This column is part of ‘Notes From a Cold Country‘, a series in which Iceland Review’s former Editor shares observations from a decade of living in Iceland.
Not so long ago, I had deluded myself to such a point as to suggest that I preferred winter in Iceland to summer. I can only apologise. Clearly, I had a vitamin D deficiency when I wrote that and was delirious with cold.
Over recent days, the weather in Reykjavík has been nothing short of lovely. So warm, so bright, that its revealed a more manufactured side of the city we don’t often notice. A version of Reykjavík that seems to belong to somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere like, for the sake of this column, Florida.
Apparently, the presence of sunlight alone is enough to draw similarities between here and the swampy, alligator-infested Everglades of the southern United States. But, this time of year, when it comes to a handful of streets in 101, I stand by the comparison.
Downtown Reykjavík is the most carefully curated location in the country when it comes to appealing to tourists. And it is exactly that slightly artificial nature that makes downtown interesting and vibrant. A fun and exciting place to live in a country generally renowned for an abundance of peace and quiet. Who doesn’t like Mickey’s Toontown?
I’m not alone in this opinion, but there are plenty of detractors too. Those who grew up here, who have stronger ties than me, seem to recall a place that had a stronger community spirit and more cultural cachet as the centrepoint of Icelandic civilisation.
And yet, even they will admit the whole place had a grimmer, ghetto by the harbour vibe than it does today. (I picture the architecture and mood of H.P. Lovecraft’s fictional fishing town, Innsmouth, but with less people, and the economy and social decorum of 1970s New York. Kind of like a modern day Djúpavík.)
Frankly, I know which aesthetic I prefer. Under the blazing sunlight, our capital’s colourful streets are as quaint and inviting as any others, even if they do resemble Magic Kingdom’s Main Street U.S.A. a touch more than they used to. That Disneyland vibe is a result of not just of gentrification, but of a society propelled by outside interest.
“A fun and exciting place to live in a country generally renowned for an abundance of peace and quiet.”
One image, familiar to holiday-makers the world over, seems almost too coincidental; the gentle incline of Skólavörðustígur, with its rainbow-painted street leading the eye towards Hallgrímskirkja, our own princess castle on the hill.
All this contributes to an atmosphere geared towards pleasing visitors, which is more or less then main point of a theme park. I don’t mean that in any way negatively. I happen to like theme parks. They are designed in such a way as to guarantee I like them.
Somewhat parallel, the city authorities even have to ensure that the balance between restaurants, bars, and shops remains broadly intact. In other words, this is a place designed to entertain and accommodate. Still, some here have trouble recognising it as such.
Londoners do not often spend their time milling around Leicester Square or Piccadilly Circus, longing for the good old days when none of that commotion and commercialisation existed. New Yorkers might not choose to devote their free time to visiting Times Square, but surely most would value its significance to the character of the city.
It wouldn’t look out of place, to me, if people started wearing Atlantic Puffin costumes, or dressing up as Björk, as a way to earn a few krona. Posing for tourist photographs outside Hallgrímskirkja alongside Spiderman, Chaplin, Elvis Presley, and ‘legally distinct’ talking mouse impersonators.
A decent way to make a buck here, in all likelihood. Better than pickpocketing.
“Skólavörðustígur, with its rainbow-painted street leading the eye towards Hallgrímskirkja, our own princess castle on the hill”
This is not an argument for disneyfication, nor a dismissal of the concerns that many people have about it. Rather, a simple acknowledgement that places can lose certain qualities while gaining others, often at the same time.
Now, far away from Iceland as you may well be, this might sound far-fetched to you, but the city is not far from this reality…
…in summer, that is.
Approaching mid-June, it’s easy to think the city is always like this. But with Iceland, a country nicknamed for its extreme opposites (“Fire and Ice”), we always talk about two places rather than one.
In the winter months, minus the rare still moment, downtown does not have a Disney vibe at all.
Imagine walking down Laugavegur and seeing a Goofy impersonator frozen dead in a souvenir shop’s doorway. Or Spiderman and Elvis huddled around a burning barrel for warmth. That would be the reality of the disneyfication some people seem to fear. It doesn’t bear thinking about, largely because it seems so impossible.
I suppose that should be some solace for those who worry that tourism is changing Iceland for the worse. For all the gift shops, tour buses, and marketing campaigns, nature still has the final say, and she is quick to set her limits.
