Iceland review - 2012, Qupperneq 41

ICELAND REVIEW 39
not the world—it’s no coincidence that it was picked originally,” says Garðar of the
proximity to the Arctic Ocean and natural hot springs.
He takes us on a tour of the premises. However, the birds are not as welcoming.
Elegant white creatures with black heads, split tails and sharp beaks hover above, let
out high-pitched shrieks and dive towards our heads. “The chicks have hatched and
so the Arctic terns go crazy. I step outside and it feels like Alfred Hitchcock’s The
Birds,” Garðar says of their aggression, eventually resorting to holding a rake above
his head to keep them at bay. His coworkers, Hálfdán Óskarsson (Halli) and Kristinn
Njálsson (Diddi), middle-aged men from Ísafjörður, are unfazed as they fix an electric
cable in a ditch, the terns’ beaks just above their heads. “I needed people with know-
how,” Garðar says, obviously pleased with his new recruits. “We came here and didn’t
know how to do anything—city slickers who suddenly had to dig trenches. We had
studied how to make salt but were otherwise clueless,” he adds referring to himself
and his business partners. Even so, they were welcomed by the rural community on
Reykjanes. “They probably thought we were a little weird. But we didn’t play big
shots.” The salt-makers may have needed local help to get started, yet they can now
pride themselves on the functioning saltworks and gourmet salt that has earned
them fans at home and abroad. “Hagkaup called yesterday and asked why we hadn’t
contacted them,” Garðar says of the leading department store chain in Iceland. “They
had finished our supply.”
We walk towards the tanks where the seawater is boiled, a heritage of the salmon
farming station. Garðar leads us up a ladder, daring us to follow him to the rim and
look down. “We haven’t built stairs yet,” he apologizes, adding that a roof is also
planned. Balancing on the rim, he crosses over to the other side and takes a seat, warn-
ing us not to fall into the 60°C (140°F) hot water. The salt concentration has reached
20 percent, just like in the Dead Sea. Excess geothermal water from a borehole—
such as that used all over Iceland for heating houses and generating electricity—is
pumped into ovens that slowly bring the sea water in the tanks to the boiling point.
The seawater comes from the Arctic Ocean, channeled through pipes off Reykjanes.
From the tanks it flows into the heart of the production, the saltworks building where
Garðar welcomed us. Inside the air is hot and damp. In an open steel pan, the seawa-
ter continues to be boiled with geothermal water channeled under the pan. Crystals
form on the surface and Garðar uses a shovel to sink them to the bottom. When the
concentration is right, the salt is shoveled out of the pan and dried in wooden draw-
ers, using geothermal steam. “It’s basically dried sea,” explains Garðar, adding that the
salt from Saltverk Reykjaness is tastier and healthier than rock salt from salt mines, as
it includes a lower percentage of sodium chloride and more trace minerals. The taste,
shape and size of the crystals have to be perfect before the salt is shipped to Reykjavík
for packing. If not, it goes back into the pan for recycling.
It’s time for a coffee break and Garðar beckons Halli and Diddi to come join us. On
a whiteboard in the small room out front, the company’s future plans are laid out. “We
will build the foundation for a new saltworks in the autumn,” Garðar tells us, “and
From left: Diddi, Garðar and Halli in front
of the tank where the seawater is boiled.
Salt crystals form on the surface of the
boiling seawater in an open steel
pan inside the saltworks.
INNOVATION