On Thin Ice

A social-media-fueled tourism boom saved Iceland from economic ruin. A decade later, is it leading the country to environmental collapse?

- Ciara O'Rourke

Selfie sticks punch the sky as three women bob through the milky-blue water. They look like knights charging against a strong wind, but they’re young and they’re American and they persevere. Their hair is piled high on their heads, and they purse their lips as they gaze up at their iPhones. Behind them, a man takes photo after photo of his partner as she swans in small circles. She reviews the shots with a severe expression as he shields the screen from the sun.

When their images posted to Instagram, they will all appear to be alone in this otherworldly watering hole, the Blue Lagoon, situated about 45 minutes outside Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital. In real life, they’re surrounded by tourists from countries such as Pakistan, Algeria, and Poland, all similarly posing in the steamy, geothermal seawater or making their way to the bar, where the first glass of sparkling wine is on the house.

The Blue Lagoon warns its patrons that it’s important to stay hydrated while wading in the 100-degree, silica heavy pool. Flowing on one side of the lagoon is a metal fountain etched with the words PURE ICELANDIC WATER to signal where visitors can fill their cups for free. If this seems like a marketing ploy to make local water sexy, it’s working. One woman’s eyes go wide as she tells me how great the tap water tastes in Iceland, better than back home. The country’s tourism board playfully rebranded tap water as Kranavatn, a word that literally translates to “tap water.”