By The New York Times
An icy wind was blowing through Iceland’s capital, Reykjavik, just after 7 a.m. on a winter morning, still long before dawn. The pools of water were completely frozen. Noses were stinging from the cold. After all, the temperature was minus 11 degrees Celsius.
It’s cold, even for Iceland.
But there, under the open sky in the Vesturbaejarlaug public swimming pool complex, about 20 people in swimsuits were doing dance exercises to a common rhythm, their breath turning to steam as they counted and shouted with joy, before lying on the frozen ground to do push-ups. There were also a few swimmers doing laps in the pool. But these brave friends huddled in a hot tub, laughing as wrinkles, age spots and surgery scars disappeared under the warm steam.
Apart from the New York Times journalist, there were no foreigners around and certainly no tourists.
“That’s why we come so early in the morning,” joked Ragna Thorhallsdottir, one of the swimmers, as she sipped coffee after changing into dry clothes. “We’re completely alone.”
A new honor brings new concerns
Until recently, Iceland’s 150 or so pools had managed to remain largely unnoticed by tourists who come by the millions, some even flying non-stop from Regional US airports like Raleigh-Durham in North Carolina, Nashville and Baltimore.
In fact, around two million visitors have come to Iceland every year since 2017, with the exception of a dip during the peak years of the coronavirus pandemic. That’s a huge number for a country with fewer than 400 residents. Many tourists focus on the main attractions, such as glaciers and waterfalls, as well as the spa-like lagoons, which are wilder, more luxurious and more photogenic than the pools.
Now, some Icelanders worry that tourist overcrowding could reach their pools. That’s because late last year, UNESCO honored the country’s pool culture as “intangible cultural heritage” — a designation given to about 850 traditions around the world, such as baguette baking in France, canoe building in Micronesia, and reggae music in Jamaica.
Suddenly, Iceland’s best-kept secret was out in the open. Since the review, some regulars said they’ve already noticed more tourists.
“It’s incredible,” said Unnur B. Hansdottir, who has been coming to Vesturbaejarlaug for morning exercise for years.
Even swimmers like Thorhallsdottir, who has spent years abroad and speaks English without an accent, worry that the pools could lose some of their distinct Icelandic identity if too many tourists start frequenting them.
“We want to keep it to ourselves,” she said.
A second place – like a home for everyone
The pools were built over generations as an effort for public safety: many fishermen were drowning near the shores, and since almost no one knew how to swim, no one could save them. So Iceland embarked on a campaign to build pools, which are usually heated by geothermal energy, are mostly outdoors, and remain open year-round.
Today, swimming lessons are mandatory for all young children. Iceland’s swimming pools, and especially hot tubs, have become a much-loved “third space,” akin to saunas in Finland or pubs in Britain.
Seniors gather there to chat and gossip. Professionals go after work to unwind from stress. Parents take their kids in the early evening for an after-dinner dip. And late at night, when homework is done and the northern lights dance across the sky, teenagers gather, sometimes even to flirt.
Part of the appeal is financial. Pools are among the cheapest places to meet in a country with high inflation. And in the winter, the sun shines for only a few hours – if at all. So hot tubs by pools are among the only comfortable places outdoors.
“It’s also the only place where you can stand outside without feeling cold,” said Sigridur Sigurjonsdottir, director of the Museum of Design and Applied Arts in Iceland, which organized an exhibition on Icelandic bathing culture in 2022.
Control of outdoor showers
Every visit to an Icelandic swimming pool starts with a shower. Or at least, that’s how it should be.
“We’re a little concerned that foreigners don’t clean enough,” said Thordis Erla Agustsdottir, a photographer who has spent two decades documenting the pools.
She, like almost every other Icelander the NYT team met, made it very clear that they had to take a full shower beforehand. That meant getting completely naked and scrubbing their bodies hard enough to create a lather. Many changing rooms also have illustrations of the body showing areas like armpits and genitals, to remind anyone who might forget. This is done for hygiene reasons, as the pools only have a small amount of chlorine.
What the NYT reporter didn’t anticipate was that Ms. Agustsdottir preferred the open-air changing room in Hafnarfjordur, south of Reykjavik. As she shivered uncontrollably under the hot water, washing herself meticulously, she chatted in the stinging air.
“I’m like the police in the shower,” she said, laughing a little to herself. “It’s such a simple thing to do. Just clean yourself!”
She was one of several Icelanders who expressed concern that cleanliness standards could drop if the UNESCO assessment brings in more uninformed tourists. For this reason, many Icelanders now choose to avoid the lagoons, believing that bathing rules there are not as strictly enforced.
There are other differences between these swimming spots. Lagoons may have bars where you can order drinks without leaving the water, luxurious towels, and allow visitors to take their phones with them for photos and social media. Swimming pools usually don’t offer these. And the price difference is huge. Swimming pools cost around $10 a day, depending on the location, or around $300 a year (often free for children and seniors). While a basic ticket to the Blue Lagoon, one of the most famous, can cost around $150 during peak hours.
“We don’t go there,” said Kristin Jorunn Hjartardottir, referring to the lagoons.
She swims outdoors, even in the ocean, and has written a book with her husband about open-water swimming. On a recent morning, she walked across a completely frozen beach before breaking through a layer of ice to create a space where she could swim for a few minutes near the shore.
Does protection help or hurt?
UNESCO officials are aware that recognizing intangible heritage can impact the very places or practices it aims to celebrate and protect.
In response to questions from The New York Times, UNESCO acknowledged in a statement that this rating “may increase the visibility of a place or practice,” which “may put pressure on fragile environments, affect cultural practices, or the well-being of communities.”
This makes some Icelanders worry that this assessment could backfire and turn their pools into another mandatory stop for tourists.
Some Icelanders pointed out that other UNESCO-protected sites have also been inundated with tourists. The Geiranger Fjord in Norway, recognized by UNESCO in 2005, has recently become a destination for travelers seeking a “cool break” to escape the deadly heat waves in southern Europe. The tour boats and buses that fill the fjord are starting to threaten the fragile ecosystem.
Some Europeans have even called for UNESCO to withdraw these assessments. Last year, a British naturalist argued that the Lake District’s World Heritage status should be removed, citing “harmful tourist overload.” Residents of the Slovak village of Vlkolinec told local media that the UNESCO assessment had attracted an overwhelming number of tourists who came to see their wooden houses.
Valdimar Tr. Hafstein, professor of folklore at the University of Iceland and co-author of a book about the country’s pools, said: “In some ways, protection is the main source of danger.”
Icelanders have always liked “adventurous souls” who came for a dive, he said.
But now, “there’s a fear that busloads of tourists will come,” he added. “And that’s a whole other thing.”
A recommendation from artificial intelligence
Still, the tourists are coming. And they often need to be reminded of the shower rules.
That’s especially true at Sundhollin, a public pool that attracts many foreign visitors, partly because it’s located in Reykjavik. There, in the locker room one recent morning, Marianna Niemann Filippi was getting ready to get in the water. “Actually, I don’t really like the typical touristy stuff,” explained Ms. Niemann Filippi, an American living in Denmark, still dry as she pulled on her bathing suit.
“Sorry, it’s like an automatic action!” she said, half apologizing to the other women in the showers. One of them smiled slightly, without much enthusiasm.
Outside, friends from the Washington, D.C. area were relaxing in the hot tub. Some of them had their phones in waterproof cases. Lan Yue said they had loved Iceland, but they were leaving soon and wanted to check off one last wish on their bucket list.
They had planned to end their trip at the Blue Lagoon. But they wanted something more authentic. So they asked ChatGPT where they should go, she said, “to experience the local culture and, perhaps, mingle with the locals.”
This pool was the first suggestion, Ms. Yue said. And it did not disappoint, she added, gesturing to a young Icelandic family nearby.