Egill Bjarnason - How Iceland Changed the World: The Big History of a Small Island

The town of Selfoss is a rare find. Nearly all of the sixty-three towns and cities in Iceland were first established out of nautical convenience, in sight of approaching ships, but Selfoss sits inland, away from the stony coast. I grew up there, landlocked.

The town is on the eastern banks of the lfus River, the countrys largest, streaming from a glacier 105 miles inland. For the first nine hundred years of Selfosss settlement, the area saw few travelers because crossing the river on horseback or rowboat was a life-threatening endeavor and, lets be honest, not worth it. Finally, in a symbolic gesture, Icelandic and Danish authorities joined forces on the construction of a suspension bridge. Completed in 1891, thirteen years before the arrival of the first automobile, the bridge connected western and southern Iceland. Selfoss became a rest stop for long-distance travelthe place to dry your clothes and catch up on weather conditions from travelers heading in the opposite direction. Today, people stop for a hot dog.

The bridge still brings plenty of traffic through town and serves as the central landmark around which everything else is oriented, just as a harbor would in a seaside town. Where other towns have a fish factory, we have a dairy plant. And instead of watching ships sail in and out of port, we can watch our cars drive around and around and aroundthe main roundabout is impressively big. Big city bigafter all, with about eight thousand people, Selfoss is one of Icelands largest towns. So dont be intimidated by its size if you walk around; and dont be alarmed if you find yourself alone out therewalking in Selfoss is practiced solely by children and the odd drunk driver with a suspended license.

Along Selfosss Main Street are, among others, five hair salons, three bank branches, a bookstore owned by my parents, a store for yarn, a store with only Christmas items, and a supermarket named Krnan. At the entrance of that store, I began my career as a reporter, holding a notebook and the cheapest camera I could borrow from Sunnlenska, a local newspaper. Every day I waited to snag passersby for The Question of the Day, a column in which innocent pedestrians were prompted to articulate, for the record, a view on a contemporary issue they usually knew next to nothing about andafter guaranteed intellectual embarrassmenthave a portrait taken to accompany the answer.

Over time, I worked my way up to the news desk. these masks are not for swimming: a bag of sex toys found at the swimming pool , read an early headline. Another was a crime story about a tomato farmer who turned to growing marijuana in an abandoned slaughterhouse. Being a secret drug kingpin in a small community was very stressful, he confessed. So he consumed most of the weed himself.

Sunnlenska stayed in business through my early twenties, thanks to its very resourceful owner. Among his fine ideas for survival was a reliance on the barter system: he liked to pay people in things rather than money, the kind of stuff local businesses might trade for advertising. Christmas bonuses, for instance, consisted of fireworks and a stack of books given to the paper for review. For one payday in spring, he came riding to work on a twenty-seven-gear Mongoose bicycle, a touring bike with fat tires and a rear rack. Its yours, he said with enthusiasm, prompted more by this apparent advertising deal. Zero paper money this month.

To properly enjoy my salary, I was obliged to take it for a spin. And one of the very best things about Selfoss, as one guidebook is quick to note, is how easy it is to leave. Route 1, the famous Ring Road, plows right through town.

Loaded up with a tent and an impressive amount of couscous, I cycled past the dairy plant and around the roundabout, headed east.

Officially, the Ring Road is an 821-mile loop that connects most towns and villages in the country. Done in one stretch, thats a little more than fifteen hours of driving. Cycling takes a bit longer. The landscape of Iceland is famously uneven, and along the coast the wind blows hard. On top of that, statistics and meteorological patterns simply cannot explain how often the wind blows directly against you while bicycling. Always, I tell you. Always.