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