Be warned,
Iceland, your toes are about to get stepped on by a loud, pushy American.
Any
conversation about life and culture in Iceland exists against the backdrop of its
size. By which I mean, it is impossible to move discussion forward in a
meaningful way without a nod to the size of Iceland and the impacts that size
has on its people and culture. So bear with me a moment, while I respectfully
and with the deepest love possible, tear this tiny little island to pieces with
my big-bossy-loud-mouthy American perspective on things.
Most of the time, Icelanders could do
with a big bite of Humble Pie. There is an
inflated, Viking-like sense of self-importance that has often landed our cute
little nation in some seriously hot water. I mean, if you look at a map of the world, Iceland is in the center at the very top. No wonder we think we're The Shit.
Truth telling time.
To begin
with, more people live in Wichita, Kansas than the whole of Iceland. There are
roughly 320,000 people living here now, about two-thirds of whom are in the
“capital area” which includes Reykjavik and the surrounding municipalities. You
could drive around the whole country in 24 hours. To do that, you would just
hop on Highway 1 (you know, because there is just the one, really, and it’s
pretty much all paved…mostly….) and then drive either clockwise, or
counterclockwise (if you are feelin’ freaky) and go until you end up where you
started. So, both in terms of population and geography, Iceland isn’t all that
big.
Living here
warps your perspective of space and time. I grew up out in the boonies, with
chickens and pigs and sheep and whatnot. When we needed to go to the grocery
store, it was a 20 minute drive. I commuted 45 minutes each way in rush hour to
get to my high school. If you were to start in any populated space in Iceland
and drive for 45 minutes in any direction, you would end up in the middle of a
lava field, up a glacier, or deep in a fjord somewhere. In Iceland, the “other
side of town” is never more than a 15 minute drive, but because it is as far as
you can possibly go before you it barren wilderness, it feels like the other
side of the planet. The result is a distorted sense of distance and the time it
should take you to get to the place you want to go. I have been in an Icelandic
traffic jam. It feels just as frustrating as sitting in traffic anywhere, but I
contest that unless you have been in a *real* traffic jam, say on a five lane
highway stuck for two hours in the US, you don’t get to bitch about a 10 minute
delay on your way to work.
|
Icelandic traffic jam. |
Also, sorry
to bust your bubble, folks, but Reykjavik isn’t a city, it is a town. And a
cute one at that. My first ever trip to Iceland was in the summer of 2006.
As I wandered the streets of Reykjavik, I kept commenting, “Oh my gosh, look at
how cute that house is!” and “Oh how sweet, there’s a little square with people
playing games, cute!” and “Awe, there’s a little cute pond with ducks and
stuff!” Much to the irritation of my companion, who turned to me and said,
“Stop saying everything is cute! We’re VIKINGS!” Riiiiight. Noted. And all
these years later, I still think this is the most adorable little town I have
ever seen. And also very tough. You’re a tough witto Weykjavik, aren’tchoo?
Sweet colorful woofs. D’awwww.
When you
live here, it is easy to slip into the feeling that Iceland is the whole world.
Iceland has a big heart in a cute little
package. The best way I can describe the Icelandic pride is to compare it to
Small Dog Syndrome, which according to Urban Dictionary is, “A disease usually
exhibited by those of small stature, in which they constantly threaten to 'beat
the shit out of' people many times their size. The name is derived from the
fact that many breeds of small dog (ex. chihuahuas) are usually vicious, yet
they can do no real harm.”
Maybe
because it is small, maybe because it is young, Iceland is like a teenager that
finally has the keys to the car, and is fiercely determined to do whatever the
fuck it wants. As anyone who has read Halldor Laxness can attest, independence is
one of the most fiercely guarded virtues of the country, even when it is to the
detriment of people here.
When paired
with national pride, this stubborn independence can have preposterous effects. We
Icelanders will proudly tell you all about the time we defeated the British
Empire back in the Cod Wars of ’73. We
think that there is a chance that maybe this time, just maybe, we could beat
Germany in football. Stranger things have happened. We think, “Hey, this
international banking thing isn’t so hard. We can make a shit-ton of money!” (aaand,
cue total economic collapse and ensuing disaster) We think, “Fuck you, European
Union! Eat me, IMF, I don’t wanna pay you back! I can hunt whales if I want to!
Don’t tell me what to do! I don’t even want the Euro! It totally makes sense for
an isolated island with less than 400,000 people that survives on international
trade to have its own unique currency! Fine, I am going to my room, I wish I
was never born!” You get the picture.
Then there
are the effects of living in a tightly knit community, which can be good or
bad, depending on your perspective. I choose to like it. In a small place like
Iceland, there is essentially no privacy. No anonymity. Everybody knows
everybody else, or at least knows a common friend or relative. The first thing
Icelanders ask when they meet one another for the first time is where they are
from. This is an attempt to map out a common relation. “Oh, you grew up in Isafjörður. My cousin moved there. Do you know Siggi Spess?” It might also be
why some Icelanders find it so difficult to connect with foreigners, and why
some others are drawn in like magnets. I am convinced that this is the only
place on earth where a chick from my neck of the woods could possibly be
considered “exotic.”
If you live
here, you will always run into someone you know, bump into an acquaintance, stop
and chat, get invited for a coffee, catch up on gossip, so on. Here, mistakes
are forgiven, because we are all one another has. You could decide to hold a
grudge against your neighbor forever, but really? Who has the energy? Hate is
so exhausting. Much easier to just move on and tolerate one another. Since
everybody knows everything about everybody else, a polite veneer covers social
interactions. You don’t say what you actually think (unless you know your
companions share your views, in which case, Icelanders can gossip and bitch
like nobody’s business!) for fear that someone in earshot may be deeply
offended.
My first
experience of this was in a class in which we were discussing if Icelanders
should, as recently occurred, shoot polar bears who float over from Greenland
and stumble, confused, onto our shores. Someone said that, no, it is wrong to
shoot polar bears because they are not doing so well in the wild, and we should
explore another solution. To which a lady in the class said, “Hey! It was my
brother who shot that bear! He was a danger to his children! What was he
supposed to do?!” Whenever you open a door in Iceland, you see yourself on the
other side.
And
finally, when it comes to professional life, in a small society like Iceland,
ambition and work ethic actually mean something. Since there are so few people
here, if you decide that you want to learn how to do something, you simply find
a way to learn it. If you do well and work hard, you can pretty quickly become
a national expert. So, basically, if you want to live the American dream, move
to Scandinavia! Or not.
Personally, I choose to revel in this tiny place. Though it is sometimes hilarious to watch, the pride of the Icelanders is endearing. The stubbornness to survive this harsh place is part of what makes Icelanders who they are. And having lived through the winters here...I can say they earned it. Rage on, little Viking. Rage on!
Happy 17th of June :)