Reykjavík Grapevine - 29.08.2014, Síða 33
33The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 13 2014 OPINION
Savvy Icelanders have always been
adept at finding their golden eggs. First,
the nation got rich by working for the
UK and US militaries who looked after
us through the Second World War. You
could say that Iceland came jumping out
of the third world during the war. Plainly:
it made us rich. When that was over, a
lot of herring came swimming by, and we
sought to kill and sell all of it, constructing
herring processing plants all over the
country. Those currently stand empty,
looking all cool and mysterious. Hard
work used to be considered a virtue; the
people working during the herring boom
would sometimes
fall asleep standing
on the “salting
harbour,” only to
wake up a few
minutes later to
start anew. When
I speak to my dad
(who is 88 years
old) about this, he
kind of brags about
all the sixteen-
hour workdays he
put in—“It wasn’t
so difficult, I did it
often," he’ll say. Meanwhile, my mother
(who is 86) starts every conversation
by asking, "What are you working on
now?" She doesn't quite get this crazy
freelance business I am in, so I get all
defensive and usually snap at her. They
are from a different generation, you see.
“The hard-working generation.”
Get rich, hurry!
While Icelanders once considered
working hard a virtue, getting rich quick
has always been our main goal. After the
herring “adventure,” many more booms
(and subsequent busts) have followed.
At one time, everybody though breeding
mink for their fur was the thing. The reef
was quickly filled up with mink farms. A
little after that, harnessing waterfalls for
electricity became the main obsession.
And now, it's the tourist business.
You foreign visitors reading this are our
new herring and mink and waterfalls.
Swank hotels are the new mink farms,
the new herring plants. We're currently
right in the middle of a tourist boom,
and a lot of folks are already starting to
worry. Will this end with an inevitable
bummer? Will all those hotels stand
empty in a few years’ time, when the
tourists come to their senses and stop
hanging out in Iceland?
People are also getting kind
of tired of the tourists. They are all
around and there's
so many of them.
The foreign people
are “trampling on
our grounds” and
Icelanders now even
have to queue up for
their pylsa and putrid
shark. Some say that
we should switch
our focus to “rich
tourists”—harvesting
golden eggs from a
few really fat geese
instead of a bunch
of scrawny ones that—gosh!—even bring
their own food. To this, I say: why don’t
we concentrate on just getting ONE
tourist, the richest man on the planet, to
spend all his money here? Is that too far
fetched?
Before the gold rush
I remember Iceland before the tourist
boom, when the only visitors were a
few Germans with a geology fetish. On
any given day there was hardly anyone
to be seen on the streets of Reykjavík.
You could have them all to yourself. Even
though I am an introvert, I think more
people equals more fun—even though I
might have to wait in line for my pylsa.
On the other hand, delicate landscapes
should be protected, we shouldn’t allow
them to be trampled down by a massive
onslaught of foreign visitors.
I thus welcome the tourist swarm.
I think foreign people—usually really
weird ones if they come here in the first
place (and weird is good)—make living
in Iceland more fun. We have so many
more nice restaurants than before, and
more successful concerts. Wonderful
things like Iceland Airwaves and ATP
festivals are able to happen because of
tourism. And that’s great.
I went to Gullfoss and Geysir this
summer. Both places were packed with
people, most of them foreign. It felt a bit
like some random tourist trap. So what—
the waterfall is still as great, and getting
soaked by Strokkur's gush is just as
much fun as it ever was.
This summer I have seen way
more hitchhikers than ever before. I
drove a young couple from France to
the airport. It made my ride a lot more
fun. They were saving every penny, and
didn't even go to the Blue Lagoon—or
“Satan’s Mudpit,” as I like to call it. They
were subjected to pouring rain for the
entire duration of their stay, but still
liked the experience, I think (they hardly
spoke English). When I went hiking up
Kaldbakur, the Westfjords’ highest peak
(at 998 metres), I encountered a French
biology teacher who was hitching a ride.
My group took her in, and she made the
hike with us. The trip was more fun. I got
to practise my French, she gave us exotic
nuts and fruits she had brought along,
and we had someone to snap a picture
of us at the top.
So by all means, my fellow
Icelanders, just chill out with the tourists.
There are still many places you can go to
if you want to experience the “good old
times” of hardly seeing anyone on the
streets.
May I suggest Þorlákshöfn if you
want to be alone with your thoughts?
“People are also getting
kind of tired of the tour-
ists. They are all around
and there's so many of
them. The foreign people
are “trampling on our
grounds” and Icelanders
now even have to queue
up for their pylsa and
putrid shark.”
All you need
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To generalise: Icelanders are a greedy bunch. After we escaped from the claws of Danish
colonialist rule, the national imperative has been to make as much money as possible.
You can say money makes Iceland turn, even though the Mickey Mouse money we call
“the Icelandic króna” hardly qualifies as a currency. I guess we're no different than any
other Western country then.
Photo
Sigtryggur Ari/DV ehf.
Words
Dr. Gunni is a writer and pop historian. He most recently authored
‘Blue Eyed Pop—The History Of Popular Music In Iceland.’
More People =
More Fun