seen the problem moving from the slot machines to the internet, which Ási says is a de- sired environment for the gambler, to be able to gamble alone in the comfort of his or her own home. Last year, then Minister of the Inte- rior Ögmundur Jónasson announced his intention to submit a bill to parliament that would, among other things, place a ban on internet gambling in Iceland. Part of the problem with internet gambling in Ási’s opinion is the easy ac- cess it allows young people who, due to age restrictions, are not able to operate slot machines. Year after year, he says he sees younger and younger people com- ing in for treatment. “The youngest one I’ve ever talked to was 14-years-old, and he’d had this prob- lem for some time. He was so ashamed that he was losing so much money gam- bling that he told his parents he was us- ing drugs. He wasn’t, but it was easier for him to be able to explain where all the money went.” Svava says she receives more calls from young people each year and be- lieves that since Iceland’s economic col- lapse things have worsened. The first thing Svava tells such gam- blers when they call is not to think about what they have done, but instead about what they want to do. “You can’t get back what you have put into the slot ma- chine, but you can live on,” she says. “But first they have to admit to them- selves they’re a gambler and that they want help. It’s not enough that I want to help them. They also have to help them- selves.” (just like we had supposedly done. Ehrm). The idea that Iceland was a beacon of democracy and common sense was especially popular in Spain for some reason (Spain was and is going through some of the same stuff we did, albeit on a much larger, more serious scale). One of the results of Iceland's newfound popularity in the region (we can only guess) was that during the summer of 2011 Grapevine all of the sudden found itself employing not one, not two, but THREE interns from Spain simultaneously; the very wonderful Félix, Marta and José. They were eager and enthusias- tic interns, ready and willing to do whatever it took. However, it soon became apparent that their English language skills left a lot to be desired and we found ourselves lacking in tasks to assign them. But hey, it was summer, we had plenty of pages to spare—why not go ahead and just print a Spanish language section every now and again? It made more sense than hiring non-English speak- ing interns at an English language magazine anyway. So for a brief pe- riod in the summer of 2011 we were a bilingual publication. First bar guide - first mobile app Why it took us eight years to finally get to making a complete Bar Guide for Reykjavík is a mystery, but we eventually got around to it. Having a list of every happy hour in town (of which there were few at the time) also seemed quite useful in the mind of borderline alcoholics on journalist salaries. It was a rough birth—there were a lot more bars around than we had anticipated, but we pulled through like we mostly always do. A year later we debuted our fancy APPY HOUR GUIDE APP ("the app that fucks you up"—we are eternally subtle), which was based on all that, hic, research we did and is by now essential for any self respecting Reykjavík drinker. Turn to the centre spread to read our 2013 bar guide—it's right here! First decade By the time you read this, it has been a whole decade of The Reykja- vík Grapevine. An English language magazine distributed for free to any- one willing to read it. It was hard to pitch this idea to potential advertis- ers a decade ago, but now we are part of the life in Reykjavík and in Iceland. I wonder what ideas kids are pitching to potential sponsors these days, probably something in- volving some i-gadget or the inter- webs. But we expect to still be here after another decade has passed. Continued 18The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 7 — 2013 Then I under- stood I was just the same dis- tance from my addiction as the day I quit. “ „ Continues from page 16

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