Stunned Icelanders Struggle After Economy´s Fall
By SARAH LYALL
REYKJAVIK, Iceland - The collapse came so fast it seemed unreal,
impossible. One woman here compared it to being hit by a train.
Another said she felt as if she were watching it through a window.
Another said, "It feels like you´ve been put in a prison, and you don´t
know what you did wrong."
This country, as modern and sophisticated as it is geographically
isolated, still seems to be in shock. But if the events of last month -
the failure of Iceland´s banks; the plummeting of its currency; the first
wave of layoffs; the loss of reputation abroad - felt like a bad dream,
Iceland has now awakened to find that it is all coming true.
It is not as if Reykjavik, where about two-thirds of the country´s
300,000 people live, is filled with bread lines or homeless shanties or
looters smashing store windows. But this city, until recently the center
of one of the world´s fastest economic booms, is now the unhappy
site of one of its great crashes. It is impossible to meet anyone here
who has not been profoundly affected by the financial crisis.
Overnight, people lost their savings. Prices are soaring. Once-
crowded restaurants are almost empty. Banks are rationing foreign
currency, and companies are finding it dauntingly difficult to do
business abroad. Inflation is at 16 percent and rising. People have
stopped traveling overseas. The local currency, the krona, was 65 to
the dollar a year ago; now it is 130. Companies are slashing salaries,
reducing workers´ hours and, in some instances, embarking on mass
layoffs.
"No country has ever crashed as quickly and as badly in peacetime,"
said Jon Danielsson, an economist with the London School of
Economics.
The loss goes beyond the personal, shattering a proud country´s sense
of itself.
"Years ago, I would say that I was Icelandic and people might say,
`Oh, where´s that?´ " said Katrin Runolfsdottir, 49, who was fired
from her secretarial job on Oct. 31. "That was fine. But now there´s
this image of us being overspenders, thieves."
Aldis Nordfjord, a 53-year-old architect, also lost her job last month.
So did all 44 of her co-workers - everyone in the company except its
owners. Some 75 percent of Iceland´s private-sector architects have
been fired in the past few weeks, she said.
In a strange way, she said, it is comforting to be one in a crowd.
"Everyone is in the same situation," she said. "If you can imagine, if
only 10 out of 40 people had been fired, it would have been different;
you would have felt, `Why me? Why not him?´ "
Until last spring, Iceland´s economy seemed white-hot. It had the
fourth-highest gross domestic product per capita in the world.
Unemployment hovered between 0 and 1 percent (while forecasts for
next spring are as high as 10 percent). A 2007 United Nations report
measuring life expectancy, real per-capita income and educational
levels identified Iceland as the world´s best country in which to live.
Emboldened by the strong krona, once-frugal Icelanders took regular
shopping weekends in Europe, bought fancy cars and built bigger
houses paid for with low-interest loans in foreign currencies.
Like the Vikings of old, Icelandic bankers were roaming the world
and aggressively seizing business, pumping debt into a soufflé of a
system. The banks are the ones that cannot repay tens of billions of
dollars in foreign debt, and "they´re the ones who ruined our
reputation," said Adalheidur Hedinsdottir, who runs a small chain of
coffee shops called Kaffitar and sells coffee wholesale to stores.
There was so much work, employers had to import workers from
abroad. Ms. Nordfjord, the architect, worked so much overtime last
year that she doubled her salary. She was featured on a Swedish radio
program as an expert on Iceland´s extraordinary building boom.
Two months ago, her company canceled all overtime. Two weeks
ago, it acknowledged that work was slowing. But it promised that
there would be enough to last through next summer.
The next day, everyone was herded into a conference room and fired.
Employers are hurting just as much as employees. Ms. Hedinsdottir
has laid off seven part-time employees, cut full-time workers´ hours
and raised prices. The Kaffitar branch on Reykjavik´s central
shopping street was perhaps half full; in normal times, it would have
been bursting at its seams.
While business is dwindling, costs are soaring. When the government
took over the country´s failing banks in October, Ms. Hedinsdottir´s
latest shipment of coffee - more than 109,000 pounds - was
already on the water, en route from Nicaragua. She had the money to
pay for it, but because the crisis made foreign banks leery of doing
business with Iceland, she said, she was unable to convert enough
cash into foreign currency.
"They were calling me every day and asking me what the situation
was, and they got really nervous," Ms. Hedinsdottir said of her
creditors. They got so nervous that they sent the coffee to a warehouse
in Hamburg, Germany, where it now sits while she tries to find the
foreign currency to pay for it.
Her fixed costs are no longer fixed. Five years ago, the company built
a new factory, borrowing the 120 million kronur - about $1.5
million - in foreign currencies. But the currency´s fall has increased
her debt to 200 million kronur. This summer, her monthly payments
were 2.5 million kronur; now they may be double that - the
equivalent of $38,500 in Iceland´s debased currency.
"My financial manager is talking to the banks every day, and we don´t
know how much we´re supposed to pay," Ms. Hedinsdottir said.
In a recent survey, one-third of Icelanders said they would consider
emigrating. Foreigners are already abandoning Iceland.
Anthony Restivo, an American who worked this fall for a potato farm
in eastern Iceland and was heading home, said all of the farm´s
foreign workers abruptly left last month because their salaries had
fallen so much. One man arrived from Poland, he said, then realized
how little the krona was worth and went home the next day.
At the Kringlan shopping center on the edge of Reykjavik, Hronn
Helgadottir, who works at the Aveda beauty store, said she could no
longer afford to travel abroad. But the previous weekend, she said,
she and her husband had gone for a last trip to Amsterdam, a holiday
they had paid for months ago, when the krona was still strong.
They ate as cheaply as they could and bought nothing. "It was strange
to stand in a store and look at a bag or a pair of shoes and see that
they cost 100,000 kronur, when last year they cost only 40,000," she
said.
In Kopavogur, a suburb of Reykjavik, Ms. Runolfsdottir, the recently
fired secretary, said she had worried for some time that Iceland would
collapse under the weight of inflated expectations.
"If you drive through Reykjavik, you see all these new houses, and
I´ve been thinking for the longest time, `Where are we going to get
people to live in all these homes?´" she said.
The real estate firm that used to employ Ms. Runolfsdottir built about
800 houses two years ago, she said; only 40 percent have been sold.
According to Icelandic law, Ms. Runolfsdottir and other fired
employees have three months before they have to leave their jobs. At
the end of that period, she will start drawing unemployment benefits.
Meanwhile, her husband´s modest investment in several now-failed
Icelandic banks is worthless. "They were encouraging us to buy
shares in their firms until the last minute," she said.
She feels angry at the government, which in her view has mishandled
everything, and angry at the banks that have tarnished Iceland´s
reputation. And while she has every sympathy with the hundreds of
thousands of foreign depositors who may have lost their money, she
wonders why the Icelandic government - and, in essence, the
Icelandic people - should have to suffer more than they already
have.
"We didn´t ask anyone to put their money in the banks," she said.
"These are private companies and private banks, and they went
abroad and did business there."
Despite all this, Icelanders are naturally optimistic, a trait born,
perhaps, of living in one of the world´s most punishing landscapes
and depending for so much of their history on the fickle fishing
industry. The weak krona will make exports more attractive, they
point out. Also, Iceland has a highly educated, young and flexible
population, and has triumphed after hardship before.
Ragna Sara Jonsdottir, who runs a small business consultancy, said
she had met for the first time with other businesses in her office
building. "We sat down and said, `We all have ideas, and we can help
each other through difficult times,´ " she said.
But she said she was just as shocked as everyone else by the
suddenness, and the severity, of the downturn. When the prime
minister, Geir H. Haarde, addressed the nation at the beginning of
October, she said, her 6-year-old daughter asked her to explain what
he had said.
She answered that there was a crisis, but that the prime minister had
not told the country how the government planned to address it. Her
daughter said, "Maybe he didn´t know what to say."
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