Make big money from hot water

I’ll be the first to say what we’re all thinking: these days you’re looking terrible. I know it’s hard to hear, but it’s not your fault. You simply don’t have enough money to keep up. The good news is you can sort this out. I’ll give you the number to my teeth guy, my nose guy, my skin girl, my private chef, my personal trainer and my personal stylist. They will take you in hand and fix you up good; get you back on your feet, turning heads and thirst-trapping with the best of them (whatever that means).  

But first, you need money to pay these good people. A lot of money. The best way to get it is through business: the greatest art. Like a lot of art it’s also a way of seeing. Business is all around you. It’s streaming through the air. There’s money flying all about the place. You just need to get in front of it and take your cut. So, strap in, and allow me to open your eyes. 

Learning from the Blue Lagoon 

In 1976, Svartsengi power station began tapping the superheated water that lay deep underground under the Reykjanes peninsula. It used the water to make hot water and generate electricity. This process generated a lot of waste water, which was let drip into the surrounding lava field, on the assumption that it would simply seep into the ground. The water pooled instead. That humble waste slurry is all grown up and  is now known as the Blue Lagoon.

“The most important thing you need to know about the Blue Lagoon is that it turns relaxing tourists into money.”

The most important thing you need to know about the Blue Lagoon is that it turns relaxing tourists into money. Stand on its bank and count the silica-faced foreigners – each bobbing head represents a transaction sloshing about the data pipelines and financial reports of the Blue Lagoon business empire. When they’re not putting splotches of silica on each other’s faces, the travellers float towards the strategically placed bars – helpfully placed in the water – to buy plastic glasses of rosé. They buy various mixtures of face masks. They upgrade to private changing rooms. 

What you don’t see is just as important. Out of sight of the common rabble, the moneyed are pampered in style. Their hotel rooms have private lagoons. Their brochures tastefully avoid mentioning the power station right next door. Polite waiters bring them large plates with very little food on them, sauces sprinkled in graceful abstract shapes. It is here, and in the spa, and in their line of skincare products where the margins grow healthy and fat.  

Icelanders know a moneymaker when they see one. Every other year another lagoon is dug and filled with hot water. I’m not going to list the names of the various lagoons that have opened in the past two decades because when I called their owners they would simply not agree to send me a kickback, but I will say that there are a lot of them dotted around the country, and there are more being built. 

Starting your own lagoon 

Experts estimate that one day Iceland will simply be a series of lagoons, luxury hotels and food halls linked by a complex system of underground tunnels. So you need to move fast on opening your own lagoon. The first step is to find a suitably beautiful site, dig a hole and fill it with water. Your guests will, in all likelihood, be sick of the people they’re travelling with and will want to have something else — anything else — to look at. A good view is vital to ensure a steady stream of positive online reviews. 

But how will you get those first customers? With advertising, of course. Taking our cue from the Blue Lagoon, you should hire models that look otherworldly and delicate, slim and aerodynamic. They should look like beings that have lived in the lagoon waters all their lives. When the lagoon closes to the public they stay overnight, moving around with exquisite breaststrokes, eating silica and moss for sustenance. This is a little something called aspirational advertising, it’s highly effective. 

Anyway, once you have your first customers enjoying the womb-like comfort of semi-aquatic life, you’ll want to ply them with alcohol. In their benumbed state they will temporarily forget about the constant wind, the expense, their dwindling holiday days. Their troubles and cares will wash away. They will become agreeable to spending money at the gift shop. They will help pay for your expensive dental work; they’ll pay for those movie-star teeth you deserve. 

Freyr Thorvaldsson writes a newsletter at freyr.substack.com