Reykjavík Grapevine - jun. 2023, Side 38

The Reykjavík Grapevine 7 / 23 38
Stay like
a local
[ 8 hotels, restaurants
& spas in the heart of
Reykjavik ]
Musings A Story of How Ice-
land Fell
The end of days in the North Atlantic
WORDS Charlie Winters
IMAGE Art Bicnick
Day 5012 since the great
disappearance. The metal shell of
this braggi rattles in the storm. It’s
kept me safe for a while, but the
harðfiskur is running out. Soon I’ll
have to head out into the barren
wastes to scavenge for food. I might
not make it, so just in case, let me
tell you a story: the story of how
Iceland fell.
Rising global temperatures struck
the glaciers first. Mýrdalsjökull and
Langjökull didn’t stand a chance.
Vatnajökull was able to cling to life
a little longer, but soon it too was
simply Vatnavatn. It was still man-
ageable then. They turned the once
mighty ice sheet into a spa and
charged tourists outrageous prices
to wade in the glacial remains. There
were plenty of articles online about
the skin care magic that ancient ice
holds.
That was all fine and well, but we
weren’t ready for the receding wa-
ters.
Iceland is unique as one of the main
effects of melting glaciers is rising
global sea levels – at least that’s the
case everywhere except Iceland.
Vatnajökul’s mass forced the ground
down. As it melted, the land – like
the ISK – began to inflate, raising the
island and causing it to gain land.
This resulted in problems for the
fisheries, which were suddenly far
from the sea. Large swathes of sea
life died out. The tourists still found
ways to fuck with the sneaker waves.
It was not all bad, the land growth
opened up a lot of space for poten-
tial affordable housing. Alþingi acted
swiftly, allocating it for lúxus flats
and five-star hotels. This would be
the last mistake they would make,
for the great disappearance was
about to begin.
With the locals then even more
reliant on the tourist industry it was
horrendous when the geostorms
hit. Icelanders were used to hurri-
cane force winds and hail the size
of Reykjavík’s cats. I don’t think they
even noticed the worsening temper-
atures. But when worsening mon-
soons became more regular, the
roads to Keflavík were permanently
closed. Tourists couldn’t get into
the country. Remember COVID? It
was just like COVID. Everything was
tourist based. And suddenly, they
were gone.
With no tourists to praise them the
locals went mad. Reykjavík turned
into a battleground. Cars and elec-
tric scooters lay overturned on every
corner. Laugavegur was split down
the middle as factions were formed
between the Children of the Church
gang and Harbor Harbingers. Ice-
landers tore each other apart trying
to get the last of the cinnamon rolls
the Bónus staff was hoarding, I still
hear the screams of those poor
teens in their pig shirts in my night-
mares. The city was lost.
The urbanites tried to escape to the
countryside but it was hopeless. The
Selfoss bandits hid under the bridg-
es at Ölfusá and picked off careless
crossers. The doomsayer cults of
Akureyri began their human sacrific-
es not long after the North’s whale
watching ships went out of business.
No one who’s gone to Egilsstaðir has
ever returned.
My radio picked up a broadcast from
Siglufjörður. The journey through the
single lane tunnels will be gruelling
but if there’s hope that anyone else
is out there, I have to try. Plus, if I’m
lucky, the rent might be cheap there.
Alright, wish me luck, I’m going to
ne----