The Koppl Chronicles Part 2: Icelandic Escape

I really had no idea what to expect when my plane hit the tarmac in Iceland, but the weather was gloomy, and the airline was playing Sigur Ros; I was certainly a bit afraid that my worst fears would be true, and that Iceland would prove to be an amalgam of its collective cultural stereotypes: Pessimistic Vikings, Bjӧrk, geologists, bad weather, and smelly fish.

As I rode in an empty bus across the barren plains between Keflavik and Reykjavic (All names here look vaguely like the result of a scrabble game played during an earthquake) I was impressed by the overwhelming gloominess of the scenery: The slate gray sea bordered by black, dead looking rocks covered in lichen green moss that looked like it might actually be troll droppings in disguise. Already I was beginning to confirm my stereotypes of this island nation. When I arrived to my campground in the outskirts of Reykjavic it was about 8 a.m., so I checked in, set up my tent, and made some oatmeal with ingredients left in the free bin in te communal kitchen. When I left the building, hot food in hand, I was suddenly bathed in the light of the sun. I don’t know which took longer to adjust, my eyes or my brain, but whatever I had expected it was not this.

                The city center of Reykjavic was built in 1939 and is beautifully metropolitan. Constructed before the influence of American civic design that followed the second world war, Reykjavic feels like a much bigger city than its 100,000 inhabitants would indicate: the bulk of its population is located immediately surrounding the downtown, devoid of suburbs and therefore structured to favor pedestrians rather than cars. On my first day in the city I meandered its beautiful streets, taking in the combination of old world charm and modern culture while learning about the nation’s history and arts at museums and galleries around the town. Given its location in the middle of the north pacific, Iceland has always been an intersection of cultures, something decisively reflected by the culture of Reykjavic. While there were certainly remnants of Norse culture and an accompanying sense of pride in Icelandic heritage, tthese tell only half the story. As I perused downtown I was surprised to hear modern electronic music and American rap (Waka Flocka is really popular here, apparently) coming from traditional looking Scandinavian buildings; entire blocks full of street art and intricate pieces of graffiti indicative of a thriving youth culture largely influenced by America; a fact I later learned was due to a large U.S. military presence on the island that only ended in 2006 (presumably due to the cold war). To say the least my stereotypes were being proven false, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

After eating a late lunch of Skyr (which is like yogurt but worse) I continued my walk, this time visiting a few gigantic churches, climbing a hill for a view of the city, and at last returning in the most roundabout way conceivable to my campsite. After a quick dinner of free pasta (again, from my youth hostel kitchen) I headed to the geothermal pool down the street for a quick soak, when I got distracted by the last thing I had anticipated seeing in Iceland: A skatepark. While clearly the product of a contractor who had never built anything like a ramp before, I was impressed by the kindness and ability of the skateboarders, who leant me their boards so I could ride with them until about 20 minutes before the swimming complex I had intended to visit closed at 10 p.m.. I ran across the street, hellbent on using my free pass I had gotten as a part of my welcome card, and putting on my board shorts and dashing through a changing room I at last made it to the hot tubs, full of bearded Icelandic men and sulfur-scented steam. Finally I felt like I was in Iceland, and fell asleep easily in the brilliant light of the sun, stubbornly blazing on at midnight.

When I awoke the next morning I made a nice breakfast before beginning my guided bus tour of the island. I don’t know why, but free food always tastes a little better than it should, and a simple bowl of oatmeal and tea were the perfect way to warm up and start my day. My voyage to the aptly named golden circle was a fantastic opportunity to see the mind-bending diversity of landscapes and various geological phenomena that evoked scenes of glacier national park, Yellowstone, the Midwest, and of course Lord of the Rings (interestingly, one of the brochures I read referenced the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, either directly or indirectly, at least 4 times.), but instead of describing this one, I think I’ll let my pictures do the talking (at least partially because it is impossible to type the names of most of the locations I visited using this keyboard). Anyway, before I stop writing and get back to staring out at the north pacific through my airplane window and listening to Sigur Ros, I would like to try my hand at providing you a new set of stereotypes for Iceland and Icelanders, far more accurate than the vision of pessimistic Vikings, geysirs, and glaciers most of us start with: Just imagine a bunch of friendly, diverse, and generally metropolitan Disco-Vikings skateboarding happily in their quirky, coastal version of either a post-apocalyptic Midwest or Middle-earth, and you’ll have a pretty good idea what it’s like. Ϸakka Ϸér fyrir, Iceland.

One hour till Stockholm, bikes, and the Meade brothers: It’s about to get fun