Spain and Iceland hotels found people willing to pay over a thousand dollars a night to see the sun disappear briefly on August 12. These are the same travelers who complain about a $4 airport water bottle.
The eclipse lasts roughly two minutes in the path of totality. Do the math. That's $500 per minute of darkness. You could pay someone to turn off your lights at home for significantly less.
Iceland hotels realized closer to the date that maybe—just maybe—they'd overestimated how many people would mortgage their futures to see the moon block out the sun. Prices dropped sharply. Classic supply and demand, except the demand came from people who think celestial events are tradeable assets.
Here's what happened: hotels in the eclipse path saw a captive audience and did what any rational business would do. They bent those customers over a barrel and charged them a week's rent for a single night. The customers paid it. Willingly. Probably posted about it on Instagram with some caption about once-in-a-lifetime experiences.
The eclipse happens whether you're in a $1,000-a-night hotel or your own backyard. The moon doesn't check your booking confirmation before it moves in front of the sun. But sure, pay the premium. You're not just buying a room. You're buying the memory of overpaying for a room.
Iceland's price cuts tell you everything you need to know about eclipse economics. The closer you get to the event, the more hotels panic that they'll have empty rooms during what they thought would be their Super Bowl. Turns out not everyone wants to drain their savings account to watch daytime become nighttime and then become daytime again.
The real eclipse was watching these hotel rates disappear faster than the f*cking sun.
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