About Iceland

The thick set taxi driver had spent 8 years in Dallas, and despite being originally from Iceland, hadn’t managed to shake off his Texan accent that had weaved in like forever chemicals to his native tongue.

He listed the celebrities he had chauffeured from the airport to the infamous Blue Lagoon; Tom Cruise, Chris Hemsworth and a pop star whose name he couldn’t recall.

‘What was Tom like?’ I asked, cutting him off from his train of thought. 

‘Quiet, he was with his people. He was here to race some four by fours and he was excited about that. Chris was a nice guy, but he looked sad. He has that gene doesn’t he? He’s going to get Alzheimer's. Poor guy. What a thing to know. To know you’ll probably never remember the stuff you’re doing right at this moment.’ 

I wasn't going to the Blue Lagoon today. Instead I was heading to the lesser-known luxury resort, The Edition hotel in Reykjavik.

Photo by Cassie Boca on Unsplash

The Edition sits on the harbour next to the Harpa concert hall, which with its steel framework clad and geometric shaped glass panels of different colours only ameliorates the view from mr corner suite. From my window I can see the boats return from their Orca sightseeing expeditions. The idyllic view is only mildly blighted by the local sewage renovations which is gorging the entire perimeter of the hotel. 

It’s a funny place Reykjavik. Iceland only holds 400,000 people and 250,000 of those live in Reykjavik and its surrounding villages. Beer was illegal here up until the late 80s because of trade issues, but now there are more than over 30 breweries on the island. And its a drinkers town alright. I even had a beer in a bookstore as a band rattled off Eric Clapton covers to a small huddle of finger tapping locals. 

The independent boutiques are shuffled around the generic souvenir shops that you'll find in any capital city. It's easy to tell them apart. One will have a t-shirt in the display window saying 'I’m your ray of fucking sunshine'. The others will simply graphics of puffins, polar bears or Vikings.

The sun is unnervingly bright. If you walk towards it without sunglasses, you have no choice but to bow before its glory. 

Photo by Nicolas J Leclercq on Unsplash

The Blue Lagoon is on and off depending on how bad the air is around the volcano. The news outlets love to talk about how towns are being deserted, that people are fleeing for their lives. But people aren’t, and the news channels are playing old footage of the Eyjafjallajökull eruptions from 2010 to help fit their narrative.

'It’s torpedoing tourism,' said the taxi driver on the way back to the airport. His name was Ingo. 'Ingo like Bingo,' he said. 'You have a couple of girls who shit themselves because they feel a rumble in the hot tub, they go on the news and then bang! Up comes the footage of 2010. I'm sorry, girls but you're not in Kansas anymore. You're in Iceland. You're in a Spa formed from volcanic rock, that sits on ever shifting tectonic plates.' 

I could listen to Ingo talk volcanoes all day. 

'Now in 1973 the small Icelandic island of Heimaey was evacuated over night because a volcano blew. The entire island, 5000 people. They were in luck because there were nearby fisherman in the area having a party. They mounted a rescue, and got them to safety.' 

Ingo pulled up to the terminal, handed me my bags and I shook his hand goodbye. I was tempted to get his details so I could carry on the conversation somehow. But didn't. I'll just have to go back some day. 

Cover Photo by Norris Niman on Unsplash