Four Things I’m still not used to about Iceland (and I don’t think I ever will be)
I sort of moved to Iceland by accident.
To cut a long story short (and to do it a massive injustice) I met an amazing Icelander while hiking in Spain in 2017. After said hike, they invited me to visit for a week. Then they asked me to stay for another week. After those two weeks togeher, they asked me to stay indefinitely. I was so glad they did and happily agreed.
When my (now ex-)partner asked me to move to Iceland, they said they’d buy me a flight home whenever I wanted one. Five years later, I have yet to take them up on that very kind offer. Our daughter turns 3 next month. And Iceland is home.
All this is to say that whilst I’m very happy in Iceland, I didn’t actually ever sit down and consciously decide to move to Iceland. I didn’t read a single website, book or blog about what living in Iceland would be like. I didn’t talk to any other (potentially less biased*) people who lived or had moved to Iceland. I didn’t have any idea what to expect.
Thinking about it, I honestly don’t know if I would have done anything differently if I had. Getting off the plane on December 31st 2017, maybe I would have packed a few more coats…
In the five years and change I’ve been here I’ve learned so much about my new home. In fact, since becoming a tour guide in 2018, I have actively made it my business to try and get to know everything about Iceland. And let me tell you, there’s a lot to fucking learn.
But I got to work. So now, I know the day that Icelandic children spank their parents for pastry. I have eaten all the traditional foods including fermented shark, boiled sheep’s face, and even the dreaded skata (with foreground flavours of ammonia and death). I have made it my business (literally) know where the trolls, elves and the Christmas Cat live.
And I think over time I’ve started to feel increasingly at home in this strange frozen land in the North. Sure I basically became a wildling north of the wall, but, given time, Icelandic customs and traditions have started to make sense. Interestingly, pastry spanking is a holdover from the days of Danish colonisation. The gross foods highlight how hard it is to actually grow anything in lava without soil. And, in a land with a bunch of rocks and 20 hours of darkness a day in winter, it does not surprise me that the big rocks become trolls, or elf homes during fireside storytelling in the dark. By learning the cultural history of Iceland, things that originally seemed super weird start to make sense.
Which is a good thing. It’s nice to start to feel at home when you’ve emigrated. It feels good to slowly make sense of what felt (without initially trying to be too on the nose about it) completely foreign.
And yet, there are some things about Iceland which strike me as odd every single time I encounter them.
Lots of Icelandic culture feels normal, or even homely, now I’ve lived here for half a decade. I’d maybe even argue that most Icelandicisms fit into that category at this point. But. There are several Icelandicisms that strike me as weird every single time I encounter them. There are parts of Icelandic everyday living that make me bristle even though I know to expect them.
There are parts of living in Iceland that I genuinely think will never feel normal.
This article is a list of the four Icelandicisms that I’m still not used to and I don’t think I ever will be.
Ready? Let’s get started!
Not Thanking the Bus Driver
OK, look, I never said these were life and death or anything…
I take public transport basically every day. I’d love to claim it’s due to environmentalism rather than my inability to call a mechanic**, but in any case, I ride the bus.
Interrupting Fun Fact: Iceland has no trains.
Which I love! I grew up riding the bus! And let me tell you, I’m the guy on the bus who knows what he’s doing on a bus. I have my music. I have my book. I have my comfy bus clothes. I can balance perfectly in any standing position on a packed bus and still read my book without troubling. Not to brag unduly, but I’m excellent at riding the bus.
Here’s the thing. I’m autistic (I know, what a surprise! I never mention it…) and, as such, I like to have my little routines. Certain ways of doing things that feel comfortable. And in Newcastle, where I was born and raised***, everyone gets off the bus the same way. As you get off you smile at the bus driver and say ‘cheers mate’ or something similar.
You always thank the bus driver. No exceptions. I can’t stress that enough. Even the shitty youths that play music aloud at the back of the bus thank the driver.
Not in Iceland. You never thank the bus driver in Iceland.
There is arguably a good reason for this. You don’t even pass the bus driver when you alight the bus. You leave from the middle or rear. I actually imagine this somewhat explains the lack of interacting with the driver. Instead of thanking them as you pass, you would have to shout across the bus as you get off. Which might be odd, or disturb the other passengers.
Even though I understand the reasoning that doesn’t change how I feel. Every time I get off the bus in silence I get a weird feeling in my stomach that I’ve forgotten to do something important. I imagine the driver being sad that no-one thanks them. I imagine them hoping for a glimpse of recognition and yet none being offered. I don’t like it. I think I could live here for a hundred years and not still feel the same pang of impropriety as I disembark public transport.
Now before moving onto to the second example, it is worth pointing out that there is another available interpretation of why Icelanders do not thank the bus drivers that I cannot rule out entirely. It is perfectly possible that Icelanders do (or would) thank bus drivers when they deserve it but that just never happens.
For context, Icelandic bus drivers never smile. Icelandic bus drivers drive off when people run for the bus (twice so far this week alone to just me). Icelandic bus drivers start driving before you sit. Icelandic bus drivers often start driving before you’ve even scanned your pass. Even if you’re carrying a toddler. And a pram. On more than one occasion, Icelandic bus drivers have closed the doors on me as I’ve tried to get off the bus while looking at me in the rear view mirror. I think it might be a game they have. I’m not sure. And that’s before we start with inconsistent late service.
You know what? Maybe this one actually makes sense…
Icelanders don’t say ‘please’
So I’m British. But my entire upbringing, I’ve honestly never really felt especially British or English. I actually used to bristle against my Britishness all the time. Growing up in England I used to constantly used to deny or obfuscate my Britishness.
I said things like “I don’t like cricket!”, “I really enjoy flavour!”, “I don’t think any family was chosen by God to rule over me and if they were they wouldn’t be cousin-marrying, paedophile-shielding, wealth-hoarding aristocrats” and so on. I didn’t feel British at all really.
But when you move abroad, suddenly you can’t help but notice all the things about your upbringing or culture that you’ve internalised. Emigrating, whilst also offering you a place to become anyone you want, also reveals who you already are. And in my case, how British I actually am.
Folks****, I hate to say, but I’m so fucking polite.
I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but saying ‘please’, ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’ is extremely important to me. If someone asks for something and doesn’t say please, it throws off my mood for a time. If someone takes something from me without thanking me then I’ll remember that and low-key judge them. Forever. Similarly, if someone goes out of their way to be polite, I would walk through fire for them. Politeness is a strange and powerful force over my life.
Interrupting Fun Fact: The Icelandic language has no word for ‘please’.
You read that right. The Icelandic language has no word for please. Now, for my Icelandic readers, I know that there are phrases which mean something like please. But the thing about phrases like ‘vinsamlegast’ and ‘gerðu það?’ is that they don’t work the same. They have specific uses/contexts. You don’t hear them all that often. It’s definitely not something you hear every day. It doesn’t work the same way as please does in English.*****
In Britain, you hear ‘please’ every other sentence. Minimum. It’s excellent.
I’ve spoken to many Icelanders about this. They would probably say that they don’t need the word ‘please’. They convey the politeness and warmth of ‘please’ through their tone. That may be so. If you’re Icelandic.
But let me tell you, when an Icelander says something like ‘Give me that’ and doesn’t say please, I’m not hearing that friendly tone. I’m hearing ‘Give me that. Fuck you.’ When someone says ‘that’ll be 150 krona’ with no please, I hear ‘Give me your money. Fuck you’. And when someone tells me to turn my phone off at a gig without saying please, I automatically want to turn the ringer onto full volume out of spite. Fuck you too.
Look. I’m not saying I’m right about this. I’m not saying Icelanders aren’t polite (in tone, words or whatever subliminal politeness force they subscribe to). I’m saying that I find the fact that please isn’t a regular part of discourse in Iceland really difficult. Every day. Even after 5 years.
I don’t think it will ever feel normal to me to not say please basically all the time.
Interrupting Fun Fact: My ex was told by family as a child on a British Airways flight to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as much as possible to the British cabin crew. The reason was not to be polite but because (and I may be paraphrasing here) ‘British people love that shit’.
Yes we do. We love that shit. And its absence is noted daily.
Everyone knows your Social Security Number
I grew up in a country where identity theft happens. I’ve had card details and passwords stolen which were used to take my money. My Mum recently (ish) had to change all her passwords due to identity theft. It’s a real problem with actual consequences.
As a result, we Brits are cautious with our information and data. I can’t speak for everyone but my family would shred important documents so that we didn’t accidentally disclose our private information to bad actors. You wouldn’t share your address randomly. You wouldn’t share information about your bank publicly. You definitely wouldn’t share your social security number.
In Iceland, this isn’t at all the case. In fact, it’s practically the opposite.
The Icelandic equivalent to the Social Security Number (SSN) or National Insurance Number (NINO) is called the Kennitala. It is 10 digits long. All numbers. The first six digits are your date of birth (DDMMYY). The last digit is 9 if you were born in the 20th century (like me). If you don’t make a noise when you stand up (or were born in the 21st century) it ends in a 0. Digits 7 through 9 are random.
Interrupting Fun Fact: If you know someone in Iceland’s birthday, you only need 1,000 guesses to definitely correctly guess their Kennitala.
Generally speaking, in England, if you were disclosing your ID number you might try to keep your voice down in public. Few places ask for it for it, and if they do it’s because it’s a significant interaction. A financial contract. The tax office. Student loans. That kind of thing.
In Iceland you will tell people your Kennitala basically every single day.
Want a pool card? Tell me your Kennitala. Want to borrow a library book? Tell me your Kennitala. Want to rent a video (when that was era appropriate)? Tell me your Kennitala.
What’s even wilder is what that number does. Because it’s not just a number. It’s actually every record held about you in Iceland.
For example, when you give your doctor your Kennitala, all your medical records pop up. When you give the tax office your Kennitala, all your tax reports and records pop up. When you give the vehicle authorities your Kennitala, your vehicle and driving history pops up. Same with your pool membership, gym membership, library card, prescriptions, phone contract, and so on and so forth.
But it’s even more than that. Whichever organisation you give this incredibly easy to work out number, will automatically receive all your relevant info, including your address, phone number, email, age and other useful info.
Your Kennitala holds the key to your entire functional identity in Iceland. If you don’t have one, you can’t function properly. You can’t work. You can’t get a place to live. You can’t do anything.
And yet this number is basically public knowledge.
Here’s the thing. This time, I’m actually on the Icelandic side of the issue. As someone who struggles to remember passwords, numbers and other meaningless data, it’s so great to be able to just say one number and have 99% of the details autofill.
Plus there isn’t really the need for security here in the same way there is in England. There isn’t really identity theft here in the same way. Or, definitely not to the same extent. If I were to briefly speculate as to why it would be that:
- Everyone knows everyone. Hard to commit fraud when you’re known to everyone and get away with it.
- Everyone knows everyone. We don’t commit crimes against our community. We don’t screw over our own.
- Everyone earns enough to survive******. Why would we do crime?
Whatever the reason, it is clearly excellent. I love living somewhere where I don’t have to really think about crime (or at least this kind of crime). It’s a great thing and one of the reasons I’m proud to call Iceland home.
But every time I have to say my Kennitala out loud it feels really weird. It feels like I shouldn’t be telling the teenager at the pool my personal identity number. It feels like I should be whispering.
Which I want to stress is just a feeling. It actually is perfectly safe to share your Icelandic Kennitala.
Don’t believe me?
251189–3829.
Feel free to do your worst. Be creative.
Still feels weird though. Last one!
Babies Sleeping Outside Unsupervised
Fuck, I don’t even know where to start with this one.
Those familiar with Iceland will know exactly what I’m talking about. Those unfamiliar might struggle to believe what I’m writing down. OK, enough stalling…
If you walk around Reykjavík you will see strollers (prams where I grew up) parked in the streets. You might assume that those prams are empty. That the pram has been parked outside for convenience while parents and baby go to the store or cafe. You would assume wrong.
Interrupting Fun Fact: Icelandic babies sleep outside unsupervised.
Because if you poked your head into that pram you would find an unsupervised sleeping child there. Unsupervised might be too strong a word. There’s usually a monitor in there these days. But the kid is left outside alone to sleep. In the cold. Line of sight not necessary.
Interestingly, I think Iceland misdiagnoses what makes people feel uncomfortable about this. It definitely misunderstands why it makes me uncomfortable.
Normally when this is brought up, the controversy is about temperature. That’s not for no reason. Iceland is fucking cold and Icelandic infants are left outside to nap in sub-zero temperatures regularly. To give you a rough idea of cultural norms, when my daughter did this, I asked what temperatures were OK to do this in and I was told by my Icelandic inlaws that anything down to -5°C (23°F) was probably fine.******* So Icelanders, sensitive to the (potentially fair) criticism that they are freezing their kids, are often quick to point out that the children are bundled up tight, covered in blankets and super warm.
Here’s the thing. I actually don’t really mind them being out in the cold. There’s evidence from all over Scandinavia that kids sleep better and longer out in the cold. And in all the layers and blankets those kids look as snuggly and warm as possible. That’s not what makes me feel weird.
What makes me feel is that these kids are basically unsupervised.
According to recent research by the charity Missing People, someone goes missing every 90 seconds in the UK. That’s roughly 170,000 people a year. 70,000 of those are children. About 1,400 children in the UK each year are missing for longer than a week.
Added to that, I was an impressionable 17 year old still living in Britain in 2007. And there’s one news story from that year that imprinted itself onto the British psyche indelibly. For those who don’t or didn’t live in the UK, on 3 May 2007, a 3 year old British girl, Madeleine McCann, was abducted from a family holiday in Portugal while her parents were out dining with friends.
Whilst abduction cases are often big news, this one was something else. Madeleine McCann dominated the UK news cycle in a way I hadn’t seen since 9/11 or Diana dying. It. Was. Everywhere. The news covered it. The talk shows discussed it. Risqué comedians made jokes. Edgy teenagers made so many jokes.******** In fact, the story is still actively written about. The article I linked to above was written in 2023. It is impossible to overstate how big this news story was.
And the lesson of this case was, to my mind, clear to British culture at large. It was a horrible tragedy for sure BUT it was universally agreed that Madeleine McCann’s parents should not have left her alone to go the restaurant. No matter how close it was. You just don’t leave your kids unsupervised.
So when I walk down the high street in Reykjavík and see prams outside, I feel incredibly uncomfortable.
And honestly, I don’t think really think anything untoward would or will happen. Crime is low here. People look out for each other. It’s never happened before. I don’t actually think it’s a bad thing.
But every time I see it my heart rate shoots up. Even though I did it when The Little One was even littler and it was absolutely fine. Even though it’s normally here. Even though it’s basically safe.
I don’t think seeing unsupervised babies outside in Iceland will ever feel normal.
Honestly, I think I’m OK with that.
Thanks for reading, lovelies. Until next time.
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Have an amazing day today. You’re the best.
* This is not to impune the credibility of the person who brought me here. They were and remain a person I trust 100%. But let’s just say at the time I think they were pretty invested in getting me to take that particular leap in a way that wouldn’t be considered wholly neutral.
** I currently have a broken down car that needs significant repairs and a Government inspection. My brain (on ADHD) is not currently open to dealing with that, which is honestly a shame. One day!
*** OK, fine. I was born in Gateshead. But if you didn’t give birth to me, do you know where that is? No. So just let me have this…
**** I had written this as ‘guys’ originally. I want to thank my friend Mink for pointing out to me places I can use more inclusive language. It’s a true inspiration. Thanks lovely.
***** And the fact that Icelanders actually tend to use the transliterated version of please in English ‘plís’ is potentially indicative of the fact that it is not a huge part of Icelandic culture.
****** I’m not claiming that there is no poverty in Iceland or that nobody struggles financially. However, I do think it’s fair to say that the average wage for low income families and individuals in Iceland is higher than it is in most places globally.
******* Interestingly, the reason for the -5°C rule was because my ex was once left outside in colder temperatures than that and got frostbite on her nose. As one does. Oh, and lungs struggle to work… Classic baby issues, amirite?
******** Anyone else feel really really uncomfortable about how popular Madeleine McCann and dead baby jokes were in the late 2000s? Me too.
