Hæ.

A lot has happened in the last two years, right? And I’ve enjoyed getting to share it all with you, blow by blow, from this ringside seat. My last little column even made it to the 7 o’clock news!

But it’s time to say goodbye now, and for our last few moments here I’d like to share with you something that Icelanders do rather well: say goodbye.

There’s bæ bæ, which is pretty colloquial, but when you see it written out, it’s kind of exotic with all those a-e ligatures, right?

Then there is the formal vertu sæll (be-you at peace), which has a rather solemn, as-the-music-swells, riding-off-into-the-sunset feel to it.

One of my personal favorites I learned from my friend Adda, a smooth operator from way back. She tells me it was the trademark sign-off for a certain, dapper talk show host and sports hero known to the nation as Hemmi Gunn.

Best of all? It rhymes. It goes a little something like this: verid hress—ekkert stress—bless, bless. A perfect translation is impossible, but imagine something like “Keep it cool—no worries—seeya latah” only rhyming and delivered with a coy, sportscaster smile.

If you want to say goodbye without really saying goodbye, then there is the simple sjáumst, which, in one word, means “we will see each other again.”

But everyone’s favorite must be bless. What a nice way to say goodbye. I think it might have been one of the first words I learned in the language. I can’t imagine a more fitting farewell.

As for this farewell, it doesn’t end up being a particularly bad ending, although it’s not the happiest of endings either. First, the happy bit: I got married on Tuesday! Here’s the picture to prove it…

Thanks to Candy for taking such great pics with no notice.

It was quick and simple. When we walked in the “getting married” room at the county office (replete with candles, subdued lighting, and a watercolor picture) with my massive wedding party of five, the celebrant looked me up and down and said, “Good day. I saw you on the news last night. Let’s get this started.”

After that it was only a few moments of reading papers, stumbling through my foreign name a couple of times, swapping rings, a little kiss and lots of handshaking. But for me it made all the difference in the world. I made an honest Icelander out of Gísli and he gets to listen to my imperfect Icelandic ‘til death do us part.

It also means the ladies at the Directorate of Immigration will lighten up on their draconian stipulations for residency. Instead of a pound of flesh, I only had to give up a piece of my heart, which I did so gladly. Although this doesn’t guarantee automatic residency, it means if I can find a job before my permit runs out at the end of April then I can stay.

It doesn’t get me those unemployment benefits or anything crazy like that (after having paid into the system for six years, I still get nothing—I’ll stop harping on that when they change that absurd policy). But on the brighter side, it does mean I have longer to find work, and from the few feelers I’ve put out it sounds like Iceland’s job market may have developed the taste for a little Moody.

But here’s the heartbreaker. After last week’s column, I got literally hundreds of replies (I’ve tried to answer as many as possible) from people who have been directly and indirectly affected by Iceland’s policy on foreigners.

The saddest stories are from people who spent years of their lives working here, and when they lost their jobs only <then> did they discover that Iceland’s safety net of socialism doesn’t apply to them.

If a Brit and a Canadian sat at desks next to one another in the same office, doing the same work, both working under the same circumstances, only the Brit would get unemployment benefits. The Canadian’s work doesn’t count. Neither does the same hard work performed by Mexicans, South Africans, Japanese, Americans, Columbians, etc. The list goes on and on.

What’s worse is that the Directorate of Labor (the agency who decides who gets benefits) has no information anywhere on their website that I can see (and I looked extremely well) that tells you that you are not eligible for unemployment benefits if you don’t have the right kind of permit.

In fact, if you look at their information booklet written specifically to inform foreigners about their right to unemployment, no where does it mention this special case where those on the wrong kind of work permit (the “temporary” work permit, which in my case and several others’ was “temporary” for six years) don’t get any benefits.

The only way you know is when you try to register for your benefits and are only then told you don’t count. Too bad. So sad. Next in line.

Do I feel I have a right to be here in the country? No. I don’t. Honestly, I’m an American living abroad. I’m this nation’s guest. But I don’t think it’s right to allow a guest to toil away under the impression that he has a certain level of safety only to pull that out from under him when he needs it. But even so, I’m lucky to get to be here—even after such a nasty trick.

I’m also remarkably fortunate that I might be able to get another job, but so many of the people who wrote to me got the raw end of the deal. However, among those angry, sad letters I got were a lot of messages from Icelanders who also think this kind of treatment is no more than state-sanctioned thievery: stripping people of their hard-earned rights.

Obviously I’m disappointed in the system, but I am heartened to hear from all the people in this country who find this system shameful. It’s a relief to see that Iceland’s fair-mindedness is not a figment of my imagination. This little island is far from perfect, but at least it is not afraid to point out its faults when it sees them.

Let’s just hope that finding faults in the system leads to more than just head-shaking and finger-pointing. We’ve had our share of that. This country knows it’s time to revise, rebuild and restore. Iceland 2.0 is in the making. And I’m thrilled to get to be a part of it.

Bless.

Jonas Moody – jonas@icelandreview.com