In July 2023, I followed a parade of people to what felt like a carnival on the Reykjanes peninsula, where three eruptions have taken place in the past three years. On the hill overlooking the volcano there was a photoshoot for a skin product, on the other side someone was making a music video and next to them two Chinese women were posing in evening gowns. Another couple had set up a table with a white cloth and were enjoying a romantic dinner. The air was buzzing with drones and helicopters and a leading tourist operator hoped the eruption would last into the autumn so he could offer volcanic northern lights tours.
The eruptions were in an almost perfect spot, away from all infrastructure. It was a Disney volcano, but with hindsight this volcanic amusement park might have been a symbol for carefree days and attitudes; the high point of an era in which we seemed to have gained mastery over natural forces and turned them to our benefit, including marketing and tourism.
That era may have started with the famous eruption in Eyjafjallajökull, when the volcano stopped most air traffic in Europe for a week. It was shortly after the economic crash of 2008, and we thought for a moment this could be a final blow to our economy. But the eruption could have been described as one of the most important publicity stunts in history. Attention is expensive – a 30-second Super Bowl commercial costs about $7m. Eyjafjallajökull gave us the world’s attention while causing little damage. In 2010, Iceland welcomed fewer than 500,000 tourists. Four years later, there were almost 1 million. Now there are close to 2 million.
But maybe we deserved a good time after having been tormented by volcanic activity throughout the centuries. There were around 50,000 Icelanders not long after the time of settlement in the early 10th century, and by 1800 the population still hadn’t grown. In 1783-84, the eruption of Laki claimed the lives of about a fifth of the population and more than half of the livestock. This was one of the largest eruptions on Earth in historic times, with volcanic haze causing famine, and extreme weather events documented as far away as Egypt and Japan. Less than 100 years later, we had the eruption of Askja, in 1875. It was a major blow to communities in the eastern part of Iceland: many farms were abandoned and thousands of people moved to North America in search of a better life.
During the 20th century, we found ways to turn Iceland’s disadvantages into advantages. Since then, volcanic activity has become more of a resource: a greater benefit than a danger. Most of our homes are heated with geothermal energy – by far the largest and most important source of energy in Iceland – which is clean, cheap and renewable. We can heat greenhouses to grow crops in the winter, and on a cold January day you can take the kids for an evening swim in a local pool for very little money.
The volcanoes have become a source of awe and wonder. Painters such as Jóhannes S Kjarval helped us to appreciate the lava fields as a source of beauty, instead of cursing them for being infertile and harmful to livestock. The island has become a laboratory for science and culture. At a family dinner recently, we had a debate about everyone’s favourite geologist, seismologist or volcanologist. “Kristín is young and cool,” one said. “I would always have a beer with Magnús,” said another. “Haraldur is best,” said the third. “He speaks like the grand old man of wisdom.”
The 20th century was mostly generous, despite an eruption on average every five years, many of them under glaciers, triggering huge flash floods. In January 1973 an eruption engulfed Heimaey, in the Westman Islands. Ash and lava ruined about 400 buildings and the 5,000 inhabitants fled to the mainland. People started moving back already that August, and by November more than 2,000 people had returned to salvage their homes: a symbol of resilience and persistence against the ruthless forces of nature. We rebuild, we keep on.
But now the future of the town of Grindavík on the Reykjanes peninsula is uncertain. After a series of earthquakes late last year, some 4,000 people were evacuated from their homes. Just as they hoped to return, a 4km-long fissure opened up in a short but powerful eruption, about 3km from the town. Earlier this month, a man working to fill a crevasse in the town fell into it, and the search for him was eventually called off. Two days later, a new eruption began much closer to the town, claiming three houses before it stopped. A rescuer was filmed walking down a paved path, when suddenly he stepped through the ground with one foot. The ground is an unstable crust: in many places, the simple act of walking around is like navigating thin ice.
Heimaey was rebuilt, but Grindavík is different. This volcanic era has no clear end in sight. The next eruption could come tomorrow or next year, in the middle of the town, by the Blue Lagoon, or under the harbour, with explosive results. The whole town is unsafe, but for how long?
At a town meeting a woman stood up and said: “We have no answers from the government. I wish my house had been swallowed by the lava.” People are homeless, in limbo and have a craving for clear answers. If the house had burned, she could carry on with her life with the insurance money. There is a demand for a full buyout of all the property in Grindavík, but the process is complicated, and some estimates suggest it could cost $1bn, around 10% of Iceland’s annual budget. But you can’t put a price on the pain of dissolving a whole community.
The Reykjanes fires follow a pattern: the last phase was from 800 to 1200, so this one could last for hundreds of years. Grindavík is suffering now, but the system that has just woken up stretches all the way to newer suburbs around Reykjavík. Now we are remembering warnings from geologists in the 1980s about building on the faultlines around Reykjavík. Rightly or wrongly, we decided to build, and these places may now be in the line of fire. We are entering a new volcanic era in Iceland – one that may be more challenging than anything that has occurred in the past 800 years. But we coexist with the natural world, and eruptions are the most spectacular things to witness on this planet. If the next eruption is in a safe place, I see no reason not to join the carnival.
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Andri Snær Magnason is an Icelandic writer and documentary film-maker. He is the author of On Time and Water and co-director of the documentary film Dreamland, The Hero’s Journey to the Third Pole and Apausalypse
