Landing in Reykjavik brought back a sudden surge of memories. This is how I had traveled in the distant past, saving my money for the Icelandic flights to Europe.
The 757 had headrest covers with patriotic sayings. Mine read, "The most amazing thing about Iceland is not Vatnajokull, the largest glacier in Europe, or that Iceland uses 99% renewable energy. It is the fact that the most popular restaurant in Iceland is a hot dog stand."
This time, I was not passing through Iceland to get somewhere else. I was planning to stay awhile.
Let me begin at the end and work backward.
For the remainder of my days, I will be recommending that anyone within the sound of my voice consider a visit to this enchanting, quirky, open, yet culturally closed country. If it isn't as wonderful as I say it is, call up the prime minister. You will find his or her number in the phone book -- a directory, by the way, that lists the country's 320,000 residents by their first name, since nearly everyone shares the same nine or 10 last names. In fact, virtually every Icelander can trace his or her roots all the way back to the land's first settlers.
Every country in the world aspires to be ranked at the very top of the United Nations' Human Development Index, which tracks quality of life. In 2008, Iceland was at the top of the index. They were thriving. They were making lots of money. They enjoyed excellent health care. Exercise was a way of life. People were eating fish, and they were a nation of fishermen.
But in October of that very same year, the Icelandic financial markets crashed. The country's three largest banks, Landsbanki, Kaupthing and Glitnir, went under after stockpiling foreign assets worth more than $140 billion. It became clear that the losses in Iceland would bring about worldwide economic collapse.
How could such a thing happen? And how can Iceland be such a delightful summer destination, given the fact that its average citizen owed an approximately $310,000 share of the country's lost gross national product?
In his fascinating book about the crisis, "Boomerang," Michael Lewis explains that bankers, including several who were new to the game and former fishermen, looked at what was happening on Wall Street and essentially decided, "Well, hey, we can do that." So the bankers in Reykjavik devised hedge funds that were based on a heady mix of foreign currency options, a concept so new and convoluted that not everyone in the room really understood them.
I couldn't wait to check into Hotel 101, which had played a pivotal but little-known role in the financial collapse: It is where Iceland's young bankers met. The 101, named after Reykjavik's most affluent postal code, is a high-design boutique hotel on a side street that connects to some of the city's trendiest neighborhoods.
My room was superbly placed, given my goal. Just below my heated oak floors was the hotel's sole conference room. When I asked to see it, I was told that would not be possible.
I went downstairs anyway and found a black door with no inscription of any kind. Having persuaded a maid to let me in, I entered a simple but elegant room with modern furnishings and no hint of what had occurred here. I sat at the head of the table.
When they began their meetings in this basement meeting room in 2003, Iceland's banks had total assets of several billion dollars, an amount that about equaled the entire country's gross national product. By the middle of 2006, that figure had grown to more than $140 billion.
As Lewis points out, this was clearly the fastest expansion of a banking system in the history of mankind. While the U.S. stock market was doubling from 2003 to 2007, the Icelandic stock market increased ninefold. Everyone in Iceland was rich. Everyone who could wanted to study the option-pricing model called "Black-Scholes." University finance programs were popping up like lava rocks.
In January 2008, Bear Stearns flew a group of the world's leading hedge fund managers to Reykjavik. They met at the Hotel 101's bar, where drinks were supposed to be followed by dinner. But by the time the first appetizers were offered, it was clear that this dinner would go down in history. The local bankers realized that almost everyone in the room was betting against them. Iceland was being "shorted." Many of the local bankers just gave up on dinner and continued to drink.
The collapse of the Icelandic economy came swiftly, and large numbers of residents lost their homes, their boats and their dreams.
They reacted by putting many of their bankers in prison. I visited that prison the day before I left Iceland. It is a rehabilitation facility with low fences and a prefab look, in a small settlement not very far from the airport.
In Reykjavik, Jon Gnarr, who is both an anarchist and a professional comedian, was elected mayor. His party is called "The Best Party," and his platform included the promise of a "drug-free Parliament by 2020" and "free towels at public swimming pools."
When asked how he would solve the country's economic crisis, Gnarr would respond, "I have absolutely no idea." This appealed to Icelanders, and everyone with whom I spoke seemed to feel that the country has righted itself.
There is a lovely store in Reykjavik that sells Icelandic-made clothing, and my wife and daughter decided that they needed matching ski jackets (to keep them warm, I suppose, on those chilly mornings in Naples, Fla., where we reside).
In the store, my daughter noticed that in addition to a stairway and an elevator, there was a slide in the middle of the floor leading to the floor below. She asked the young saleswoman why the store had a slide. After thinking about it, the woman replied, "I suppose it is because it could be fun."
That is why Iceland will thrive once again. That is part of the magic. They tried playing with the banking system, and it wasn't so much fun. But this is a country where 80% of the population refuses to rule out the possibility that trolls and elves play an important role in their lives. Roads have been rerouted and building plans have been changed to avoid disturbing rocks where elves are said to dwell.
This is a country in which the number of published books equals the number of residents, where Internet use and, inexplicably, Coca-Cola consumption are the highest in the world per capita. It is a country that elected the world's first lesbian prime minister.
Iceland is the coolest country in the world.
Contributing Editor Richard Bruce Turen owns Churchill & Turen Ltd., a luxury vacation firm based in Naples, Fla. He is also managing director of the Churchill Group, a sales training and marketing consultancy. He has been named to the list of the World's Top Travel Specialists by the editors of Conde Nast Traveler for the past 13 years. Contact him at rturen@travelweekly.com.