Elliot Wilson in Reykjavik
Mike, a commodities trader from Chicago, leans over the table in Reykjavik’s Prikid bar and almost whispers: ‘What’s the deal here? Where are the breadlines?’ Our group looks befuddled. An Icelandic playwright mock-whispers back: ‘What breadlines? Did you expect Reykjavik to be full of bakeries?’ No, retorts Mike, but didn’t Iceland declare bankruptcy a year ago? So why isn’t everyone sleeping on the streets?
It’s not an unreasonable question. Iceland’s 300,000 citizens have just struggled through their worst annus horribilis since Ingólfur Arnarson built his homestead in Reykjavik in ad 874. Inflation is running just shy of 10 per cent, while the Icelandic króna has lost more than half its value in the past year. The three major banks — Landsbanki, Glitnir and Kaupthing — collapsed after years of mismanagement and over-expansion, forcing the 1,080-year-old parliament, the Althing, to beg the IMF for a bailout. British and Dutch investors lost more than £3 billion when Landsbanki was shuttered: the Althing is still locked in furious discussions about how — and whether — to repay its debts.
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