But first, I’d like to circle back to a post from a couple of weeks ago about Iceland’s planned referendum on EU accession talks.

A number of people chimed in with views that primarily centered on Iceland’s …

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As many of you know, I grew up overseas and moved back to Iceland as an adult. I made one earlier failed attempt before I finally settled, and because of that experience I was very much on the fence about whether I should try again.

During one visit in that interim period I got talking to a woman I knew. I was debating back and forth about whether it was a good idea; I knew I wanted to try but I had no idea what I would do in Iceland. At the time I only had a high school diploma and had frankly been struggling at life for quite a while.

This woman looked at me with a smile and said with a shrug, “You can do anything here.” She was so matter-of-fact about it, so assured—and it turned out she was absolutely right.

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This fully formed society compressed into such a small space makes for an energy I’ve never experienced anywhere else. People are constantly trying new things. They write books, start bands, stage plays, launch companies, switch careers … basically just go for it when they have an idea. Sometimes those ideas fail spectacularly, and sometimes they turn into something massive. I mean, for a country of 400,000 people, you have to admit we’ve made some pretty notable splashes on the world stage.

All this is made possible because there are fewer gatekeepers here and far fewer layers between an idea and its execution than there are in other, more populous, places.

Before moving back to Iceland, I had a dream of making a living as a writer. I’d been writing constantly since my teens and over the years had sent out tons of queries to newspapers, magazines, and publishers—pretty much to no avail.

Within six months of moving back to Iceland I had my dream job: working as a writer and translator for the local English-language publisher Iceland Review.

Sure, I got lucky. There was no guarantee I would find the exact job I wanted, and this was not something I created of my own volition. BUT when I’d been at IR for a couple of years the company downsized and I was laid off. That’s when the “you can do anything” reality began to manifest.

I wanted to keep writing and doing what I’d been doing at IR, so I decided to go freelance. I began by calling up a couple of translators whom I knew of through the grapevine, but didn’t know personally. Yes—literally cold calling them on the phone, because in Iceland, you can do that.

I told them I had been working for Iceland Review, that I was starting to freelance, and that if they had any excess work that they couldn’t handle, to please keep me in mind. Both of them were really kind, and said they would pass on any surplus work.

Before long I had plenty of commissions—even more than I could handle. It was an absolute blessing because it allowed me to work from home while my daughter was little, meaning I was there for her when she finished school and could always pop out if anything unforeseen came up.

I had some other ideas for work, also. Before moving to Iceland I’d taught English, which I enjoyed. I called up the English Language School, and voilà, I had some classes. Later I wanted to train executives in business English and in making presentations, so I started a company and did that for a while. A friend of mine worked for an astrological start-up during the Internet boom at the end of the 1990s, and I took a job as a writer there for about six months. Shortly after that ended, I worked for the British Embassy for a couple of years, doing press and public affairs, and assisting the commercial officer.

Along with all this I kept translating and working as a copy writer and editor. But secretly I wanted to be writing something of my own, not just working with other people’s words.

Soon after this blogs became a thing, so I started one of those. And, long story short, that led me into a career as an author and as a journalist and commentator for the international media.

Today I make a living solely from my own writing—just as I dreamed all those years ago. 🙏

My books are sold online, but also in shops all over Iceland. As a (mostly) independent author (one of my books is traditionally published), I know for sure I would never be able to get my books into brick-and-mortar bookshops outside of Iceland, at least to any meaningful degree. Here, I can, because “you can do anything”. I pick up the phone and call, or go visit the individual shop, chat with the owner, make a connection, and that’s it. No gatekeepers standing in my way; no traditional publishers with a stronghold on the market, keeping out indies like myself.

So … Iceland isn’t perfect—I’ll keep pointing that out, don’t worry. But every now and then it’s worth stepping back and acknowledging what this place makes possible. Because ultimately, for all its flaws, I’m really glad I made that move.

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And now, for my paid supporters: please help me choose a subtitle for my new book! Read on …

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We were in the change room, and within two minutes we were immersed in a subject that has become something of an obsession of mine lately, as regular readers may have noticed 😉, namely how our collective national trauma manifests in Icelandic society today.

The improbability of the conversation was kind of bizarre. This topic is not something that comes up in general chit-chat among Icelanders—in fact, it basically never comes up. There is so much unconsciousness around these matters, so much silence, and very few of us are examining them in this context. Yet there we were, getting dressed, talking up a storm in half-whispers, totally on the same wavelength.

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My friend spends a significant amount of time abroad and is now planning to move away more permanently. She told me that every time she returns to Iceland she feels a massive weight settle over her. It is terrible for her mental health. Abroad, she stands tall, blossoms—feels radiant.

There, she leads with kindness and compassion and as a yoga instructor is immediately offered work. Here, she feels spurned, devalued and unseen.

This rhymes with something I’ve heard called the andverðmætasamfélag in Icelandic—literally, the “anti-worth society.” A society where people who are doing something genuinely unique or remarkable are talked down, treated with suspicion … not valued. A society that rewards mediocrity and opposes excellence.

It is a term that, once you hear it, you cannot unhear. And then you begin to see instances of this pattern everywhere.

At one point in our conversation, my friend tossed out the term “an island of narcissists” in her summation of Iceland. That’s harsh, but I get it. Truly, there is so much hardness here in the fabric of daily interaction, such an absence of real connection and empathy. It seems like, when people get together, they are more trying to outdo or one-up one another, rather than trying to have authentic conversations or connections.

That is if they get together at all … most people are so busy being dugleg that they don’t have the time. 😜

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We both agreed that this behaviour is coded into us. We are largely descended from people who were brought over from Ireland and the British isles as slaves. These people then spent centuries under the vistarband system, during which the dissolution of families and ruptured emotional bonds were commonplace, and where children were routinely auctioned off to the lowest bidder.

That dark and painful history did not vanish when systemic oppression ended. It went underground, became dissociation. Some of its effects include an absence of genuine feeling, toughness and resilience at the cost of emotional health, an internal compulsion to constantly be working in order to prove your worth, and a deep resentment of those who are breaking free from the system.

When I told her I was writing a book about all this, her instant response was: “Be careful. They will try to silence you.”

Yes. I know this to be true. I have experienced it multiple times. There is a pattern in this society—a reflex—that activates when someone names what is not supposed to be named, or when they disturb the established order. Sometimes it’s an attempt at exclusion or excommunication; sometimes it is ridicule. Often there is a smear campaign, something said to make others question your validity. Almost always there will be tongues wagging behind your back, and people looking away when you pass them on the street or encounter them in the supermarket.

I told her how fortunate I feel that my livelihood does not depend on anyone inside Iceland. The people who buy my books, who support my Substack—they are, by and large, not Icelanders. I cannot be cancelled here, or punished, in any way that would materially affect my life—not like other Icelanders who do not toe the line. That is a privilege, and I don’t take it for granted. I know others are not so lucky.

I also told her how glad I am not to have been fully indoctrinated into this society. I grew up abroad and moved back to Iceland at the age of 31, which means I see things clearly that many people who grew up here cannot see, or do not permit themselves to see. That outside perspective is both a gift and an alienation—a gift because it means a certain level of freedom; alienation because you are never fully incorporated as “one of us.”

All of this reminds me of a quote by the late Styrmir Gunnarsson, who as long-time editor of Morgunblaðið—before it was turned into a mouthpiece for the quota barons—was one of the most influential cultural observers in Iceland. Speaking to the Investigative Committee into the Economic Collapse after the 2008 meltdown, he made this now-immortal statement:

I have been observing this society for 50 years. This is a sickening society, it is all sickening. There are no principles, there are no ideals, there is nothing. There is only opportunism, a hunger for power.

That was a man who had spent his career inside the system, and that was his verdict.

… And yet.

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Mind you, this is not a vote on whether or not Iceland will join the EU, only whether or not we should resume negotiations. If a majority votes in favour, talks will go ahead, and then there will be another referendum on whether or not to accept the deal that gets hammered out.

Predictably, the announcement has unleashed hysteria among those who claim Iceland will lose its sovereignty, independence, and control of our natural resources. All the fish will be hoovered up! They’ll jack up our electrical costs! Our agricultural sector will collapse! Our cucumbers will need to be a fixed size!

🙄

What these folks don’t seem to realize is that Iceland is inside the European Economic Area already so we are obliged to adopt around 80% of the EU’s regulations across a variety of sectors right now. At the same time, we have no seat at the table where those decisions are made. We’re simply given orders and must implement the rules.

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This is not our first time at this junction, which is why talks are being resumed, rather than begun. The last time we were here was post-economic meltdown, which led to a collapse of the government in 2009 and the Social Democratic Party taking over—the same party that is in power now (as part of a coalition). The SDP has long had EU accession talks on its agenda, but the last time they were voted out after their first term and talks were subsequently shelved.

When those talks were underway last time, I was part of a group of journalists invited on a press trip to Brussels. (I was merely a humble blogger with no published books then, but evidently they considered me significant enough to warrant an invitation.) While there, we got to meet people working in areas where the main conflicts were likely to arise during the negotiations—most notably in fisheries and agriculture.

Those most vehemently opposed to the EU back in Iceland worked themselves into a frenzy about that trip when they heard about it, claiming that it was an all-expenses-paid bribery trip solely designed to brainwash us. Apparently we would then go back to Iceland and brainwash everyone else, making it easy for the Big Bad EU to swoop in and gulp us down in one piece.

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Long story short, I did not feel like I was being brainwashed or gaslit in any way during that trip. Neither did I feel like the terrible EU was a big soulless behemoth primed to swallow us up.

Instead we met with thoughtful and well-spoken individuals who were decidedly laissez-faire about Iceland’s potential accession. If Iceland wanted to join, they said, they were happy to have us. If not, then that was totally fine, too. It was up to the Icelandic people to decide whether it would ultimately serve their best interests.

Indeed, those people spoke more of what Iceland could offer the Union than what it could give to it. Particularly with regard to sustainable fisheries (with which Iceland has had considerable success and for which it has drawn admiration worldwide), even suggesting that we could take the lead on that front, in the EU’s fisheries division.

To the nay-sayers back home, this was of course all lies and manipulation—the ultimate goal of the Big Bad EU was to take our sovereignty and our resources.

🙄

Anyway, while I am interested in all angles of this subject, what fascinates me at the moment (in light of the book I am writing) is the knee-jerk reflex that is always unleashed at the mention of EU membership.

It is a reflex that arrives with such speed and ferociousness that I have to wonder how much of it is inherited, as opposed to grounded in reason.

Iceland, after all, has a particular relationship with independence.

For centuries, this country was not independent. Under Danish rule, as well as that of a small domestic elite that held land, labour, and political power in an iron grip, the vast majority of Icelanders had no meaningful freedom. The vistarband system, which bound farm workers to their employers and kept them in conditions of near-serfdom until well into the twentieth century, was administered from within, by Icelanders, for the benefit of a small and powerful class of landowners and merchants.

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Reading through them, I am struck by how quickly the full picture of a man can be smoothed into something more … comfortable.

Incidentally, this is not unique to this particular man. It is simply what we do here. When someone dies in Iceland, obituaries and tributes always tend toward the generous—heavy on flattery, light on criticism. It is a sort of cultural agreement that the dead deserve a moment of grace. With most people, this is fine. With someone who loomed as large as Davíð Oddsson … it’s a little more complex.

Those of you who have followed my writing since the Iceland Weather Report days may remember my dispatches about Oddsson—particularly from the years of the Icelandic economic meltdown, when I wrote about him with rather less restraint than I will attempt today.

When I say “one of this country’s most influential” I do not mean it solely as a compliment. But his scale is where we have to start because for readers outside Iceland, or younger Icelanders who came of age after the Oddsson era, his name may not land with the weight it should

To understand Iceland today you need to understand Davíð Oddsson, because there is almost no corner of this society he did not touch.

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Briefly:

Oddsson was Mayor of Reykjavík for nine years back in the 1980s. He went straight from there to become Prime Minister for 13 years—the longest-serving in Iceland’s history. This was from 1991 to 2004, which means he presided over nearly every significant economic and political decision made in this country during the years that shaped the world we inhabit today. When he finally stepped down—of his own accord and on his own timeline—he did not retire. He installed himself as Governor of the Central Bank of Iceland, a position for which he had no formal qualifications. Three years later, the Icelandic economy collapsed in one of the most spectacular financial crashes any small nation has ever experienced.

I have been writing about this man on and off for the better part of two decades, and I want to be honest: I did not admire him. But I also want to be accurate, which requires acknowledging that he was, by any measure, an extraordinary figure.

Oddsson had genuine charisma and an exceedingly sharp wit. He filled a room with his presence, and his powers of persuasion were almost uncanny. Even his adversaries—and there were many—conceded that when Davíð Oddsson started talking, people lost their bearings. I completely relate to that. I remember watching him on one of the many TV interviews done with him after the meltdown, and even though I knew he was misrepresenting the facts and whitewashing himself, I would find myself persuaded during the broadcast that he was, indeed, telling the truth. Then, about an hour later, I’d come to my senses, and wonder how the hell I could have believed that sh*t.

Oddsson had a way with words. He co-wrote radio comedy and published short story collections that became bestsellers. He was in many ways a genuinely talented man.

Yet he was also a master manipulator—a man who never, in any meaningful sense, admitted to being wrong.

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The economic ideology he brought to Iceland was that of Thatcher, Friedman et al: the belief that markets freed from state interference would generate prosperity for all. As Prime Minister, he privatised state assets, cut taxes, and deregulated with enthusiasm. For a time, the numbers looked good and Iceland prospered. The story told—by Oddsson and by those around him—was one of liberation and success.

What was less visible was the scaffolding being constructed underneath it all.

When Iceland’s parliament agreed on the privatisation of two of Iceland’s three major commercial banks in the early 2000s, the official stipulation was that there be distributed ownership. The idea was that no single investor should have too much control. In the end, that is not what happened. During the privatisation process, the head of the overseeing committee abruptly resigned, citing what he called “undue intervention” by the coalition party leaders—Oddsson being one. Eventually the banks were sold to groups with close ties to the Independence Party and the Progressive Party respectively, with one bank loaning money to the buyers of the other. The new owners allegedly—and surreptitiously—agreed to install party loyalists as executives and extend favour to supporters.

What followed was a reckless expansion that would eventually dwarf the entire Icelandic economy.

There is another detail from this period that is not widely known. In 2002, the National Economic Institute—established specifically to provide independent analysis and early warnings about the economy—began publishing reports that Oddsson deemed “too pessimistic.” He responded by dismantling the institute. Warnings that might have slowed or stopped what was coming were silenced at source. It is not an exaggeration to say this came at a monumental cost for the Icelandic nation.

In October 2005, Oddsson left politics (in theory) and moved to the Central Bank. He had already ensured, just before departing, that Central Bank directors would receive a substantial pay rise and that he could collect both his new salary and his prime-ministerial pension simultaneously. Then he settled in to what was to be a cushy semi-retirement job.

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Hello from inside the cloud of particle pollution that has hovered over Reykjavík in the past few days. Air quality is often bad on winter days that are cold and dry with little wind. In this country known for its fresh air and water there are a number of days each year when it is literally a health hazard to be outdoors in the capital area, especially for small children and people with respiratory issues.

Nb I started this post yesterday when it was really bad … thankfully it’s a little better today, but even so I’ve been getting flashbacks to the time in 2010 when Eyjafjallajökull erupted and I stupidly waltzed right into the ash cloud without a mask on my face. The last few days have kind of felt like that.

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Positively apocalyptic, I know. And yes, that is Skógarfoss waterfall with no one around it. It was this very eruption that pretty much kickstarted the tourism boom.

Speaking of tourism, no doubt you have heard what’s happened to our most popular tourist beach, Reynisfjara. …? You know, the one consistently under scrutiny for tourists’ safety, to wit:

Okay, if you haven’t heard about it, Reynisfjara was dramatically altered by erosion a couple of weeks ago. We are talking …

Before:

After:

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In case you’re confused, those basalt columns on the left in the upper photo are the ones to the far right in the lower photo. They have literally moved out to sea.

All this has been a big story on the tourism blogs/social media accounts—less so in the Icelandic media. In fact, I haven’t seen it get more than a passing mention. Perhaps because we are so used to drastic changes in our nature. Over the centuries, we Icelanders have learned to a) respect the natural forces b) take them in our stride. We know they are far beyond our control, and will do their thing, regardless of our preferences.

This applies not least to the force of the ocean. As an island nation, the sea has indelibly shaped our lives and destiny. I don’t believe there is a single person in Iceland who has not lost an ancestor to the sea. Many of our given names reference the sea—both for men and women. My name, Alda, means wave on the sea. So does the name Bára. Other “sea” examples are: Rán, Hafdís, Hafrún, Sædís, Sæbjörg, Sæunn, and for men: Ægir, Sævar, Sæþór, Sæmundur, Hafsteinn, Hafþór. This list is by no means exhaustive.

Our language, too, is rife with sea references. Idioms and proverbs in any language give a fascinating insight into the culture, and Icelandic has innumerable examples that reference the ocean, and that we use daily. I have a whole section on those in my Little Book of Icelandic.

And so I guess it is bye-bye to poses on Reynisfjara’s iconic basalt columns. With any luck, it will also mean farewell to fatal accidents at the beach.

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And now on a personal note ..

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Meanwhile, Icelanders also consume the highest number of antidepressants of all the OECD countries—by far.

Right. Something doesn’t quite compute.

Not that anyone is complaining or refuting those findings. After all, it confirms an appealing narrative about our fine Land: that we are a small, safe, socially cohesive society where people live close to nature, trust one another, and enjoy a high quality of life.

And sure, on a relative scale, Iceland ranks high when it comes to factors that strongly influence how people rate their lives overall. Factors like a strong social fabric, relatively good welfare and health care systems, low corruption (though that is always up for debate), high standard of living.

But if you’ve lived in Iceland, grown up in an Icelandic family, or paid attention to the emotional undercurrents of everyday life here, said narrative can feel a tad incomplete. Because, well … the mental health thing.

Still, the more I think about it, and the more I dig into the whole generational trauma thing as it relates to Icelandic history (something I have been a tad obsessed with over the last while, as many of you will know) … the more that paradox made sense.

Before I get into it, we need to be clear that happiness is not the same as emotional well-being. Those happiness rankings typically don’t measure joy, contentment, or emotional ease in the day-to-day.

Instead, they ask people to evaluate their lives as a whole, whether their life circumstances are good, acceptable, or poor.

So, when Icelanders are asked whether their lives are safe, stable, and broadly satisfactory, most will answer … well, yes.

And yet a 2023 study found significant levels of depression, anxiety and stress among Icelanders, particularly younger adults and people facing financial strain.

Moreover:

• A 2019 study showed that nearly 8 percent of Icelanders reported having depressive symptoms, with younger people and women disproportionately affected. This is above the EU average

• As mentioned, Iceland has the highest rates of antidepressant use among the OECD nations—roughly double the OECD average. Also, the rate of antidepressant use went up by more than 100 percent between 2000 and 2020.

• Iceland’s suicide mortality rate is about 20 percent higher than the rest of Europe.

• Studies on trauma exposure among the Icelandic population show that the vast majority of participants report having experienced at least one potentially traumatic event and meet criteria for having significant trauma-related symptoms.

So what this tells us is that Icelanders are not necessarily uniquely unhappy or dysfunctional, only that that, among Icelanders, high life satisfaction can coexist with significant emotional and psychological distress.

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Which brings me to Iceland’s history and cultural inheritance

As I have discussed here numerous times, Icelandic society developed under conditions where endurance was vital for survival. People needed to have restraint, self-control and an ability to carry on without complaint. Emotional expression was generally not allowed, and vulnerability tended to be synonymous with weakness.

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It’s time for my weekly Substack post about Iceland and I find myself staring at the screen, at a loss for words about anything because of the way some geriatric asshat is behaving halfway across the world. (Cue email responses about how offensive it is to folks that I have an opinion about the US president.)

Yup, everything I might say feels…

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First of all, a warm welcome to new subscribers. A bunch of you have joined us since the last post, presumably because you are interested in Iceland’s role in the mad circus of the orange ringleader. Hi! 👋

We are, of course, very conscious of all things surrounding our dear neighbour Greenland and the rapidly-shifting nature of the world order we have come to know and trust.

That said, I can’t say we were prepared last week for the “joke” dropped by the proposed next US Ambassador to Iceland, Billy Long, that Iceland was set to become the 52nd US state—presumably after Greenland.

Suffice it to say that we Icelanders did not share in his hilarity.

Per RÚV, this dude:

… briefly served as Director of Revenue and Customs of the United States, but Trump fired him after only two months in the role - and then nominated him the same day as ambassador to Iceland.

Awesome.

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Icelandic politicians are notoriously spineless when it comes to standing up to foreign representatives, and frankly I had little hope that they would. But, I was wrong: our Minister for Foreign Affairs appeared just as rattled we were and summarily demanded an explanation from the US Embassy.

Soon afterward, Long issued an apology, saying that the whole thing had been a joke shared among friends and that he could understand our reaction over here. 😳 This amiable tone, was, frankly, a bit of a curveball—we Icelanders are not accustomed to politicians taking responsibility, much less apologizing for anything, so the national outrage seemed to subside, somewhat.

Still, the “joke” was made, adding to the massive distrust we Icelanders, and all of Europe, have towards the United States administration as of late.

In the time between the “joke” and the apology, someone launched a petition calling for Icelandic authorities to reject Long’s appointment if it is granted (it’s still pending senate approval, if I understand correctly). So far over 5,300 people have signed the petition.

(Want to sign? You need an Icelandic kennitala (social insurance number), but if you have one of those, go for it.)

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Apart from that particular incident, how are we doing up here?

Thanks for asking.

The thing you have to understand about Icelanders is that we’ve been through so much over the centuries, as you will know if you’ve been following my posts about the vistarband, or have watched my webinar.

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They have closed the Ring Road in the south, roughly between Kirkjubæjarklaustur and Höfn, due to these winds—so be advised, if you are currently touring Iceland and reading this. Personally I wouldn’t want to be out on any roads right now … this would probably be a good day to visit a museum, just saying.

Anyway.

To other matters. Like this noteworthy piece of news: A majority of Icelanders now say they are in favour of accession talks with the European Union.

Icelanders, as you may know if you’ve read this, have traditionally valued their independence above all else. Sure, tides have shifted in the direction of the EU before, particularly after the 2008 economic meltdown, yet have subsequently gone nowhere. And I don’t believe there has ever before been a majority in favour of talks.

Prompting this change, obviously, are the alarming changes in global politics and Trump’s coveting of Greenland, which is a flaming hot topic around here right about now, as you can probably imagine.

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Brief catch up for those not in the loop …

Iceland is currently not a part of the EU. We are a part of the European Free Trade Association, EFTA, which effectively means we have adopted the four economic freedoms of the EU—the free movement of people, services, goods and capital. This is why EU members can come here to work and do not need a special permit, and also why they can start businesses here if they feel so inclined.

Yet since we are not full members of the EU we do not have a seat at the table when it comes to policy formation, debates, voting, or whatever else. Conversely, as EFTA members we are under obligation to implement around 80 percent of the EU’s laws and directives—but without having a say in the creation of any of them.

In other words, our “independence” from Europe, which the anti-EU camp is so zealous about defending, is basically an illusion.

Then there are matters of defence …

Until now, the argument for joining the EU has primarily focused on economics—lower interest rates, a cost of living that is closer to that of EU states, adopting the euro, and so on.

Now, it is all about defence.

Iceland is a member of NATO, and we have a defence agreement with the United States. As many of you know or remember, there was a strong US military presence here for several decades in the last century. In 2005 it was no longer deemed necessary to keep the base at Keflavík open, what with improved relations between the US and Russia. The decision to close the base and withdraw was made by the US, unilaterally.

The defence agreement with the US remained in place, but now with Trump in the White House, it is tenuous, at best. Our prime minister was quoted a few days ago as saying “We can rely on the United States”, which anyone beyond the age of five can see is both naive and unrealistic. No one can rely on the United States any more, not even the United States.

Indeed, one of our leading political commentators has said that the defence agreement will soon not be worth the paper it is printed on, given that Trump has stated that US interests are the determining factor as to whether such an agreement is upheld, or not.

As for Greenland

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Christmas here in Iceland officially ends tomorrow, January 6, on what is known as Þrettándinn—the thirteenth. That’s Twelfth Night to the Anglo-Saxon world, only here we start counting a day earlier, on December 24.

Þrettándinn is like a mini New Year’s Eve, with fireworks and bonfires—though it falls short of the level of craziness displayed on NYE.

After Þrettándinn we begin dismantling the Yule—the Christmas trees come down, as do the decorations—though the coloured lights may stay up a bit longer, as they offer such a respite in the winter darkness. 🙏

Oh say, about that new road tax

I thought I’d briefly address an issue that there seems to be a bit of confusion over, at least if posts from Iceland-bound travellers in Iceland-related Facebook groups are any indication.

Many people about to travel to Iceland who had already booked rental cars received emails from the rental companies informing them that they would be charged an extra fee for each day of the car rental, starting January 1. This because the Icelandic government decided just before Christmas to implement a new road tax, known as kílómetragjald—a kilometre fee.

Not surprisingly, people were befuddled by this, wondering if it was even legal—to change a contract after the fact, and add an extra charge. Some complained about not having been given more warning, others railed that this was the Icelanders going out of their way to fleece tourists, while some were dismayed about the cost … after all, renting a car in Iceland is expensive enough without suddenly being slapped with a new fee!

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So here’s the deal.

First, I have no idea if this is legal or not … I suppose that must depend on the terms outlined by the individual rental company.

As for not being given more warning … well, this is kind of the Icelandic way of doing things. We are not big on long-term planning up here. 😂 And in all fairness to the rental companies, they didn’t know it was going to be made into law until the law was passed—as I said, just a few days before Christmas.

As for Icelanders going out of their way to fleece tourists … na-ah. If anyone’s getting fleeced, we all are. This is a tax that’s being slapped the entire population, not just tourists. It’s designed to even the playing field between people who drive cars with ICE engines, and those with EVs. Until now, the tax has been collected at the pumps, as a surcharge on gas prices. This was, of course, deeply unfair to ICE-engine owners, since they were effectively paying for upkeep of the road system for everyone else. Those who drive EVs, meanwhile, will pay an even higher kilometre fee than those with ICE cars going forward.

Also, and this is important: The price of gas/petrol decreases correspondingly. On the first day of the year we saw the price of petrol decrease by one-third.

So, while I get that it is annoying to suddenly be informed of an extra charge, the lower gas prices will help offset this. Also, Iceland does not have tolls on the roads like many European nations, and someone has to pay for their upkeep. It makes sense that that “someone” should be the people using those roads.

Know someone travelling to Iceland soon? Share this with them, so that they are in the loop.

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Now, for my valued paid supporters, a sneak peek at my NEW BOOK that will be released soon(ish)!

I have been diligently working on a book focusing on the topic that I have written a lot about here on this Substack in the last few months—the cultural silence around our collective history, and how the betrayal blindness and trauma response still manifests today, though it has become decontextualized and therefore shows up as national characteristics or cultural quirks.

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I cannot say I know them well—certainly not the son and the other friend, neither of whom I had met before. But I have to say that, by the end of the hour-and-a-half, they felt like dear pals.

Much of that had to do with our rapport. These guys knew how to converse. They were willing to share their thoughts and perceptions, and they also asked questions back. I didn’t feel like it was one-sided, just me asking the questions … as I so often do with Icelanders.

I have written about this before—that (most) Icelanders are hopeless at conversation. It’s like they have interactive myopia, and cannot see beyond their own limited sphere. It’s disconcerting. It’s like they really can’t see you—and, well, we all long to be seen.

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Since I love to figure out where the bodies are buried (have you noticed?) I started musing on what might account for this difference between this Canadian cultural norm and the Icelandic one.

Aside: if you are a recent follower and not familiar with my story, I was born in Iceland but grew up in Canada, hence my familiarity with both cultures.

And, I have to say, in looking at foundations of these two countries, it all makes perfect sense.

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Yes, we Icelanders revere our language so much that we dedicate a whole day to it every year.

In fact, if an Icelander is asked what is the defining characteristic of “being Icelandic”, the Icelandic language will usually be at the top, or near the top, of their list.

And yet, at no other time in history has Icelandic been under greater threat of becoming extinct and the English language closer to taking over as the official language of Iceland.

Spend a day in Reykjavík and you will see what I mean. Businesses have English names, there are signs everywhere in English, and when both Icelandic and English are used (such as on restaurant menus) English tends to be first, and Icelandic second.

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Moreover, it is virtually impossible to go to any service establishment and expect to speak Icelandic, since most of the staff will be English speaking.

And this is not anyone’s “fault” … except maybe that of Icelandic lawmakers.

The official policy regarding Icelandic has long been a prescriptive approach—to steer its evolvement, rather than to let it develop on its own. This is done, among other things, by having Language Committees instrumental in creating new words when new concepts, or new technologies, enter the common lexicon.

The word for “computer” for instance is tölva, made up of the word tala, “number” and völva, “prophetess”. Just as an example.

So … Icelanders have formulated various policies for keeping the language pure … yet they seem to have lost the plot with regards to the vast social changes taking place and their impact on our national language.

So what are the factors that pose the greatest threats to Icelandic?

I know as soon as I mention them I will get riled for being xenophobic, ignorant, a hater of tourists, or all three … so let me preface this by saying that this incorporates no moral or ethical judgment. I am merely stating facts. I’ll explain a bit more about each forthwith.

In no particular order:

1. Tourism

2. Migrant workers

3. Policymakers

4. Technology

Tourism

In 2010, Iceland welcomed less than 500,000 tourists. Fifteen years later, that number has quintupled, which has revolutionized our economy. New businesses have sprung up to service those tourists, and many of them bear English names. Think “Guide to Iceland” or “Plan B Burger” or “FlyOver Iceland” or “Green Energy Travel”. Communication from those companies will often be exclusively in English—websites, menus, signs, brochures, and more. I suppose in many instances this makes sense, since Icelanders do not typically use their services. And yet, often they do (restaurants, museums, activities), at which they will often feel like foreigners in their own country. It’s all a bit jarring.

Migrant workers

When the current tourism boom started in 2010, the population of Iceland was under 320,000 people. As the industry grew, we could not possibly keep up, and it became necessary to recruit foreign workers. Currently, foreigners make up 18 percent of the population of Iceland, and nowhere in the OECD countries is their labour participation greater than here. Also, nowhere in the OECD countries are they less likely to speak the national language as here. This is why, when we Icelanders go out to shops or restaurants or travel within our country, more often than not we have to speak English.

This is a complex issue. It is not realistic to require migrant workers to learn Icelandic before being hired for a job. And some people, who may only wish to stop here for a few months, probably won’t have any desire or incentive to put in the effort to learn out language.

Yet in other cases people very much do want to learn Icelandic. Indeed, to fully integrate into this society, have better job prospects, and not feel like a total outsider all the time, it is necessary. Then the issue is how and where to learn it. In most cases folks are working in surroundings with other foreigners, serving mostly foreigners (tourists), so their exposure to Icelandic is minimal. They will typically work full days in jobs that are not tremendously well paid, so they’ll have neither the time, funds nor energy to learn Icelandic, even if they had access to courses.

Add to this that most Icelanders are fluent in English and tend to switch over to English when they are talking to people who are clearly not Icelandic—thinking they are being considerate, or out of impatience, or whatever—which makes it even harder for people to practice speaking Icelandic.

Icelandic policymakers

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All three have been written in the last few years. Before that, I don’t think people dared to speak out, for reasons I shall explain a bit further down.

There is a telling quote in the book’s acknowledgements. After listing the people to which he is indebted, the author adds, “Not to mention all my friends who supported me and urged me to continue when I was scared and wanted to give up.”

The “scared” part is understandable. Because this is the reality: people who have spoken out against powerful individuals and/or institutions in Iceland have been intimidated, persecuted, bullied, and had their livelihoods taken away.

This is especially the case with journalists who have investigated and written about acts of malfeasance, some of those so deplorable that words cannot do them justice.

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I deeply admire Icelandic journalists who investigate and expose the underbelly of this society—a society that, just over a decade ago, was commonly believed to be free of corruption, by Icelanders and outsiders alike. That’s how well it was hidden.

Icelandic society is small. We are just short of 400,000 people. And while there are many positive things about living in such a small container—mutual support, open channels of communication, a sense that each individual matters—there are also some less-than-stellar things.

One of those is that, if you make powerful enemies, they can easily pull strings that close almost all doors, and severely limit your ability to make a living.

I am sometimes asked, by fellow Icelanders, whether I am not afraid to write critical pieces about certain members of the elite, or political parties.

I am not.

Yet that is only because I am in the privileged position of not depending on anyone within Iceland for my livelihood.1

I write books, I publish all but one of them myself, and the people who buy my books are generally people who don’t care a toss about Icelandic politics one way or the other and would never “cancel” me for that reason.

Plus, I have lovely supporters right here through this newsletter, which brings additional income that allows me to write independently and according to my own moral principles and conscience.

That means so much to me.

Because even though freedom of speech is coded into legislation in this country, there are other ways to punish those who choose to exercise that freedom.

And even though I am largely independent from the forces that strike fear into the hearts of my fellow countrymen, I have, on occasion, received not-so-subtle warnings that I am being watched and should not step out of line.

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Nevertheless I think the verdict …

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It was a great little cabin, not far from Brúarfoss waterfall—you had to cross a small river on ste…

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We are talking about:

The president
The prime minister
The heads of all three parties that make up the Icelandic government
The mayor of Reykjavík
The heads of the five parties that make up the Reykjavík city council
The bishop
The presidents of all universities in Iceland (seven in total)
The Commissioner of Police
The Director of Public Prosecutions (Attorney General)

I wonder if the expression on the face of the RÚV newscaster was intentional when he delivered his report (screenshot) … sorta looks like he’s lost all will to live. 😌

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Be that as it may, as far as I know this is a first in the history of the world — that women are in ALL the top positions of a nation.

Predictably, certain representatives of the patriarchy are spewing venom about this, complaining loudly and forcefully about the rise of “radical feminism” and how men’s rights are being subverted, yada yada. Not giving that any space here because it’s so tedious, but also kind of scary because we have women’s rights being dialled back across the globe and the rise of incels and other scary ideologies (incidentally, have you watched Adolescence yet? You must!).

WE NOW INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM TO BRING YOU

… this powerful video created by UN Women Iceland, featuring my daughter, Aldís Amah. It speaks for itself … or no, actually, the narrator speaks for it.

/PSA

I have a fair bit more to say on these female powerhouses that now run our country but that is reserved for my valued paid subscribers who sponsor this newsletter missive with their generous contributions.

Speaking of!

Up to now I have had my subscription rate at Substack’s recommended price, which is $8 a month, or $80 per year. (Of that around $6/$60 goes to me, after the fees have been deducted.)

However, I am in a buoyant mood because it is spring and the flowers are blooming, so I am offering 25 percent off all subscriptions in April! That means $6 a month, $60 a year, until the end of this month. GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT.

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This will (among other things) give you the tea on all those female powerhouses … 🫖 MORE BELOW 👇

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Yesterday I finished watching the Icelandic mini-series Vigdís, based on the life of Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, Iceland’s first female president, who was also the first democratically-elected female head of state in the world.

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I lived abroad in 1980 when Vigdís was elected, and was at an age where I probably wouldn’t have paid much attention an…

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Goddamn that is an expensive bag of groceries

My hair is like straw again. ☹️ Also: flat.

Old and rotting veg at the grocery store … why do I live here again?

(At home) This orange is completely bland and tasteless

Oh right, I have to put on a coat, scarf and mitts

Why did this person look through me just now? ~ Oh, my quota expired.

I cannot wait to get to t…

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Today we are discussing … pólitík!

More specifically our new government, which frankly I am rather chuffed about.

Brief aside: I have opened a chat for paid subscribers, if you wish to discuss any parts of this newsletter, or have questions or comments about our new political landscape.

I drafted this post before the end of the year and was going t…

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