Infinite shades of pink and purple rule the sky over Mjóifjörður as we slowly make our way towards our next destination on the East coast of Iceland. Gazing through the rear window of our rental car, the horizon now visibly vanishes and melts into the sea. As they merge into a pale violet veil, I realise it is the last time I see that particular landscape so I eagerly inhale every last detail until I can’t see it anymore. The tiny Toyota miraculously mounts up the steep hillside on a road as curly as the stream running parallel to it. As frightening as it was, it is the sweetest memory I retain of the island and the foremost reason to return one day. Iceland is the most peculiar place to visit or to live in, that is if you ever set foot in it. Yet, from afar, we tend to ignore its entire existence from time to time. In light of the recent coronavirus outbreak, I began to wonder how my first home away from home is coping with the worldwide crisis.

As one might expect, a little island could be more than frightened of a pandemic that already has recently been reported to infect two and a half million people. The very first case of the virus was recorded two months ago in Iceland, at the end of February. At that point, Europe was still in denial about the disease having a significant effect on the continent, and no one dared to predict its actual ramifications. “I was quite amused by this Chinese tourist who bought four bags of disposable masks at the beginning of March. He knew. He was taking them back to China, as they have probably run out” explains my Australian-Bulgarian friend, Donna, who has been in voluntary self-isolation for the past month in her Reykjavík studio apartment.

 

As it has been expressed by many Icelanders, the country reacted a little too late to the pandemic, and now it has the highest infection rate in Europe per capita. While this report may sound alarming, it is important to mention that only ten people have died from the coronavirus in the whole country, two of whom were tourists. Even if they were all Icelandic, it would be less than one per cent of the population, and according to epidemiologist Þórólfur Guðnason the virus is spreading more slowly in Iceland than in any other country in Europe. Why?

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One of the most crucial discoveries I have made whilst living in Iceland was that they are never cold. It is not an exaggeration. Lorenzo, the toughest Italian who dared to move to the land of ice, and I constantly found ourselves having to wear layers on layers on an ordinary winter day. Meanwhile, a group of Icelandic children would be running around carelessly in a t-shirt as soon as a ray of sunshine managed to break through the persistent winter clouds. Growing up under merciless weather conditions must strengthen your immune system, and by merciless, I mean an average wind speed of 19 kilometres per hour and typically 0.4 hours of sunshine on a regular December day, according to the Icelandic Meteorological Office.

 

Even though Iceland was rather slow to react to the pandemic, they were the quickest to test people. By carrying out the highest percentage of tests per head in the world, the biotechnology firm deCode Genetics found that half of the carriers showed no symptoms whatsoever of having COVID-19. This can be caused by various factors, but undoubtedly Iceland has a reputation of being the toughest nation physically as well as mentally. At least when it comes to sports. They have proved their genuine fearlessness at the 2018 World Cup, where they became the lowest-populated country to ever qualify.

 

The Icelandic mentality can be easily expressed in two not-so-simple words – þetta reddast, meaning ‘it will all work out okay.’ It is one of the first phrases I learnt as a foreigner, and it can be applied to literally anything. Losing your purse, a long-time lover or even facing a pandemic, þetta reddast is the magic phrase and the reassurance that no matter the severity of a situation, the solution will present itself. You don’t need to understand one of the hardest languages, however, to comprehend how kind-hearted the Icelandic nation is. You simply need to witness the countless teddy bears sitting on people’s windowsills, only there to cheer up passersby amidst the challenging self-isolation days.

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The typical Icelandic mindset, however, is not only laid-back and humorous but is immensely liberal. Nearing the end of my first summer on the island, I experienced one of those good old window-weather days in Reykjavík, where you are blinded by the sun and shocked by the lack of clouds looking out your window. Unfortunately, your eyes cannot measure the temperature so you head out in your shorts and sunglasses, only to freeze once you step out the door.

 

We decided to have a glance at the local gay pride march as it was supposed to be one of the most spectacular parades in Europe. It certainly was. Páll Óskar, Iceland’s most openly gay man, singing besides five dancers covered in glitter on top of a 30- foot-high silver-coated unicorn convinced me.

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Frankly, for a small country like Iceland, a crisis of this magnitude can pose serious implications, especially when it comes to its main income. Considering Iceland’s wide range of natural attractions, tourism constitutes almost half of the country’s export revenue. However, the industry was already suffering a serious slowdown before the arrival of the novel coronavirus to mainland Europe, following the collapse of Wow Air, Iceland’s once-dominant low-cost airline. It saddened me to hear about their failure as without them I could not have escaped the country in 2017 when I needed a breath of not-Icelandic air.

 

Without tourism, Iceland is in grave trouble. It is difficult to imagine Laugavegur, Reykjavík’s primary commercial street that was always drowning in tourists completely empty. Save for the ever-present street cats and the few lost tourists who were determined enough to travel in the wake of the coronavirus. If there is a constant on the streets of Reykjavík, it is the cats. I have befriended many with interesting patterns and named a couple but my absolute favourites were the well-fed, obese ones. Certainly, these crafty cats had dinner at least in three households. “I saw two tourists, who were taking photos of some cats and I don’t know if they knew that they can’t go back home. They were very chill” said Donna with a bittersweet undertone. As of March 20, Iceland has shut its borders to the world, excluding EEA and EFTA countries, therefore it might be tricky for many visitors to find a way out of the island.

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As a result of the sharp decline in tourism, many workers were made redundant, as it happened with 164 of the Blue Lagoon’s staff, despite them being one of the wealthiest companies in Iceland. Fortunately, Iceland has always had a strong support system for workers and the government has recently issued a bill that would help out employers’ and pay 75 per cent of their workers’ wages providing that they pay the remaining 25 per cent. It is considered an immense aid, given that half of the applications for the reduced employment benefits were from people who work in the tourism sector.

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If there is one place, however, that is not at risk of shutting down, besides hospitals and food stores, are the old people’s homes. In some countries, like France, many carers have decided to move in with the residents to protect them from the virus. Iceland, on the other hand, has taken less severe precautions. As of now, carers are not even obliged to wear masks, it is true though, that they have been politely asked “not to kiss and hug the elderly” by their employers and they need to sanitise surfaces two or three times a day. “I don’t think they are aware of what’s going on, to be honest” explains Olga, an old friend of mine who works at Sóltún retirement home, in Reykjavík. Although I must add, she works with Alzheimer patients.

 

“We still live in a bubble, you know” she answers in response to whether Icelandic people seem worried at all. Iceland’s own version of island-mentality is purely the mindset, that their country is so remote that nothing can reach or harm it, except for the occasional volcano eruptions. Anything that happens in mainland Europe feels imperceptible, almost unreal. There is no sense of panic in the capital yet, and many restaurants are still open, but only twenty people are allowed to be inside at the same time. Iceland does not stand alone with this decision, as there are numerous nordic countries, including Sweden, that has still not ruled restaurants to close temporarily.

 

Arriving in one of these countries from the rest of Europe, we might perceive it as extremely lenient, yet, it is too early to judge what is the right way to handle the crisis. Additionally, depending on multiple factors, what works for one country might not work for another, therefore it is up to each government to judge what the best way is to cope with the situation.

 

On another note, there has been plenty of advantageous developments in connection with the virus. Ever since the 2017 tourism boom, where the island has welcomed over two million visitors, well-located properties have been less accessible due to most of them being used as Airbnb accommodations. Now, as the country is facing a plummet in tourism, many of these homes are being offered for long-term rent or sale. This might provide Icelanders and ex-pats with the opportunity to finally settle down in central areas, where decent properties used to be scarce. Another positive outcome of the situation is that Iceland’s immensely fragile flora and fauna will be, at last, released of the weight of overwhelming tourism, even if it is only temporary.

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We are now in the middle of April and it is uncertain how things will develop, but the country has come up with relatively positive predictions regarding the crisis. The forecast says that approximately 1800 people are expected to be diagnosed with COVID-19 overall. In the second half of April, when the number of cases will peak, 60 to 100 people will be hospitalised. This forecast does not mention the number of fatalities, as it has been extremely unpredictable in other countries as well, thus there is not enough data to take into account.

April is one of the most beloved months in Iceland as people come out to enjoy the first day of summer or sumardagurinn fyrsti, which will be on the 23rd of this month. Another reason is that at the beginning of April you have the final chance to witness the glorious aurora borealis before the Sun takes over the night. The Icelandic summer is defined by 2 a.m. sunsets rapidly interrupted by 3 a.m. sunrises during which one entirely forgets what pitch-black nights feel like until the very end of September. It was on a regular April evening that I was walking up the famous Laugavegur on my way home only to stop and stand in awe facing the most divine northern light show above me, painting the entire sky into a melange of emerald green and space blue.

 

Witnessing a phenomenon of this sort would definitely make anyone forget about the abnormal world we live in. Even though countries around the world are experimenting with different methods to tackle the crisis, “it is a gamble” says Donna, who has seen how Eastern Europe and England handled the situation just before flying back to Iceland and added, “maybe that’s what’s gonna save us, the Icelandic way of doing things.”