Iceland review - 2006, Blaðsíða 6

hæ,
First, a confession: I haven’t washed my car in months. Last week, I actually had to pull over and
rub snow on my windshield so I could see. So the other day I was getting gas in Reykjavík, and I
had some trouble paying with my credit card. The cashier came to my car to help, and, seeing its
f ilthy state, told an attendant in Icelandic to wash my windshield.
“Útlendingur,” he said to the attendant, by means of explanation, which means “foreigner.” I was
parked at self-serve, where you don’t usually get your windshield cleaned for free. It was a hospi-
table gesture.
It’s also something that happens a lot when you’re in the gap between knowing some of a foreign
language but not enough to live your life in it. You hear things not intended for you. Some are
well-intentioned, like my experience at the gas station; others aren’t, like when“Go home, for-
eigner,” was recently shouted at a friend of mine.
As anyone who’s ever had a roommate will tell you, living with strangers is always a work in
progress for both parties. The events that unfolded around the globe this winter after the publica-
tion of the Muhammed cartoons in a Danish newspaper showed us that shifting demographics are
creating raw, uncharted territory for everyone. Iceland is no exception. As you’ll read in Edward
Weinman’s article “Living in Limbo” and Diana Ferrero’s “Nomad No.1201,” people from around
the world are arriving to Iceland’s shores at an unprecedented rate. They come for money, for love,
to start over, and to survive.
In “Imagine Iceland,” we hear from three California high school students about what their lives
might be like if they made the leap across the Atlantic. Sara Blask and Páll Stefásson hit the road in
the Faroes to see what lies ahead for another island culture. The answer? You never know. Whether
you are leaving your village behind to move to the capital of the Faroe Islands, or crossing the
border from Tijuana to San Diego, when you decide to leave home, it can be a disappointment or
the best decision you ever made.
Featured on this quarter’s cover is a necklace called “Homesick,” dreamed up by Reykjavík artist
Lena Viderø when she left Iceland and realized how much she missed home. I like to think of it
as a tribute to the people moving around the world today: to the homes left behind, and the ones
that haven’t been found yet.
Yours at 64°,
Krista Mahr
Editor
Ps: We’re starting a letters section, and we’d like to hear from you. Please send your letters to:
Editor, Iceland Review. Borgartún 23, 105 Reykjavík, Iceland, or letters@icelandreview.com.
editor
Krista Mahr
assoCiate
& PiCture editor
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Cover Photo
Páll Stefánsson
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From the editor