If you’ve ever disembarked a flight on Gatwick’s fold, knowing that you’ve a train to catch in the station below a mere 20 minutes after touch-down, you’ll know how overwhelmed I felt returning from a country where the entire population is 21 times smaller than London alone.
If you’ve ever experienced the aesthetic pleasure of taking a flight out of Iceland’s Keflavik airport, you’ll understand how bitterly disappointing returning to Gatwick is from a design perspective. It’s not that Blighty doesn’t care, it’s that Blighty doesn’t try.
For the entirety of my four day stay in Reykjavik I found myself drawing comparisons with my dear old motherland. They’re unfair comparisons, really, given the aforementioned disparity in population sizes, but I still couldn’t help making them.
Above all else, Iceland is a country that’s (at least outwardly) comfortable with its own culture. The people, the architecture, the art, and the respect of the natural surroundings are all head and shoulders above anywhere else I’ve had the pleasure of visiting. It’s almost disappointing to return home.
This isn’t to say that I could live in Iceland or even spend more than a few more weeks there, it’s more that I admire a place that’s comfortable in its own skin, that I respect a country that respects what makes it unique, that celebrates it’s environment, that doesn’t try too hard, that’s polite.
I know Iceland isn’t without its problems and that their much-lauded rejection of the rest of the world’s moves to bail out their national banks isn’t quite as simple as the do-gooders of social media would like it to be, but it’s still refreshing to be somewhere that does it right. Whatever it is.