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When Iceland's economy crumbled in 2008, so went the leisurely party lives of thousands of young Icelanders. They are called "The Cuddly Generation" (Krutt-kynslotin in Icelandic), and they need your help. Please donate whatever you can - money, plane tickets, alcohol or kind words (they all speak English). Anything to help these beautiful, fun-loving viking progeny reclaim the free-spirited times of no work and all play to which they grew so accustomed... even if it's just for one wild night.

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If you are an Icelander longing for your glory days, send me a photo and your story; I will tell the world how carefree your life once was, and how depressing and lame it is now. And if you are a humanitarian who would like to contact one of the Icelanders whose story you saw here, email me and I will forward your message to them.

Call me Rhys Southan.

rhys ( @ ) adoptanicelander (DOT) com

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In Defense of Iceland

A well-intentioned commenter suggested that my goal with this project is to mock Icelandic misery. But why would I do that? I love Iceland. What’s my motive? Immortality through fame? Hardly worth ridiculing something you love. Okay, but doesn’t it at least seem like I’m trying to make fun of the cuddly generation? Of course! But I’m not.

I think the cuddly generation is fantastic. I only spent a little time with said generation during my trip to Iceland, by watching them on a drunken RĂșntur on a Friday night. Honestly, I was very impressed. I usually cannot abide drunk masses at all, but I liked drunk Icelanders. They were funny rather than annoying, a strangely enjoyable mob.

Not sure why this is. Maybe because Iceland hadn’t even heard of beer until ‘89. They probably don’t even make the connection between what they’re drinking and their weird but loveable behavior after they drink it.

Higher Heights

Night on the Town

I probably like sober Icelanders too, but I have no experience with them, which is why I want to keep them drunk by setting them up with benefactors. Selfish, maybe, but hardly vindictive.

Call me anything you want, anything in the world, but don’t call me an Icelandic misery monger. If the United States were in as much trouble as Iceland, I would have started an Adopt an American project. That wouldn’t mean I hated the United States. I grew up here. It’s impossible for me to hate it, despite any flaws it allegedly may have. Does the USA have problems? I don’t know. If it does, there is no way for me to see them.

I’ve traveled the world to an extent, mostly with the intention of seeing if there are other places I’d rather live. Having dual citizenship with Great Britain gives me access to anything in the EU. That’s 27 countries, not counting the European Free Trade Association countries like Switzerland and Iceland. That’s 27 countries versus the one country I get with U.S. citizenship - The United States. Odds are, one of these 27 countries is better than the one United States… right??

I can’t say for sure. I’ve only been to 10 of them so far: Belgium, The Czech Republic, France, Germany, Italy, Poland, Spain, Sweden, Slovakia and the UK. So far, I don’t see myself in any of these. Some of them, like Belgium and Italy, are downright unlivable. I don’t know how anyone can stand them for a second. If I were to have a vendetta against a country, it would be one of those.

Berlin is nice because it’s the most United States-esque European city I’ve been to, but it still has cobblestones - not quite esque enough. Spain has potential, but I took French in high school. I would feel like an idiot for not having taken Spanish if I ever moved to a Spanish speaking country. I like the hiking in Poland. Will I live there? No.

I’ve also been to a few countries where I don’t have honorary citizenship. There’s only two of them that I could at least consider living in for an extended period of time. One of them is Iceland.

The other is Japan, for what it’s worth. But that’s not too surprising for a country known as “The Iceland of Asia”.

In conclusion, anyone who accuses me of enjoying Icelandic misery is projecting; it’s them, not I, who enjoys it.

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