Reykjavík Grapevine - 15.08.2014, Side 38

As a proud Mexican and avid Iceland
enthusiast, these questions intrigued me
enough to send me looking for some an-
swers. Over the next few issues, I will be
profiling a small part of Iceland’s Mexican
population, documenting their hopes and
dreams and the manifold challenges they
face.
Vopnafjörður: Arlette Moreno
Vopnafjörður, Northeast Iceland, 621 km
from Reykjavík.
At 7am, the night still lingers, dark-
ness still reigns. Arlette Moreno opens her
eyes and slowly realises she can snooze
another fifteen minutes before it’s time to
start the day. From her bedroom window,
she can see her garden and the majes-
tic ocean view that lies beyond. It’s early
March and the air is bitter cold, but at least
it stopped snowing. For now.
Vopnafjörður, which Arlette Moreno
calls home—along with 668 other inhabit-
ants—is a tiny village comfortably nestled
in a fjord on the outskirts of Iceland. When
she first conversed with her now-husband
Svanur over the Internet, she told him that
she was from a very small town in Mexico.
He kept insisting he came from a much
smaller place. But never could she have
imagined...
Arlette hails from Saltillo, the capital
of the Mexican state of Coahuila, about
400 km south of Texas (pop. 823,000).
Obviously, relocating to a tiny hamlet on
the edge of the Arctic Circle took some
serious adjustment. “Before I came to Ice-
land, I had never lived on a farm. And now,
I’m here. My daughter and I are the only
Latinas in town. Everything in our lives
changed.” She continues, remarking that
the experience of moving to Vopnafjörður
was “not unlike joining a large family;
one where everyone always says ‘hi’ and
is happy to lend a hand. That sensation,
of every person you meet knowing your
name, it’s quite something.”
She talks about her husband, Svanur,
and reminisces about their courtship. “He
visited me in Saltillo in 2008; that was the
first time we met in person. He didn’t say
much. Icelanders are
very quiet. They don’t
tend to express their
feelings as much as
we Mexicans do,”
she says, smiling. As
the couple’s romance
grew, Arlette decided
to leave Mexico and
move to Iceland,
bringing along her
daughter, who was
ten years old at the
time. “First I told my
parents. Then I told
my daughter’s dad,
who lives in the US—
he agreed this was
the best for us. So
I left everything, and moved to Iceland
in February of 2009.” Once Arlette and
Svanur settled in, the couple decided to
expand the family and now have a son
of their own, Christopher Francis, who is
four-years old.
First impressions
During those initial months in Iceland,
Arlette became familiar with the luxury
of slowing down. “Everyone here is very
relaxed. In Mexico, when you go to work,
you don’t stop,” she admits. She says she
had no prior idea what being a farmer’s
wife entailed, having spent her entire life
in big cities. “That first day he took me to
the farm, I kept thinking: ‘OK, let’s do this!
What do I do, what do I do?’ But instead
of rushing to get things done, he sat me
down and gave me some coffee,” she says.
In Vopnafjörður—far removed from the
hustle and bustle of big
cities—there is no need to
hurry, she learned.
Arlette says that
Iceland is very different
from any place she has
inhabited. “There are no
high schools in my town,”
she says. “My daughter
is fifteen years-old by
now, and she will have
to relocate elsewhere to
get an education beyond
grade school [in Iceland,
teenagers aged 16–20 at-
tend ‘menntaskóli,’ a non-
mandatory amalgam of
high school and college]
And, as most Iceland-
ers know, those who leave usually don’t
come back. “Teenagers nowadays are not
very interested in becoming farmers,” she
says. Arlette’s daughter is already thinking
of leaving the nest and moving to a big-
ger city, perhaps even in a bigger country.
“The thing with my daughter,” Arlette says,
“is that she arrived here when she was 10
years-old; she remembers life in America.
She knows what’s out there, and that’s
what she longs for after she’s done with
According to the Mexican Embassy in Denmark, there are currently 50 Mexicans living in
Iceland. That’s enough people to fill a decent party. Maybe. Indeed, those 50 Mexicans only
amount to roughly .00004% of Mexico’s population, and a mere .01% of the admittedly spars-
er Icelandic populace. However, considering how far removed Iceland is from Mexico—geo-
graphically and culturally—that number becomes a little more impressive. 50 Mexicans. In
Iceland. Who are they? How did they get here? What inspired them to seek their fortune on
a remote rock on the outskirts of the North Atlantic? And, most importantly, how are they
adapting to life in a culture that is so different from the one they were born into?
Words
Jessica Solt
Photos
Julia Staples
38 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 12 — 2014HUMANS
>LVMMLY6MMLYZ
JVT
^^ ̂PJLSHUKVMMLYZJVT
www.thjodminjasafn.is
Suðurgata 41 / 101 Reykjavík
Along with the permanent exhibition
that features Iceland’s history from
settlement to present day the
museum offers a variety of exhibitions
during the year, e.g. on Icelandic
silver and photography.
The National
Museum of
Iceland
Mexicans:
They’re
Everywhere!
Part 1
From City To Farmland
“First I told my parents.
Then I told my daugh-
ter’s dad, who lives in
the US—he agreed this
was the best for us. So
I left everything, and
moved to Iceland in
February of 2009.”
Coming up next issue: More Mexicans in Iceland! But, when will they
start making us proper versions of their wonderful food?!?
INTER
VIEW
inn,“ which sounds like a seedy motel
in Greenland. Muck finished their set
strumming their instruments, unplugged
from amps—a clever, understated end-
ing, which drew attention to the distinc-
The next act, a piece of performance
art by the Shivering Man, drew the
crowd in, finally. But not in a conven-
tional way: Sigtryggur Berg Sigmars-
son (Shivering Man), entered, shouted
at the crowd, got naked and lip-synced
to Klaus Nomi. Finally, the curious audi-
Ojba Rasta followed, and their well-
polished, well-balanced live sound fi-
nally got people moving. It didn’t matter
that some of their lyrics are pretty vapid:
“It's all good, it's alright / I feel jolly good
tonight.” At least people were dancing. I
had to leave to catch sleep before an 8
am bus ride (which I ended up missing
anyway). But I was happy that the awk-
ward energy had dissipated in dancing
by the time I left. I can only imagine that
R&B outfit Úlfur Úlfur and electronic
musician Oculus kept people moving