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MISS REYKJAVIK

An early Icelandic jazz standard introduces Miss Reykjavik as a young woman that walks the streets of a city in the making, towards her lover, light in her step and smelling like a spring flower. This gendered view of the capital is not limited to poetic expression, for Icelanders have always thought about Reykjavik as a female entity for good reasons. The first one is visceral and grammatical, -vik is a female noun and therefore, locals talk about her when they refer to their capital city. At the beginning of the 20^th century, she was a small fisherman’s town, situated in a bay, shaped like an outer labia and as she expanded and entered puberty, the transformation from a village to a city began. Reykjavik is like a teenage daughter of an alcoholic peasant who has just stepped into the light, from her dark turf hut. She has never seen herself as anything special or worth noticing, but to the outside eye, she shines with rare and exotic beauty. And at the centre of this realisation there is coarse magic, for the first time she knows in her bones that she isn’t a nobody but a sensual creature of great desirability. This newfound wisdom has given her power and made her horny and hungry to experiment. Reykjavik craves to be seen, touched and validated as the teenager she truly is. She is a tad bit too eager to please, draws smoke from her first cigarette, trying to look grown up and experienced, only to have a coughing fit, ashen in the face, holding back the vomit that crawls up her throat. She is obsessed with how others perceive her, constantly trying to reinvent herself and shake off her humble childhood.

DENMARK’S DIRTY MISFIT

For many centuries, Iceland was a Danish colony. To our masters we were an afterthought, a backwards, primitive nation who the Danes thought of as brutes and savages. The Icelanders greeted each other with a wet kiss on the mouth, had grime under their fingernails and were terrible drunks and insubordinates, according to the Danes. Living on an isolated island in the North Atlantic we were dependent on imported goods, such as wheat, sugar and coffee and the Danes felt we deserved to be supplied with necessities of the poorest quality for the highest price. And we believed them. In order to improve ourselves we tried to imitate the colonial masters, by denouncing crude wool clothing and wearing cotton and linens in the blistering cold. It was perceived as more fancy to talk in Danish than in Icelandic, so people with middle class aspirations had a tradition of speaking Danish in their homes on Sundays. The colonisation was slowly seeping into everyday life, to save face and appear like proper people, Icelanders tried to imitate them until we were on the verge of losing our own language and culture. If you wanted to make something of yourself in 19th-century Iceland, you had to go to their university in Copenhagen and assimilate into the Danish way. In the late 19th century, a group of Icelandic intellectuals and poets, who called themselves Fjölnismenn, realised that although Iceland was poor and backwards in many ways, it had a rich cultural heritage and started peacefully to navigate how we could become an independent nation again. They published a magazine called Fjölnir that introduced romanticism to Icelanders, putting focus on our language and unique literary heritage from the 13th century. They revived interest in the Sagas, juicy stories of heroes, pride and a chronicle of the fates of the first families who settled in Iceland in the 9th century. As Iceland was Denmark’s dirty misfit, Reykjavik had not been a part of Europe’s industrialisation, it was a simple place where the people lived off the land and sea, while horses and cows grazed in front of statelier homes with narrow streets of dented dirt. To show the Danes that we were also cultured and civilised, the people of Reykjavik rebuilt the parliament, Alþingi, and built a brand-new elementary school, university, hospital, theatres and heated indoor swimming pools between the years 1880–1937. These buildings are still in use and were central in shaping the belief that we could actually make it on our own. Iceland even managed to reclaim its independence in 1944, enabling Reykjavik to shake off her Danish uptight parental figure – finally being free to do her own thing.

The queen of Icelandic swimming pools has to be Laugardalslaug. Situated in the Laugardalur valley, just a short walk from the city centre, it is the most popular pool. Constructed in 1958–68 and designed by city architect Einar Sveinsson, Laugardalslaug has two outdoor pools and one indoor, seven hot tubs (one filled with salt water), a sauna, water slides and a beach volleyball court. In other words, everything the heart could desire to indulge in a truly satisfying soak. It’s the perfect place to visit on a sunny or snowy day. Courtesy: Guide To Iceland

EMPTY HOTELS

Today when you navigate the city its pubescent expansion and sometimes ugliness is evident. For the past decades there have been cranes in the sky, trying to meet the city’s hungry urge to metamorphose into a ‘real capital’. Reykjavik is a city where proportions are an afterthought; we have placed big phallic glass buildings in old neighbourhoods with low timber houses, its growth spurts are sometimes awkward and problematic. Central planning is often based on what the economy needs right now, but not what would serve its inhabitants in the long run. New hotels and luxury apartments have been built in the centre of Reykjavik. Right now, nobody knows exactly what will become of these new hotels, if we will ever have enough tourists to accommodate them again. In the early 2000s when you walked down Reykjavik’s only shopping street Laugavegur there was an uninterrupted view of the ocean and Mount Esja. This stunning vista was too much of a triggering reminder that the city was actually a simple town, with 220,000 inhabitants; so tall dark buildings were erected close to the shoreline with international clothing chains. We are surprised when foreigners post photos on Instagram of Reykjavik’s old colourful corrugated iron front houses and forgo the big, urban, shiny new reinvention of the city centre. Reykjavik doesn’t want to be anything less than her older sister cities in Europe. Like an unpopular girl who was bullied in her old school, she is desperate to denounce her past and forget that she was once small, poor and unimpressive.

Secret Solstice is Iceland’s midnight sun music festival, taking place on the outskirts of the city at the height of Summer, during near 24-hour daylight. Here, visitors can enjoy performances backdropped by breathtaking landscapes: waterfalls, icy glaciers, black sand beaches and vast volcanic fields; as well as world-famous sites like the Blue Lagoon. Courtesy: Music Festival News

SEXY UNIFORMS

The Second World War had an immense impact on the sleepy fishing village of Reykjavik and ushered in a new era. The city was occupied by the British army in 1940 and locals from the countryside flocked onto the fresh tarmac in search of new opportunities. All of the sudden the streets were filled with handsome foreign men in uniforms and there was an impending need for Icelandic workers to pave roads, wash clothes, build houses and provide a more stable infrastructure like running water, heat and electricity for these friendly invaders. The Brits stayed only for a short time in Iceland, for they had a war to fight on the mainland and were replaced by American troops in 1941. For the most part Icelanders liked the military, for they were a rare employer that paid in cash and not wares like the Danish merchants had done. The population of Reykjavik boomed and it secured its place as the capital of Iceland, for if the troops had settled in another town, that place would have surely become the buzzing hub of our young nation.

BIG-BAND BALLS IN HOTEL BORG

Since war never touched Iceland’s shores directly, it turned out to be a barren but peaceful outpost for these American troops. They had ample time to drive aimlessly around the newly paved roads and attend big-band balls in Hotel Borg. These clean shaven, cologne smelling, sharply dressed foreign young men were a novelty for the young women of Reykjavik. Although the language created a barrier, the sound of their voices was much more suave – and such gentlemen compared to their Icelandic counterparts. To react to the female population’s sudden and surprising interest in foreigners who knew how to dance and open doors and whisper sweet nothings into their ears, the Icelandic men created a council that can be loosely translated as the Situation Committee. They saw that they needed to lay down the law swiftly because otherwise they would lose their females into the arms of these military men. Their strategy was a typical patriarchal power move: shame and stigmatisation. Women who had relations with the Americans were slut-shamed and some were temporarily sent away to labour and undergo re-education in the countryside. The reaction of the Situation Committee reflects the naivete and stubbornness that Reykjavik still partly possesses. She wants to be perceived as a metropolis, albeit she has a history of xenophobia and building invisible barriers between locals and expats.

Staff at Hotel Borg in 1930, when the hotel first began operations. Renowned circus artist, strongman and adventurer Jóhannes Jósefsson was the founder of the much-anticipated establishment. The Lögrétta (The Court of Legislature), reported on its lavish opening: ‘The new guesthouse, the much talked about and long-awaited, Hotel Borg, is now being opened to some extent. Its restaurants and banquet halls were first used [for] a dance party of 300 people and a dinner of 180... But before it opened on Saturday, the owner, Jóhannes Jósefsson, invited various guests to view the building, the ministers, the mayor, the bankers, the editors and more.’ January 1930. Courtesy: Lemúrinn

CENTRAL HEATING AND MASTURBATION

Despite its backwardness Reykjavik has a very high standard of living, she is safe, possesses a good quality public education system, vibrant cultural scene and cheap central heating. Staying warm is crucial for the harsh weather conditions that can arise here. The city’s energy fluctuates in a bipolar way during winter and summer. Because Reykjavik is so far up north on the hemisphere, there is perpetual daylight during the summer and the inhabitants are vigorous and full of life. Summer is the time to make big plans, find new lovers, party all night and roll around naked in the morning dew. The winters are more laborious, in December we decorate the town with Christmas lights partly for the festive spirit but more so to survive the paralysing darkness. This is the time when people shut in and masturbate when coming home from work, because the day feels like it’s over at 4 p.m. Every winter – sometime between December and March – each and every inhabitant of Reykjavik at some point wonders, ‘Why the hell do I still live here?’

STEAMY HEATED POOLS

Ingolfur Arnarson – the first official settler of Iceland – chose Reykjavik as his homestead in 874 AD. As the story goes, he asked the gods and the elements for guidance in finding his new home and threw carved logs to the ocean near the coastline of Iceland and proclaimed that he would settle where his wood would drift to shore. When Ingolfur found the logs and the area that the gods had appointed him, the first thing he noticed was the smoke rising from the ground. It turned out to be geothermal steam or reykur as it is called in Icelandic. The area around Reykjavik is simmering with hot water and it was quite early that some settlers used it to heat up their houses and bathe. The hot water is one of the most important resources that make Reykjavik habitable. Each neighbourhood has its own outdoor heated pool and hot tubs that are open all year round, providing inhabitants a precious refuge where they can get some exercise, soak up vitamin D and socialise. The hot tubs are where people talk about politics, culture and current events. If you want, it is also totally acceptable to immerse your head in the water and just zone out. Visiting the pool can be a retreat for the senses, for you can block out your normal sense of seeing, hearing and smell when lying in the water, looking up at the sky through a cloud of steam, smelling nothing but slight chlorine, hearing only the distant echo of the movement of others in the water. For some this can amount to a faint déja vu from when they were in their mother’s womb, feeling free and mellow in the loving embrace of the warm water. The wellness that comes with the geothermal water is one of the main reasons that the city is bearable during the winter months.

Ingolfur Arnarson, alongside his beloved wife Hallveig Fróðadóttir, are recognised as the first permanent Nordic settlers of Iceland. They arrived in Reykjavik in 874 AD, having auspiciously been drawn inland. As he sailed along the rugged Icelandic coastline, Ingolfur threw into the water the pillars of his chieftain's seat – wooden logs carved with his surname and sacred representations – and vowed to settle on the shoreline where the pillars were beached, leaving the decision in the hands of the gods. In 1924, a monumental statue of Ingolfur was erected overlooking the city as a symbol of conquest, virility and national pride. Courtesy: Fun Iceland

BATH GUARDS

When strolling through Reykjavik, visiting the different public swimming pools feels amazing. Each pool is a microculture and a mirror of its neighbourhood, a saltof-the-earth experience. Certain etiquettes still remain the same, guests are expected to shower without bathing suits before and after entering the pool in gender segregated locker rooms. The shower you take before you go into the pool is a courtesy to the other guests, you wash off and present the cleanest version of yourself to the pool community and when you leave you wash the choline off, as a special treat. All the pools have bath guards in the dressing rooms who make sure that people respect the bathing rules, this is probably a dream job for many voyeuristic opportunists but usually it’s relaxed mild-mannered attendants that hold this gig. What is fascinating with this mandatory nudity is that people who frequent the pools are used to seeing all sorts of bodies, different from the stylised nakedness people see in porn, Photoshopped advertisements and social media. By normalising nudity with a regulatory bath, making it functional instead of sexual, the pool guests get a rare opportunity to see bodies from all walks of life, bodies who have recovered from illness, bodies who are covered in piercings or tattoos, bodies who are old and young, fat and skinny, have carried children or done hard labour. It is a great gift to be in connection with this spectrum, visiting the local swimming pool locker room creates a more nuanced way of experiencing corporal beauty and is in many cases a much-needed remedy for self-criticism.

First and foremost, if you expect to soothe yourself in one of Iceland’s swimming pools, be warned: you will be expected to shower first, completely buck naked, scrubbing at your most intimate areas in front of a watchful sanitation warden. Be you a tourist, businessman or pilgrim, upon entering the changing room, expect to immediately be met by biological reality: goolies, bare breasts and willies, balls, brjóst, pubic hair and leggöng. In Iceland, it is a sacrament value, to wash away the defilement of the day before having the gall – or perhaps more aptly, the bollocks – to dip oneself into a communal pool. Courtesy: Guide to Iceland

SPECIAL PRICE FOR YOU MY FRIEND

Local swimming pools are abundant, relatively cheap and accessible, including in the suburbs, there are fifteen public pools in the city and these are the most authentic way to go. Private resorts such as The Blue Lagoon and Sky Lagoon have capitalised on hot water, creating A Unique Icelandic Experience with soaring high prices for admission. Tourism is the biggest industry but being a nation of fishermen, it seems we sometimes conflate our guests with herring. The industry wants to squeeze as much currency as they can from each visitor – tourists have sometimes complained that they feel like they are being treated like flocks of sheep on guided trips, being pushed around scenic spots by quiet and irritated farmers acting as tour guides. Iceland is used to millions of visitors each year, which is a lot, especially considering that the whole nation consists of 350,000 people. With all these visiting eyes coming over, old lingering colonial shame is ever present, because sometimes we still really don’t feel that special and we feel embarrassed by our uncivilised background. The moment a tourist lands, they are almost instantly greeted with the question: ‘How do you like Iceland?’ Their presence reminds Reykjavik’s psyche of our loving American friends from the war, but this time she greets them greedily and refuses to have her horniness and curiosity stifled.

MAKING LOVE ON THE FROZEN TUNDRA

Reykjavik has a history of being blind and numb to her uniqueness, the splendour that comes with living this far up the northern hemisphere can be breathtakingly beautiful. The majestical colours of late morning sunrises in winter and aurora borealis can easily become common and normal sightings. When you marinate in a situation for long enough you eventually stop paying attention to it. And Reykjavik has been far too busy expanding and modernising to pay the evening sky much attention. In the early 20^th century, poet Einar Benediktsson is said to have sold Iceland’s northern lights to a foreign investor. This is an unconfirmed myth, but an interesting parable for how poetic vision and attention to beauty can be entrepreneurial and prophetic. During Benediktsson’s life, the general population of Iceland were firm believers in toiling, keeping their eyes on the ground, steadily moving forward and his borealis efforts were spun into stories about the frivolity and gullibility of foreigners that had never done an honest day of labour. But now, a hundred years later, the borealis business is booming during the winter time; wide-eyed visitors flock to Iceland, experiencing the rare wonder of these dancing green night lights. An unexpected safety issue arose in the early days of northern light trips when Japanese tourists kept disappearing from their groups in the dark wild, outside of the city’s light contamination. On further inspection it turned out that popular belief in Japan is that children who are conceived underneath aurora borealis will be blessed with good looks, intellect and good fortune. And the disappearing tourists were actually making love al fresco on the frozen tundra. The tourism industry has stepped up the comfort for these ambitious lovemakers and see-through bubble-dome hotel rooms are available outside of the city for people who want to make the most of the evening sky.

Einar Benediktsson’s (1864–1940) neo-romantic poetry is characterised by loving lamentations on the beauty of Iceland. His work is credited with having significantly contributed to the nationalistic revival which led to the country’s independence. Courtesy: Bókmenntaborgin

A COMFORTING REFUGE

The art scene is a big part of Reykjavik’s identity. What sets it apart from other cities is the fact that the channels for getting artists’ work out are more open and easier to access. Everyone either knows an artist or is an artist. There are thriving music, theatre and literary scenes and galleries like Listval display current local visual art, and the concert hall Harpa. In the past few years there has also been an initiative by the government to get big Hollywood and European studios to produce movies and TV series in Iceland by giving them a considerable tax refund. These big projects boost the economy, create jobs for local talent and tickle viewers, making at least some of them curious about coming here. Because of our past of being under another nation’s heel we have a tendency to refuse to give dignitaries and foreign celebrities any special treatment. They have to bathe just as naked as the locals in the public swimming pool and a bath guard will readily tell them that they really shouldn’t think they are anything special, if a starlet were to have a problem with stripping down. This crisp attitude has created a comforting refuge for international talent who enjoy the break from the public eye, like Blur’s frontman Damon Albarn who has lived here for years and just recently became an Icelandic citizen.

DEEP BREATHS

The movement in Reykjavik’s winter mornings is lento – moving ever so slowly, it’s hard to get up without the sunlight and the traffic is usually snail-like because somebody always gets stuck or has some sort of trouble with the snow. The car lights are like red and white blood cells flowing through the intricate artery system that sustain Miss Reykjavik. These still moments give Reykjavik a chance to admire her own vastness, taking a deep breath and asking herself: What do I really want? The city’s speed of expansion and constant teenage feeling of inferiority have made her take some questionable decisions, by constantly trying to mimic and please others. But having courage to make mistakes is a vital part of figuring out one’s identity and gaining autonomy. Although Reykjavik is still working out who she wants to be, she knows that she will never adhere blindly to a colonial master, nor will she accept the advances of drunken uncles whose mouths stink of rotten shark and tooth decay. Reykjavik knows she deserves bigger and better though she likes to get lost on the winding roads of her desires.

The cabaret scene in Reykjavik is positively smoking, pushing boundaries and setting frozen crowds ablaze. Smart, subversive, and stylised, the undisputed first lady of Icelandic cabaret, Margrét Erla Maack or ‘Miss Mokki’ is the founder of Reykjavík Kabarett, Iceland’s very first burlesque show. Courtesy: Mokki Burlesque

18 Reykjavik: The Gem Behind Hot Steam and Snowflakes

by Thora Hjörleifsdóttir