T shirts, Teacups and Togas

By Richard Stengel

Those clever Icelanders. Who knew that they secretly craved glamour and attention, the thrill of camera lights and sound bites? And what better way to capture the limelight than to play host to a meeting of the two most powerful men in the world? There were times last week when it seemed as if publicity-savvy Icelanders, not Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev, had initiated the summit that was not a summit strictly to promote their little island: Iceland the beautiful; Iceland the restful; Iceland, home of friendly blond-haired people with unpronounceable names who believe in elves.

But despite what often seemed like a trade fair for Iceland, the summit was an international magnet attracting a constellation of groups competing for attention and airtime: peace demonstrators, the families of refuseniks, Jewish activists, and summit perennials like Waluliso, 73, a fixture at last year's Geneva meeting, who wanders around the streets in his trademark bed-sheet toga, with plastic laurels around his head, shrieking for the need for world peace.

As soon as the summit was announced, the Icelandic government enlisted the services of one of its foremost emissaries, Miss Iceland, who is also the reigning Miss World. Holmfridur Karlsdottir, a blue-eyed nursery-school teacher, was called back from a trip to Singapore to dress up Reykjavik by traipsing around wearing a Reagan-and-Gorbachev-in-Iceland T shirt. "It's fabulous for Iceland!" she exclaimed. "It's the best publicity we could ever get." She was the soul of congeniality, but she adamantly refused to pose in a swimsuit. Prime Minister Steingrimur Hermannsson, on the other hand, showed no such reluctance. Hermannsson, who often takes a midday dip, was interviewed by television reporters while wearing only his swimming togs.

A round of official Icelandic receptions was politely turned down by the U.S. and Soviet delegations; both pleaded the burdens of work. But with a news black-out in effect much of the time, reporters bore no such burdens. The Icelanders essentially put on a huge trade show for their captive audience of some 2,000 journalists. The basketball court in the gymnasium of a local high school was transformed into the "Iceland Center," complete with a generous spread of local delicacies (herring, smoked lamb and skyr, which is said to taste like honey-flavored yogurt). Outside the press center, half a dozen honey-colored Icelandic ponies pranced in a light rain while their blue-blazered riders carried U.S., Soviet and Icelandic flags on long poles. The government also arranged a three-hour fishing excursion and a free dinner at the country's largest disco, Broadway.

By the time the U.S. and Soviet support staffs had arrived in Reykjavik, stores were already brimming with summit souvenirs. There were Icelandic wool sweaters with profiles of Reagan and Gorbachev ($45), scarves with the Stars and Stripes on one end and the hammer and sickle on the other ($20) and all manner of Reagan-Gorbachev T shirts celebrating the great event ($11.44). Top of the line was a commemorative ashtray with real gold lettering ($50). Some of the stores opened their doors on Sunday to satisfy souvenir-mad summiteers.

Some U.S. officials adopted a policy that might best be described as "shop before you drop." One National Security Council staffer raced around to gift shops the day before the talks began, explaining, "We don't know what will happen tomorrow. This may be our best chance to get away." White House Communications Chief Patrick Buchanan and Geneva Arms Negotiator Edward Rowny were chauffeured to a popular gift shop, where they snapped up T shirts, scarves and assorted postcards. The ursine Buchanan also purchased a $300 porcelain polar bear for his wife. At the cash register, Rowny playfully solicited a discount by telling the salesclerk, "We can bargain in Russian." He wound up with 10% off, leading some observers to note wryly that the hard-line U.S. negotiator had settled for less than many White House aides, who successfully haggled for as much as 20%. Some shrewd Icelanders showed their capitalistic acumen in another realm. Many of them rented their homes to news organizations desperate for accommodations. Arni Arnason, marketing director for Iceland Waters, his wife and two children moved out of their apartment a block from the press center and into his sister-in-law's home. "The women did all the business calculations and decided there would be a market for our house," said Arnason, who is renting out their four-bedroom flat for $3,000 for five nights. One woman telephoned a U.S. embassy official and offered her sprawling suburban home for $6,000 a day. He hung up on her. Why so brusque? "Gramm-Rudman," he grumbled.

Icelanders were accommodating in other ways. To keep telephone lines open and visiting gourmands happy, the government urged people not to place any long-distance calls or patronize popular restaurants. They proved so obliging that some restaurant owners in town complained that their establishments were virtually empty. The Icelanders were particularly eager to please when it came to the Hofdi guesthouse, the austere, two-story building where Reagan and Gorbachev met. When Soviet cooks inspected the plain, white bone-china tea service that was to be used to serve Gorbachev, they found it, well, not elaborate enough. The Icelanders and Soviets went on a joint mission to examine three different sets, one of which proved satisfactory to Gorbachev's minions.

Raisa Gorbachev fit into Icelandic plans perfectly. For two days the genteel Raisa was an enthusiastic booster of Icelandic ways and wares. Dressed in a three-quarter-length silver-fox coat and black suede boots with a matching handbag, she appeared at a popular public swimming pool fed by sulfurous waters from Iceland's famed geothermal springs. The swimmers, who apparently had not been informed of the visit, paddled through the steamy mist in rubber caps and goggles to greet the Soviet First Lady. When Raisa applauded them, they clapped in return like performing seals. She then leaned over to shake the dripping hands of the swimmers.

Raisa was later asked by reporters whether she was disappointed that Nancy Reagan did not come. In a reply that seemed as portentous as a line from a 1930s film noir, she said, "Maybe she had her reasons--obligations, or maybe she is not well." But just maybe Nancy Reagan knew she would be competing for attention with T shirts and teacups. --By Richard Stengel. Reported by Christopher Ogden and Alessandra Stanley/Reykjavik

With reporting by Christopher Ogden, Alessandra Stanley/Reykjavik