I ONCE promised myself that I won´t have kids anymore after 30. Then that year passed and I compromised rationalizing that the World Health Organization has raised the primipara child-bearing age to 40 (what with new scientific discoveries and all that jazz). Yet, after just a few months of living in the old world cold world, I have found myself contemplating the prospect of "hey, there might not be a gene bag to pass on the smarts to." Baby lust? I blame it on Iceland.
This country may be one of the more sparsely populated in the world. Fair warning though, when it comes to procreation, the Icelanders may very well be unsurpassed. Birth rate is approximately at 13.5 for every 1000 births. Not so much for someone coming from chaotic Asia but in Europe it can be way up there stats-wise. However, this is nothing about statistics, instead it's a short rant on how Iceland can be to foreigners who choose to live in its devastatingly beautiful landscape.
Iceland is a lonely place for single people. Well...at least for those who don't want to talk to drooling drunk men who have expediently cut costs by drinking at home before heading for downtown bars after the witching hour. So, why is the party capital of Northern Europe so hard on those who go solo?
First, there are no coin-operated laundromats. A fixture in American subculture, it is almost always in every chick flick that has moseyed its way out of Hollywood. How else are we women supposed to chat up responsible men who do their laundry? Every person in Iceland has a washing machine....duh! Makes me wonder how fresh-off-boat foreigners do theirs. I know how we Asians do it. By hand! Comes from washing dirty clothes with a paddle by a swift flowing river (well, okay...not really).
Second, there is no pub culture. You know, that social exercise where you meet friends for drinks after work before heading home? Icelanders do it this way: dinner at home six-ish, start drinking, keep drinking, go on until oh, maybe midnight and when you know you are just one drink shy of getting hammered...go downtown to dance and find someone to go to bed with.
Second, there is no pub culture. You know, that social exercise where you meet friends for drinks after work before heading home? Icelanders do it this way: dinner at home six-ish, start drinking, keep drinking, go on until oh, maybe midnight and when you know you are just one drink shy of getting hammered...go downtown to dance and find someone to go to bed with.
Third, segue from number two. So, you go to a bar after midnight, dance with abandon and drink that last shot of sanity. After convincing someone that you are the hottest ticket to Bed-opia, you go home with him, her or it. The morning after is when you decide to pursue a relationship. Ladies and gentlemen, there is no dating culture in Iceland. This also means that if that hot guy working in the same building asked you out, he would most likely be thinking of you already as girlfriend material or worse, someone he can bring home to Mama the weekend after your date. There is no such thing as a getting to know you period. If you say yes to one dinner, it is inevitable. I've seen this happen to other foreigners. They don't know what hit them and frankly, having someone to squire you around town can be convenient. Especially when you need to fill out forms at government offices and all you understand of Icelandic are the words you see in ads.
Why are you coming to Iceland again? Uh, to party? Sure, there's tons of partying going on. Planning to stay? Well, okay. Just brace yourself for quiet days at the library, quiet afternoons at the swimming pool, quiet runs by the harbor, maybe an occasional dinner party with Icelandic friends (at the start it can be intimidating since they all speak Icelandic and you don't but this is the same all over the world) and yes, un-partnered salsa nights. Iceland is not yet ready for single people who are truly alone (it's not New York people). It is a country that values family connections, traditions and all things warm and familiar. Just don+t be surprised that one long winter day, with only a cat for company, you might be seized by a strange compulsion to procreate.
Drink your beer. That too shall pass.
(For this essay I borrowed the first paragraph from a previous blog. It just seems the right thing to say at this particular time. This article also appears in http://www.icelandreview.com/icelandreview/daily_life/?cat_id=16571&ew_0_a_id=303881)
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