'Three months ago in the Icelandic capital of Reykjavík, hundreds of people queued outside the city’s largest swimming pool under the blueish glow of the midnight sun. As the date ticked over from Sunday 17 May to Monday 18 May, the excited crowd counted down until, at exactly 00:01, smiling staff unlocked the doors.
The festive atmosphere outside Laugardalslaug pool was repeated around the city. The reason for the excitement was that Reykjavík’s public pools were reopening after eight weeks of closure due to the Covid-19 pandemic.
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The scenes were testament to the affection Icelanders hold for their public pools. Every Icelandic town, no matter how small, has a pool, or sundlaug. Most are outdoors, heated geothermally, include a hot tub and are open year-round, allowing Icelanders to enjoy their daily swim no matter the weather.
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Helgason grew up accompanying his father to the local pool daily. Now he’s working on a documentary,
Swimming Pool Stories, due for release in October 2020, which examines the culture of public bathing as an important feature of everyday life. It may seem odd that visiting an outdoor pool is an ingrained part of a cold-climate country’s culture, but the pool is as much a social space as a place to exercise.
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Filming has taken Helgason to 100 pools around Iceland, where he got to know the many different kinds of people who frequent them. “Guests come from all walks of life,” he said, “clergymen, writers, farmers, seamen, teachers, academics, labourers, politicians and celebrities.” Functioning as a meeting place for a cross-section of society can have a levelling effect, he believes; sitting in a pool semi-naked means that “all the trappings associated with class or wealth through one’s clothing are gone. Now you are who you are. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Records of public bathing in Iceland date to the 13th Century. In the west of the country, Snorralaug (Snorri’s Pool), a small circular pool used by Iceland’s most-celebrated literary figure, the saga writer Snorri Sturluson, is mentioned in Landnámabók (Book of Settlements) and Sturlunga saga. It was in the 20th Century, however, that pools became a fixture in everyday life, thanks to Iceland’s unique geology.
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But beyond preventing drownings, swimming was elevated in the early 20th Century for what Jónsson and Rastrick describe as its “civilising effect”. It was related to the nationalist movement, Rastrick told me, “and, most specifically, the patriotic youth movement (Ungmennafélag Íslands) that promoted swimming… as a means to develop the physique of the members of the emerging independent Icelandic nation”. The link between medieval and modern Iceland was important for the nationalist movement, he added, so this emphasis on physical improvement linked “the bodies of modern Icelandic men to the heroes of the sagas”.
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“Icelandic winters are long, cold and dark and our summers are not particularly warm either,” Helgason said. “This means we’re always heavily dressed, we drive between locations and there’s little opportunity for leisurely downtown strolls or public socialising outdoors. All of this makes for a nation that is reserved by nature. However, once we’ve stripped off those layers of clothing and entered the hot tub, we become chatty extroverts.”
That the pool fosters health in mind and body, as well a sense of equality, might be key to why Iceland regularly ranks as one of the world’s happiest countries. In his research, Jónsson asked people how they felt after visiting a pool. Almost all responded that they felt “revitalised”, in both body and soul. He added, however, that “there is very little exotic here, only a quest for comfort [that’s] affordable for everyone”.
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The pool may be an essential feature of the local community, but visitors are always welcome as long as they respect etiquette. Little chlorine is used in order to maintain the purity of the water, so one of the most important rules is to first thoroughly wash, without a swimsuit, in the communal changing room. The lack of privacy can make foreign visitors uncomfortable, but it’s perhaps another example of the breaking down of barriers that the pool facilitates.
Many also talk of the positive effect of seeing “real” bodies in their imperfect flesh – a sentiment I recognise. When I lived in Iceland in the mid-2000s, unable to sleep in the bright summer light, I developed an early morning ritual of visiting the local pool. Surrounded by women of all ages and shapes, I felt the insecurities that come with being a young woman washed away in the communal shower'.
It's always hart warming to see that swimming and soaking traditions often reflect on societal standings: happiness indeed.
'Back in June, the government paid out about 205 million ISK to support domestic travel in Iceland, in light of the effects of the current Covid-19 pandemic on the tourism industry.
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In the recreation category, baths and pools have proven their popularity in Iceland again. According to a report by Kjarninn, the Blue Lagoon has received travel vouchers worth 8 million ISK and Vök Baths in East Iceland 4 million ISK. Other baths in the country, like the sea bath in Húsavík, the Jarðbað (earth bath) by Lake Mývatn or the beer bath in Árskógssandur have likewise made a few million Icelandic króna through the travel vouchers.
In total, travelers have used 21 million ISK in vouchers to bathe in these places. With each voucher being worth 5,000 ISK, that would add up to 4,200 bathing trips'.