Reykjavík Grapevine - 29.08.2014, Blaðsíða 24
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The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 13 — 2014
In fact, it was probably the Irish who ar-
rived first of all, as the Sagas mention the
presence of Irish monks predating any
Norse settlement. No one knows how
long they stayed, as they disappear quite
suddenly from the sources, perhaps after
incidents involving Viking battle-axes, or
perhaps departing of their own accord
to pre-empt such incidents. In any case,
they may have used Iceland as some sort
of spiritual retreat, entering the annals of
history as Iceland’s first ever tourists.
The Dog-Day King
It was only in the late 18th and early 19th
centuries—when young aristocrats start-
ed travelling the world, inventing mod-
ern tourism in the process—that people
started visiting Iceland to see the sights.
Incidentally, much like the ongoing tour-
ism boom, this one was presaged by a
volcanic eruption. In 1783 Laki erupted,
killing almost quarter of the population
and blowing ash everywhere, destroying
crops all over Europe, and possibly caus-
ing the widespread hardships that led to
the French Revolution. The sans-culottes
may not have been aware of the Iceland
connection, but in 1809, the revolution
came these shores in the form of Iceland’s
most famous 19th Century visitor, Jörgen
Jörgensen.
Jörgen was a Dane, in the service of
English soap merchants. He took over
the country, declared independence from
Denmark and ruled for 100 days before
being deposed by the British Navy, who
then returned the island to the Danes.
Jörgen went to his grave in Australia de-
cades later, still calling himself the King
of Iceland. Over here, he’s still fondly re-
ferred to as Jörgen the Dog-Day King, in
reference to the dog days of summer that
he ruled here.
Of course, Jörgen wasn’t really a tour-
ist without purpose. He came to engage
in trade, and just happened to proclaim
himself ruler of the island during his
visit. His boss, however, a certain Joseph
Banks, can perhaps legitimately be said
to be the first modern tourist to Iceland.
And of course, he came here by accident.
Shakespeare insults us
Iceland is rarely mentioned in English
literature before the late 18th Century,
although a couple of examples do spring
to mind. Shakespeare was apparently
familiar with the Icelandic sheep dog,
“Pish for thee, Iceland Dog! Thou prick-
eared cur of Iceland!“ being one of his
better insults. And
the great scholar Dr.
Samuel Johnson,
a man of wide and
profound learning,
was known for being
able to quote verba-
tim a whole chapter
on snakes in Iceland
from Niels Horre-
bow’s ‘Natural His-
tory of Iceland’ from
1752. It ran thusly:
“There are no snakes
in Iceland.”
But it was Sir Jo-
seph Banks who led
the first English ex-
pedition to Iceland,
thereby bringing the
country to the atten-
tion of educated Eng-
lishmen for the first time.
Sir Banks had in fact been planning
an expedition to the Pacific along with
James Cook, but since this turned out to
be too expensive, he decided on Iceland
instead. A member of Banks’ expedition,
Uno Von Troil, published an account in
which he comments on the country’s
whales, volcanoes and cuisine, but con-
cludes that it is a “dreary land so little
favoured by nature that one is tempted
to believe it impossible to be inhabited
by any human creature.” But, as with
Hrafna-Flóki, Von Troil’s warnings did
not keep people away. Rather the oppo-
site, as English visitors now started com-
ing to our shores, many of them to see the
already-famous volcanoes.
The French discover
Iceland
At the time, Iceland’s best-known sight
was the volcano Hekla. A medical stu-
dent named Henry Holland visited it in
1810, later describing the effect of enter-
ing the crater as “at once extraordinary
and pleasing—The magical palaces of an
eastern tale, could not have been better
illustrated to the eye.”
Holland’s account,
like most travelogues
to this day, describes
Iceland as at once
magical and exotic,
even comparing it to
the orient rather than
to Europe. More trav-
ellers subsequently
came to Iceland in the
19th century; many
of them developing a
deep fascination for
the country, a condi-
tion which later schol-
ars of these travels
have sometimes called
“Iceland on the brain,”
more recently termed
“Icelandophilia.” One
of these new fans was
William Morris, whose translation of the
Icelandic Sagas had a profound impact on
modern day fantasy writers such as CS
Lewis and JRR Tolkien.
The most famous work of 19th cen-
tury literature set in Iceland is of course
Frenchman Jules Verne’s ‘Journey To
The Centre Of The Earth.’ Verne never
actually came to Iceland (in fact, he rarely
left his office), but based his descriptions
on travelogues by his countrymen. The
French scientist Gaimard, referenced by
Verne, explored everything from the Ice-
landic potato to the nether parts of Ice-
landic women to determine if they looked
the same as in other countries.
The invention of the dirty
weekend
By the turn of the 20th Century, then, we
can already see the beginnings of tourism
in Iceland. Perhaps surprisingly, it was
the British who brought environmental
tourism, the Americans who brought cul-
tural tourism and the French who came
to research the loins of local women.
But foreigners only started coming
in large numbers during World War II,
when the British Army arrived in 1940,
with American troops following a year
later. As in the Napoleonic Wars, this was
more to occupy the country than explore
the sights, and after the end of the war,
the soldiers were sent home or confined
to their base in Keflavík. With 60,000
foreign soldiers suddenly stationed in a
country of 120,000, the occupation cer-
tainly increased Icelanders’ awareness of
the outside world, but the outside world
paid little attention in return.
And no wonder. During the first de-
cades of the Cold War, Iceland seemed
a dreary place. There were few visitors,
and it was difficult to leave due to expen-
sive flights and currency restrictions. In
order to get foreign currency, one would
have to make an appointment with a
manager of one of the local banks, and
his goodwill determined how much you
would get. Obviously, it helped if you
were related.
Slower but lower
In the ‘50s, the airline Loftleiðir started
flying transatlantic routes between New
York and Luxemburg employing outdat-
ed propeller aircraft. “We are slower, but
we are lower,” was the company motto.
In the late ’60s, Loftleiðir became known
as “the Hippie Express,” transporting
young Americans to Europe who cared
more about low cost than punctuality.
Among those taking the trip was a young
Bill Clinton. Iceland became a stopover
for transcontinental travellers, but ironi-
cally, it was still very expensive to fly
from Iceland, as the company held a de
facto monopoly. Flights from Iceland to
the USA, for instance, were much more
expensive than the other way around.
Enter Björk
When I was a young lad in the UK in
the ‘80s, Iceland seemed to exist in most
people’s imaginations—if at all—as a little
known place that was probably home to
polar bears and Santa Claus. Icelanders
prided themselves on winning various
Miss World and Strongest Man in the
World titles, cementing the prevailing
image of Iceland as a nation of latter-day
Vikings and supermodel waitresses. But
the proper outside recognition Iceland-
ers so lusted for was in the end spurred
by music.
In the mid-‘80s, the world’s most fa-
mous Icelander was a well-respected fel-
low named Magnus Magnusson, a BBC
TV presenter who was born in Iceland,
but had spent his whole life in Scotland.
As if to assert his Icelandicness, Magnus
went on to translate many of the Sagas
into English, and retained Icelandic citi-
zenship until the day he died.
Then came Björk. When the Sugar-
cubes’ “Birthday" was voted single of the
year by Melody Maker in 1988, young
people in the UK started developing an
interest in the country.
Björk’s solo career started taking off
in 1993, and it wound up bringing even
more international attention than her
band had. Iceland was fast becoming a
modern country, but in the video to her
breakthrough single “Human Behav-
iour,” Björk still can’t resist indulging in
a little bit of Iceland exoticism, which
seems to have not changed much since
the 19th century, presenting herself as a
pixie closely in tune with nature.
Britpop in Iceland
When “Cool Britannia” took off in Lon-
don the next year, Iceland felt the effects
immediately. It had never before seemed
so close to the centre of the universe. In-
stead of the burnt-out hard rock bands
that used to stop by Iceland during the
‘80s (Status Quo, Meatloaf, Kiss, Europe),
some of Britain’s hottest acts started
coming over to play and party as Björk
mingled with the world’s most popular
and progressive acts in London and New
York.
Everyone from Blur’s Damon Albarn
to Mel B of the Spice Girls could now be
spotted on the streets of Reykjavík, some-
times arm in arm with local paramours.
In the wake of Björk, Sigur rós, Gusgus,
múm, Quarashi, and others who made a
splash internationally (the most recent
example being Of Monsters and Men).
The movie ‘101 Reykjavík,’ largely set
in Albarn’s old haunt Kaffibarinn (still
going strong!), helped establish Reyk-
javík as a party Mecca and the Iceland
Airwaves festival, which soon attracted
many visitors, was started in 1999.
And in the wake of the stars came the
general public. Running into tourists, ex-
change students and other visitors to Ice-
land stopped being an oddity and became
a somewhat regular occurrence. Iceland
might still be exotic, but it was no longer
completely unknown.
Everyone knows that Ingólfur Arnarson (that chap with the spear thing on the hill over-
looking the city centre) was Iceland’s first settler. But, he was not the first person to set
foot upon it. A few years before the settlement, which is assumed to have started in 874,
a Swede named Garðar arrived, naming the place Garðarshólmur before abruptly leav-
ing again (thankfully, modern-day Swedish tourists no longer feel entitled to go around
naming the country after themselves). Not long after, a Norwegian named Hrafna-Flóki
(“Raven-Flóki”) arrived to spend an entire winter on the island and, not much impressed,
subsequently re-named it Iceland, as a warning to others. Flóki never returned, but the
name stuck. Iceland’s first tourism boom ended soon after, as people from Flóki’s home-
land, disregarding the brand name, started settling, bringing along scores of reluctant
Irishmen to till the fields and such.
Iceland On The Brain:
1200 Years Of Tourism
In Iceland
Words by Valur Gunnarsson
Photo by Sigtryggur Ari / DV ehf
Feature | Tourism
“Shakespeare was ap-
parently familiar with
the Icelandic sheep dog,
“Pish for thee, Iceland
Dog! Thou prick-eared
cur of Iceland!“ being
one of his better insults.”