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October 30, 2009
Posted: 129 GMT
REYKJAVIK, Iceland - All reporters will tell you from time to time that they do their work out of love of the story, a need to tell the world. This, I’m sorry to say, is not one of those times. There are some CNN assignments which are performed not from either of those noble motivations but simply from duty, or happening to be in the right place at the right time, which really means you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. I feel like a voyeur at a funeral. A vile rubber-necker craning to get a fleeting glimpse of the carnage as I pass a road crash, disguising my macabre interest as a considerate deceleration to preserve the safety of the attendant emergency service personnel. I have come to Iceland to report for The Screening Room on the country’s cinematic prowess. I shall likely leave it as a leper, cast out by my hosts for invading their time of grief. “How do you feel?” I ask, cursing myself at uttering the question which has become known as the ultimate journalistic cliché. “How do you feel…about the situation?” I cannot bear even to mention the name of my subject, but I don’t need to. The first few targets of my intended interview rush past, evading the red and white CNN mike box. Apparently nerves remain raw and emotions are running high. In less than 48 hours from my filing of this report, Iceland, a country of a mere 300 thousand souls – is destined to become a more soulless place as its three branches of the mighty McDonald's forest are lopped off by the tree surgeon of global finance. The closure of McDonald's most northern empire sends ripples of fear across the world, reaching even as far as Hobart, whose 300 thousand citizens must wonder whether a similar fate may befall the jewel of Tasmania’s cultural diversity – the world’s most southerly branch of Starbucks. But such global questions must rest unanswered for now as my brief confines me to this sad volcanic rock in the north Atlantic whose very geology appears to rise up in surly resentment against this fast food fatality. It hisses steam and spits lava from every nook and fissure. It’s as if the Devil himself is sending a dark warning directly from Hell about the folly of the financial freeze. Forming an unholy alliance, the heavens open and pour liquid gloom upon my presence in this beautifully barren wasteland. Upon arrival at Reykjavik’s international airport the departure board displays a sign of things to come - the last flights of the day are to Boston and New York, destined no doubt to be packed with deserters as an exodus begins in search of the burger so cruelly denied to the indigenous populace. For those in search of such culinary comfort closer to home, a flight to the Irish capital Dublin will provide the nearest McDonalds outlet - a mere 2,000 kilometers from the runways of Reykjavik. Iceland’s tiny population provides an obstinate challenge to national supremacy on an international stage. Even in the competition for the world’s most expensive Big Mac it could muster only a bronze medal position, deprived of gold by its Nordic neighbors Norway and Sweden. When its chance finally arrived, with the Icelandic currency plummeting in the wake of the global financial crisis, the imported ingredients of a Quarter Pounder soared to sensational heights. But just as it seemed destined to become the priciest patty on earth, the Happy Meal was forced to make way for misery as the franchise-holders, brothers Gon and Magnus Ogmundsson, told an unsuspecting world that he would tear down the golden arches and rip the relish from the hearts of hamburger-lovers. Of course I’m using journalese here. What they actually said was that Iceland’s unique economic circumstances made it impossible to continue and that McDonalds had actually been very sympathetic and supportive during tough times for the business. Nonetheless Iceland’s polar population, as with many populaces around the world, was polarized by the arrival of McDonald's. The burger brand seems to split communities into fundamentalists who regard it as either a sign of civilization or the evil ambassador of American imperialism. The Ogmundsson’s plan to replace McDonald's with locally sourced food creates an opportunity to tap into the island’s own culinary heritage. Iceland’s natural resources – steam and rock – and its lack of other resources – mayonnaise, hamburger relish, sesame buns, onion rings – have shaped its cuisine. But locally sourced food here actually means cheaper food. However, far from pickled herring, moss, minke whale, stewed seaweed or any of the abundant fresh seafood waiting to be steamed in the island’s volcanic oven, the Ogmundssons plan to replace McDonald's with an Icelandic burger bar. I finally manage to lure a vox pop out of a local. She didn’t want to give her name for obvious reasons. She was about 18, with dyed black spiky hair, 13 earrings and a pierced tongue to complement her abundant tattoos. I tried to add concern and sincerity to my question. “How do you feel?” Her reply didn’t surprise me. “I don’t really care. Never touched the stuff. Good riddance as far as I’m concerned.” Clearly the young woman was in denial, fortified by the false bravado of youth. A middle-aged couple, probably out to console themselves by revisiting favorite Icelandic landmarks, mustered what they supposed to be a cheery wave. The woman brushed away a tear, mumbling something about the bitter wind, but I was not taken in. “McDonald's.” I said. “I’m so sorry to ask, but how are you coping?” “Never been in there in my life,” the man lied. "Glad to see the back of it.” He was a convincing actor who, rare among those who have savored the irresistible blend of egg, sausage and muffin in the gloriously named “Sausage and Egg McMuffin,” could deliver such a damning verdict with a straight face. De Niro would meet his peer in this remarkable Reykjavikian. Indeed the evidence pointed to the contrary as people headed in droves to the drive-in, queued around the block, with lines of teenagers bursting out of the door, desperate to get their final fix of this forbidden food. As I stood in the street and watched the light turned off in McDonald's Icelandic flagship store for the para-penultimate time I heard a clock strike midnight. I knew it was time for me to leave this day of the damned. A wake for the passing of the patty. A wake-javic in Reykjavik. With a heavy heart and heavy stomach, my greasy finger pressed “return” on my laptop and my report was done. In years to come people may rejoice in the majesty of the northern lights, the music of Bjork or Sigur Ros and the luxury of the Blue Lagoon. But from this time on they will never share the communal joy of a happy meal with a Shrek 4 mobile phone toy or substituting extra fries with a fruit bag just to annoy the kids. Think on this you global bankers as you contemplate your multi-million dollar bonuses. Think on what you have done to the people of Iceland. Posted by: CNN Producer, Neil Curry |
 
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