I remember the day I left the UK well. It was the very same day as the referendum on whether the country remained in the European Union or not. It was just after Iceland Independence Day; when Iceland formerly became a republic free of the Danish Crown.
There were many things that were an immediate improvement on life in Britain; the slightly slower pace of life, better pay and conditions, relative peace and quiet (even on a Saturday night in downtown Reykjavik), and being able to walk anywhere at night by yourself without having to cross the street to avoid shady looking characters. But after a while, something about the Icelandic character began to bug me.
For some time I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was a pejorative mixture of immaturity, ignorance, blasé beyond the relaxed, unnecessary noise, and the occasional word of spite that seemed to come out of nowhere in reaction to nothing; muttered in a way that made it unclear if the person was saying it to themselves or someone else. Before I go on, I want to make it clear that this isn’t a case of the grass is greener. I have plenty to say about what the British have become and the shortfalls in their character, particularly given the country’s current state, but it is something less concealed and aloof. Despite what Americans may say about the British being phlegmatic and the stiff upper lip, trust me, we have nothing on an Icelander’s impenetrable poker face. Icelanders don’t talk about how they feel…ever…EVER! (Except to a psychotherapist at great expense).
The drink of choice where I’m from, as is a cliche the world over, is the delicious oriental infusion, tea. The British are so particular about how they have their tea, that it is sometimes difficult for a Briton to satisfy how another Briton ‘takes it’, as we say. But tea is not the drink of choice in Iceland, it’s coffee. Even if you pay good money in a plush, Reykjavik cafe, most Brits would be disappointed for what passes for tea here. I was even once served a cup of hot water with a tea bag next to it, with no milk, sugar or teaspoon – and the place had the grand name of Cafe Paris.
‘When in Rome’ so the saying goes. So, I started drinking coffee, usually because that was all I was offered (this isn’t an article about Icelandic hospitality, so I’ll leave it at that). But there isn’t usually much variety with coffee here, it’s just strong. Nuance isn’t something Icelander’s do well either. I remember going to a cafe with an Italian woman after a language class. Once our drinks arrived, she just exclaimed: “This is what they call a cappuccino?!”
But then something changed in me, something that caused me trouble for some time. I started having terrible sleep, then gradually my mood changed. Still, other things were going well in my life, so I managed, getting on with life in a merciful and benign society that was a welcome relief to Brexit Britain.
Then Covid hit the world…and we all know what happened then.
With the unpredictability of not being able to go out, then being allowed (with a mask), then not again, then having my employment threatened etc. etc., something dark and horrible began to twist about inside my guts; and it wasn’t just the coffee burning through my gut flora. As time went on, and the government kept changing the rules about what I could and couldn’t do in a supposedly free country, I became more angry and bitter (no pun intended). After a more recent run of bad luck, I took a hard look at my life habits and at the end of last year had a light bulb moment. I punched into google: what effect does coffee have on your behaviour? And found a plethora of articles, blogs, and videos like this:
After this, I switched to decaffeinated. It’s been four months now and my insomnia and bad mood has greatly reduced. But other people and their caffeinated affect seem even more distant to me than before. According to google, Icelanders per capita are the fourth greatest consumers of coffee in the world. They also have some of the highest antidepressant usage as well. That makes a heady brew! (I know, sorry.)
Over time, I gradually noticed a pattern of impatient, erratic, and even downright unreasonable behaviours, particularly regarding any due process, such as queuing. Icelandic drivers are also notorious among expatriates living in Reykjavik for their terrible driving; lack of indication, rapid lane changing, terrible parking, all leading to very expensive car insurance.
A former neighbour is a case in point. She would habitually slam her front door with such force that it shook my curtains. After asking her repeatedly to be more considerate, she blamed her antisocial behaviour on ADHD and continued anyway. She also had an industrial-sized bean grinder I heard every day through the walls. Once she overloaded it so much it blew a fuse and cut the power to her house and my apartment annex. Perhaps she was drinking a bit too much coffee.
My current neighbour is so jacked, that I hear him every morning and evening, sometimes well past midnight, rapidly pounding the floor upstairs as he rushes back and forth, always being so busy he can never seem to slow down, though he lives on his own and has no other responsibilities except himself. Whatever he does, no matter how innocuous, he never seems to be able to stop moving. It has become quite irritating.
The coffee break has its origin with the Buffalo, New York’s Barcolo Manufacturing Company, back in 1902. After this, employers were quick to notice the ‘improved’ performance of their caffeinated workforce, so it became a ritual the world-over. There is a large body of evidence that caffeine elevates stress hormones in the body like cortisol and noradrenaline, which can contribute to anxiety and even aggressive outbursts from fairly minor stressors, not to mention the deleterious effect it has on sleep because it blocks adenosine (the hormone that makes us sleepy) receptors in the brain. But when has big business stopped health concerns getting in the way of profits?
I’ve no problem saying it – the British have a drink problem. It costs the National Health Service billions of pounds every year and ruins countless lives. But I think Icelanders need to have a conversation with themselves about their unhealthy habits, caffeine being just one of them. When I try and engage in conversation with them and observe the way they go about things, there seems to be something missing. Dare I say it, there is a hole in their collective psyche where in most other cultures there is a modicum of capacity for small-talk, neighbourliness, stillness, appreciation for the quieter things in life you don’t notice if you’re rushing around all the time. The alternative is to hurry toward the grave in a jittery mess of flailing limbs and anxiety, usually at work being a peon for some indifferent employer. Icelanders need to take more consideration as to what their lifestyle is doing to their mental health, and those who have to put up with it. Iceland is one of the best places to live in the world. Don’t spoil it, because if it goes, chances are you won’t be able to get it back again.