Nearly one half of all immigrants in Iceland come from a single country: Poland. Polish nationals were among the first foreigners to start settling here in the modern era, initially drawn by work in fish processing plants. In the early aughts, a boom in construction drew them in even greater numbers. In recent years, younger Poles have been flocking to the country for jobs in tourism and other industries. Their community as a whole now numbers 20,000.
Following the winding outskirts of Reykjavík, a gravel road jostles you toward a wooden hut. The strong scent of herbs emanates from the doorway. Before you can enter into the warm space, Tryggur, a charmingly fluffy Labrador-collie mix, sidles up to you in shy greeting. He leads you in and sits down patiently amongst a colourful collection of yarns, waiting for a pat while his owner talks over the sound of gently bubbling pots.
The year is 1996. After spending several years in Sweden, Anna Kristjánsdóttir moves back to Iceland. She struggles to find a job, and when she finally does, harsh bullying leads her to quit. Anna is a public figure, though not everyone looks at her in a positive light. But it’s not living abroad that has made her an outsider: Anna is trans.
Ask Iceland Review