Iceland is beautiful, vibrant and full of stories. While we were there we decided that the best way to see the country (without being able to hire a car) was to do the Golden Circle Tour. I have never done a ‘tourist’ tour before and was expecting to be surrounded by old people being sent to sleep by the guide. In fact the opposite was true. Our guide was a Canadian who had spent half his life in Iceland and was impressively fluent in Old Norse. He told us a story about British history which they failed to teach us at school.
British Invasion of Iceland, May 1940.
In May 1940 British troops landed on Icelandic soil, despite it being a neutral country, due to the threat Nazi Germany posed. It is said that the following story illustrates how most Icelanders reacted.
On the morning of the so called invasion two young boys were walking into Reykjavik when they spotted the soldiers. Their excitement and confusion made them turn around and race home to tell their father. Waking him and pulling him from his bed they told him the news to which he asked, “Are they British or German?”. The boys had not stayed long enough to notice so they returned to the streets of Reykjavik and listened to the whispers of their neighbours which told them that it was the British Army. They returned home and gave their father the details. His reply was simply, “In that case, I’ll go back to bed”.
The rugged beauty of Iceland is still being invaded but now the troops are coach loads of tourists (including myself). Icelanders continue in the vain of that war story by poking a little fun at them and making fools out of a few.
After seeing geysirs bubble like a kettle and shoot into the air we made our way into a gift shop full of the typical jumpers, furs and dried fish we had come to expect. What I didn’t prepare myself for was finding cans of ‘Fresh Icelandic Mountain Air’ being sold for 1000 Krona (around £8, see this post’s cover photo for evidence). Mind you, when they’re being asked questions such as “Are those sleeping bags for cows?” of the silage bales piled up in the fields, who can really blame them?
Tall Tales 