Well, I know I haven't updated in a while, so forgive me. I've been pretty busy.
Things have indeed gotten better; I haven't really done anything spectacularly exciting since that road trip to the South. I've mostly been doing the same things one would do anywhere else. To be honest, Reykjavik isn't terribly exciting. It's quaint, and it's wet, but all the neighborhoods are more or less identical. They all look the same, they all have a fishmonger, a butcher and a bakery, maybe a chain restaurant or two and a pizza place. It's like New England but without all the charm. I don't think there's a single building older than 1960 with maybe the exception of three government type places.
I have met some good people, though. Went to an Indian food party the other night, and watched Slumdog Millionaire, which I would strongly recommend to anyone.
We had one gathering the other night, Friday, that was pretty much an intro to Thorrablot, which is a month long festival of eating bizarre things. We had cod roe, steamed, and then cod liver stuffed inside of a cod stomach, and then tintasomething, which is a fish that has the skin of an eel and white flesh that is very chewy.
Ordinarily these are all things that I would like but to be honest, again, Icelandic food isn't that great and Icelanders don't really seem to know how to cook. I was going to go out to a nice fancy place, but I think I would have been disappointed. I haven't had a single meal that wasn't overcooked, underseasoned or both. I don't think they've even heard of salt here. They've got great ingredients but have no idea how to use them.
For example, the blood sausage has no flavor at all. How do you manage to make something out of the nasty bits of mutton, mutton blood, and a mysterious grain and still manage to have it be bland? I didn't even bother with Indian or Thai food because I figured it'd be sweet and lacking in spices.
Speaking of Asian food, for my last day in Iceland I went out for sushi yesterday.
I'll start by saying the fish was very fresh and the rice well prepared. I'll end by saying that the tataki wasn't a tataki---it was just sashimi, and the sweet shrimp, rather than being raw shrimp, was a cooked prawn with jam on it. They took that one rather literally. The service was friendly as could be, though.
For my last meal in Iceland I am going to eat at the BSI, which is the bus station, but also apparently the best place to get traditional Icelandic dishes. I'll report back later.
I will certainly be glad to go back to the US today, even if it does mean getting on a plane.
In summary, this was a really expensive way for me to figure out that I like staying at home, and I should have done exactly that. I suppose I'll give Iceland another try someday, but it'll definitely be in any season other than winter.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Days 8 and 9, January 13-14
Sorry for the lack of update yesterday, but I was in a snowstorm in a guesthouse in the town of Vik i Myrdal. We took a roadtrip out the same way I'd been before, but went farther this time, out to Jokullsarlon, a glacial lake in Southeast Iceland. I now have some pictures worth posting. This was a good trip. I promise I'll write more later, but I'm dead tired right now. At least this time it was snow all the way instead of rain. It's a lot more picturesque.
More later.
More later.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Day 7, I dunno what damned day it is, the sun never comes up.
Just kidding, the sun was out all four hours of daylight today and it was lovely. Walked all around Reykjavik and up to Hallgrimskirkja, the big Lutheran Church, which is nice-ish but definitely Lutheran. It's nothing much, really. Trinity Episcopal in Asheville was nicer, and First Presbyterian in Greensboro even makes it look like a poo. The organ was nice, though; I'd like to hear that. But, the interior was about as interesting as a courthouse. The vaulted ceilings were great, the unadorned concrete was not, and there wasn't a lick of stained glass anywhere to be found. And the carpet was worn thin. If this is how Icelanders take care of the biggest damn church in Iceland, then something something blah blah metaphor.
Aside from that I wandered aimlessly around Reykjavik, got ignored by another shopkeeper in the Ostabudhinn (Cheese Shop), and went to 12 Tonar, which is probably the coolest thing I've found here yet. It's a great record store with their own label that allows you to sit and listen to whatever you want, and they even make you coffee if you so desire. The staff there is friendly (for Icelanders) and very helpful with suggestions.
After that I took a bus out to the middle of nowhere again because I missed my stop, but it was good because I could see the mountains better, and I went to a bakery and got some weird Icelandic pastries and the first piece of passable carrot cake I've had here yet. (This is attempt number three.)
So in other words, I'm pretty much doing the same damn things I do in Greensboro. Listening to music, being irritated by Protestants, and eating cake.
Now for some more thoughts on Icelandic manners. Some people might dismiss the rudeness as being cultural. I do not concur.
"Cultural" is:
folk dances
national costumes
odd animal parts as comestibles
squeaky fiddle music
historical reenactments
whaling
that sort of thing.
"Cultural" is not:
being a dick to anyone different from you. That's called xenophobia.
And, as I've previously stated, all of your contemporary culture is stolen from us. Your 101 Reykjavik bullshit is just a snottier verision of Athens, GA, Asheville, NC, or Portland, OR, (assraped by the bacchanalian excess of the French Quarter during Mardi Gras) only less authentic because you don't have to look for indie music. Your commercial stations play it for you, which means you don't even have to put any effort into finding out about it. Oh, and we've been paying too much for secondhand clothes far longer than you have so don't act like it makes you special. There's nothing Icelandic about you, except your accursed language. Just go ahead and move to Williamsburg, Brooklyn so you can keep company with another bunch of self-referential assholes who think they're the be-all and end-all of just about damn near everything. You can live in tiny apartments there too.
Aside from that I wandered aimlessly around Reykjavik, got ignored by another shopkeeper in the Ostabudhinn (Cheese Shop), and went to 12 Tonar, which is probably the coolest thing I've found here yet. It's a great record store with their own label that allows you to sit and listen to whatever you want, and they even make you coffee if you so desire. The staff there is friendly (for Icelanders) and very helpful with suggestions.
After that I took a bus out to the middle of nowhere again because I missed my stop, but it was good because I could see the mountains better, and I went to a bakery and got some weird Icelandic pastries and the first piece of passable carrot cake I've had here yet. (This is attempt number three.)
So in other words, I'm pretty much doing the same damn things I do in Greensboro. Listening to music, being irritated by Protestants, and eating cake.
Now for some more thoughts on Icelandic manners. Some people might dismiss the rudeness as being cultural. I do not concur.
"Cultural" is:
folk dances
national costumes
odd animal parts as comestibles
squeaky fiddle music
historical reenactments
whaling
that sort of thing.
"Cultural" is not:
being a dick to anyone different from you. That's called xenophobia.
And, as I've previously stated, all of your contemporary culture is stolen from us. Your 101 Reykjavik bullshit is just a snottier verision of Athens, GA, Asheville, NC, or Portland, OR, (assraped by the bacchanalian excess of the French Quarter during Mardi Gras) only less authentic because you don't have to look for indie music. Your commercial stations play it for you, which means you don't even have to put any effort into finding out about it. Oh, and we've been paying too much for secondhand clothes far longer than you have so don't act like it makes you special. There's nothing Icelandic about you, except your accursed language. Just go ahead and move to Williamsburg, Brooklyn so you can keep company with another bunch of self-referential assholes who think they're the be-all and end-all of just about damn near everything. You can live in tiny apartments there too.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
insomnia
You know what? None of you would last 45 minutes in Greensboro, NC, never mind a real city. You rip off our fashions, our music, and our culture (that's right, you all look American as fuck) and then have the nerve to talk shit and be rude to our faces?
Hm.
Day 6, January 11th
I spent most of today avoiding activity as well. Sometimes you just need to recharge. Sometimes you just need a day of no dirty looks from Icelanders.
Which I didn't get. Some bitch in a restaurant stared at me and then started bitching loudly about foreigners. I can understand a good bit of Icelandic, particularly when it's invective. Sometimes a motherfucker just wants to eat his damned fish and chips and read a book without having to answer for his country's government.
Maybe I wouldn't be so annoyed if I were not from a place where we treat foreigners very well. In the South, even racists are nice to foreigners. Here, we appear to be barely tolerated because we pay for things.
Maybe I'm imagining it, but I don't think so. I haven't been an asshole to anyone, and I always apologize for my ignorance. Eh. Whatever.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Day 4, January 9
Ho-ly crap.
Iceland is great.
Today started off with the usual miserable weather, except then, lo and behold, it started snowing. For three minutes. And then the skies opened up and it was a beautiful sunny day in Reykjavik. There are mountains all around this city. I had no idea until the rain finally fucked off for a few minutes to let me see them. Nothing was dripping on my head, or anywhere else. So, I hopped on the bus and took a long bus ride to Vellir, which is apparently some rocky wilderness that the Icelanders are vigorously building condos on. Think lava rocks covered in the ubiquitous vomitous green moss (it's actually quite lovely really) and homes in the Danish modern style. If the Danes were to build concentration camps. That's one thing you won't hear me praise about Reykjavik. The architecture. It's uniform, predictable, and no-frills.
So, after my bus ride I went home and showered and then caught up with a guy from CouchSurfing named Dagur who was having a birthday party at his/his mother's house. He, Robert and I went to get groceries and prepare a little food for the gathering. Icelanders began pouring in after not too long, and the drunkenness begins. I did finally meet some Icelanders who suck at English, but everyone made an effort anyway, and were as friendly as can be. People must have asked every five minutes if I needed a drink, if I were enjoying myself, if I liked Iceland, all sorts of things. The guy who spoke to me the most was one of the worst at English, and that really meant quite a bit to me. Dagur and all of his friends are just awesome, the best people I've met so far in Iceland here.
(It kills me how smart Icelanders are, by the way.)
After that, Robert, Thorsteinn, Fridrik(?) and I went down to 101 Reykjavik (that's the post code for the center of town) for a show, a band called Sudden Weather Change. These incredibly competent young guys put on a great show. Cups were thrown, drums were kicked over, guitars were played using the ceiling, drums were played with guitars, and Robert hopped his happy ass right up on stage and sang along with the band. His steamy glasses and boylike appearance made it all the better. The look on his face was as blissful as I'd be if, say, Joanna Newsom called and asked me to come play harpsichord on her next tour. As far as the crowd goes, I haven't seen people that excited about a local band, well, ever. Jumping, screaming, moshing, Nordic elbows in my face, and they knew all the lyrics to every song.
After that we went around to a few bars. I won't belabor any points with details, but Reykjavik is fucking nuts. These people party like the world is going to end every fucking weekend of the year. All these stunningly beautiful Vikings completely fucked out of their minds dancing to American songs from the 80s and 90s, again knowing every word. These people are amazing. There's no room to move in most of these places, so you get around by shoving, hard. You have to push and shove to get anywhere. No one gets angry about it, it's not rude, it's just what you do. And when there's 5 people over 6 feet tall trying to push past you at once, you find somewhere else to stand real quick.
One of the things I love about Reykjavik is that these people are unspoiled. They know no sin, they know no wrong. There's no real crime here. There's hardly any drug problem at all. They're so sure that nothing bad can happen to them, really, and it's true; nothing really bad does happen here. They have to follow our news to get any of the truly awful shit.
101 Reykjavik. I see what they're talking about now. I'm not even social usually, but I joined right in, screaming, spilling beer on my own shoulders, pushing, shoving, dancing, moshing and otherwise trying to hold back the darkness.
Additionally, it's good there's only 300,000 Icelanders and that half of them are wasted all weekend long. These people could take over the entire world if they needed to. They're beautiful, brilliant, and they do everything better; dressing, eating, talking, driving, manufacturing surviving. They drink more, smoke more, eat more, everything is extremes here.
I must again reiterate how great everone I met today was. Iceland doesn't suck after all. I knew it couldn't possibly.
Iceland is great.
Today started off with the usual miserable weather, except then, lo and behold, it started snowing. For three minutes. And then the skies opened up and it was a beautiful sunny day in Reykjavik. There are mountains all around this city. I had no idea until the rain finally fucked off for a few minutes to let me see them. Nothing was dripping on my head, or anywhere else. So, I hopped on the bus and took a long bus ride to Vellir, which is apparently some rocky wilderness that the Icelanders are vigorously building condos on. Think lava rocks covered in the ubiquitous vomitous green moss (it's actually quite lovely really) and homes in the Danish modern style. If the Danes were to build concentration camps. That's one thing you won't hear me praise about Reykjavik. The architecture. It's uniform, predictable, and no-frills.
So, after my bus ride I went home and showered and then caught up with a guy from CouchSurfing named Dagur who was having a birthday party at his/his mother's house. He, Robert and I went to get groceries and prepare a little food for the gathering. Icelanders began pouring in after not too long, and the drunkenness begins. I did finally meet some Icelanders who suck at English, but everyone made an effort anyway, and were as friendly as can be. People must have asked every five minutes if I needed a drink, if I were enjoying myself, if I liked Iceland, all sorts of things. The guy who spoke to me the most was one of the worst at English, and that really meant quite a bit to me. Dagur and all of his friends are just awesome, the best people I've met so far in Iceland here.
(It kills me how smart Icelanders are, by the way.)
After that, Robert, Thorsteinn, Fridrik(?) and I went down to 101 Reykjavik (that's the post code for the center of town) for a show, a band called Sudden Weather Change. These incredibly competent young guys put on a great show. Cups were thrown, drums were kicked over, guitars were played using the ceiling, drums were played with guitars, and Robert hopped his happy ass right up on stage and sang along with the band. His steamy glasses and boylike appearance made it all the better. The look on his face was as blissful as I'd be if, say, Joanna Newsom called and asked me to come play harpsichord on her next tour. As far as the crowd goes, I haven't seen people that excited about a local band, well, ever. Jumping, screaming, moshing, Nordic elbows in my face, and they knew all the lyrics to every song.
After that we went around to a few bars. I won't belabor any points with details, but Reykjavik is fucking nuts. These people party like the world is going to end every fucking weekend of the year. All these stunningly beautiful Vikings completely fucked out of their minds dancing to American songs from the 80s and 90s, again knowing every word. These people are amazing. There's no room to move in most of these places, so you get around by shoving, hard. You have to push and shove to get anywhere. No one gets angry about it, it's not rude, it's just what you do. And when there's 5 people over 6 feet tall trying to push past you at once, you find somewhere else to stand real quick.
One of the things I love about Reykjavik is that these people are unspoiled. They know no sin, they know no wrong. There's no real crime here. There's hardly any drug problem at all. They're so sure that nothing bad can happen to them, really, and it's true; nothing really bad does happen here. They have to follow our news to get any of the truly awful shit.
101 Reykjavik. I see what they're talking about now. I'm not even social usually, but I joined right in, screaming, spilling beer on my own shoulders, pushing, shoving, dancing, moshing and otherwise trying to hold back the darkness.
Additionally, it's good there's only 300,000 Icelanders and that half of them are wasted all weekend long. These people could take over the entire world if they needed to. They're beautiful, brilliant, and they do everything better; dressing, eating, talking, driving, manufacturing surviving. They drink more, smoke more, eat more, everything is extremes here.
I must again reiterate how great everone I met today was. Iceland doesn't suck after all. I knew it couldn't possibly.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Day 3b
Incidentally, I had really good service tonight at Kebab Husidh, which also was the first satisfying dinner I've had yet here. Great fish and chips, and incredibly helpful counterperson.
Also, I've had some light shed on the mystery of plucking condiments off tables. Apparently that's normal. The fishwife (I just love that word) at Kebab Husidh plucked the vinegar off another couple's table so that I might ensour (I just made that word up!) my fish and chips so that they were even more delicious. Afterwords, I plunked it back on their table, just because I think I might personally be able to teach Icelanders some courtesy, being from the South, and they seemed quite pleased or at least entertained.
Additionally, I have a lopapeysa now, and I finally feel like I fit in. People look at me differently...or rather, they ignore me differently now that I have the national hipster costume.
I've also started apologizing for not being able to speak Icelandic and that really seems to make the locals happy or at least, less pissy. I'm fine with that. I think people should be able to speak the language of countries they visit. Although, Icelandic is fucking hard. Old Norse at least is a written language, and pretty much sticks to a few subjects...that one wasn't hard. But Modern Icelandic is a bitch in comparison. Imagine hearing the Vulgate (common Latin) out loud for the first time, when all you've studied is Ecclesiastical Latin. Yeah.
Anyway, I'm beat. And a lot less anxious than I have been. Things are looking up.
Also, I've had some light shed on the mystery of plucking condiments off tables. Apparently that's normal. The fishwife (I just love that word) at Kebab Husidh plucked the vinegar off another couple's table so that I might ensour (I just made that word up!) my fish and chips so that they were even more delicious. Afterwords, I plunked it back on their table, just because I think I might personally be able to teach Icelanders some courtesy, being from the South, and they seemed quite pleased or at least entertained.
Additionally, I have a lopapeysa now, and I finally feel like I fit in. People look at me differently...or rather, they ignore me differently now that I have the national hipster costume.
I've also started apologizing for not being able to speak Icelandic and that really seems to make the locals happy or at least, less pissy. I'm fine with that. I think people should be able to speak the language of countries they visit. Although, Icelandic is fucking hard. Old Norse at least is a written language, and pretty much sticks to a few subjects...that one wasn't hard. But Modern Icelandic is a bitch in comparison. Imagine hearing the Vulgate (common Latin) out loud for the first time, when all you've studied is Ecclesiastical Latin. Yeah.
Anyway, I'm beat. And a lot less anxious than I have been. Things are looking up.
January 8th, Day 3
I'm soaked, frozen, and have black volcanic sand in my shoes. This has been my best day yet, here.
Today I took a prearranged tour out to Skogafoss, Seljalandsfoss, Vik, and Myrdalsjokull. The first two of those words are waterfalls, the third is a town, and the last is a glacier. Oh, and a black sand beach as well. The weather still sucked completely but it was nice to get out of town. I got to take a lot of photographs, and see some nice natural sights. Skogafoss is huge, and I couldn't get too close, since it was pretty wet. Apparently sometimes you can go behind Seljalandsfoss. I suppose I could have, but it was running harder than usual today. As it was, I got completely drenched at about 30 meters away from it. Look at me, using meters like a proper European. Hah.
Speaking of Europeans, I don't like them. The men all dress likewomen trashy women and can't be bothered to shave and do their hair. (By Europeans, I mean people from Romance-speaking countries. And what the hell, Danes too.) They stand around looking like they don't care about anything and they've already seen it all, so instead of enjoying themselves they make out in public and smoke American cigarettes endlessly while chuckling about how cultured they are. And Danes just don't ever look happy about anything.
Europeans also walk directly in front of you when you're trying to take a picture of a nice wilderness scene and spoil it by posing on a rock for one of their friends to take a picture. I don't want a picture of some Eurotrash fuckface in a pleather jacket and girl pants and a women's scarf. I want a picture of the rock.
On that note, let me say that Japanese people are so refreshing. I got to speak some Japanese to a nice couple, and they really just seemed to love every second of this wet, cold, dark tour we took. Nothing got their spirits down, and I thought that was just great.
So, today was better. I guess it's silly of me to expect that every day, right from the start, is going to be amazing. I just hope I get to see some of the sky while I'm here. I wouldn't mind the four hours of light a day if it wasn't filtered through grey clouds the whole time.
Today I took a prearranged tour out to Skogafoss, Seljalandsfoss, Vik, and Myrdalsjokull. The first two of those words are waterfalls, the third is a town, and the last is a glacier. Oh, and a black sand beach as well. The weather still sucked completely but it was nice to get out of town. I got to take a lot of photographs, and see some nice natural sights. Skogafoss is huge, and I couldn't get too close, since it was pretty wet. Apparently sometimes you can go behind Seljalandsfoss. I suppose I could have, but it was running harder than usual today. As it was, I got completely drenched at about 30 meters away from it. Look at me, using meters like a proper European. Hah.
Speaking of Europeans, I don't like them. The men all dress like
Europeans also walk directly in front of you when you're trying to take a picture of a nice wilderness scene and spoil it by posing on a rock for one of their friends to take a picture. I don't want a picture of some Eurotrash fuckface in a pleather jacket and girl pants and a women's scarf. I want a picture of the rock.
On that note, let me say that Japanese people are so refreshing. I got to speak some Japanese to a nice couple, and they really just seemed to love every second of this wet, cold, dark tour we took. Nothing got their spirits down, and I thought that was just great.
So, today was better. I guess it's silly of me to expect that every day, right from the start, is going to be amazing. I just hope I get to see some of the sky while I'm here. I wouldn't mind the four hours of light a day if it wasn't filtered through grey clouds the whole time.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Day 2 Part C
Okay, now for some things I like about Iceland.
Little tiramisu things in a cup. That taste like tiramisu and don't appear to be made of anything gross. Those are great.
GIANT PEARS! They're frigging huge and green, and rather tasty if a bit on the appley side. I don't think they're grown here, but damn, they're good.
Gravlax are not expensive, and strangely enough, butter is about half what it costs in the US.
And just for the sake of reporting, I had dinner at Vegamot. Very trendy. Very damn trendy. I need to hurry up and get a frigging lopapeysa so I'll fit in. However, the food was really not all that great. What I had amounted to linguine alfredo with a bit of lobster and broccoli thrown in. The waitress was very nice to me, retarded foreign guy that I am, even if the rest of the staff was rude. One guy snatched my cheese off the table without even a hello. I wasn't using it, but still, Christ almighty. I've never been against tipping, but now I REALLY see why it's a great idea. The upside is, the waiters don't annoy you here. The downside is, they also don't give a shit whether you like your food/service or not. This is twice I've had my plate plonked down in front of me uncermoniously, like an angry ex-girlfriend returning a sweater that she'd rather have mailed than actually show up at my house (table?) to give back.
One thing that's kinda cool, is no one assumes that I don't speak Icelandic. They all assume I do. At first. Some people don't even care that I don't. Which is great. Linguistic purity is nice. I think it's great that even though you all speak better English than I do, you still speak Icelandic all the time. I like to picture all the case endings flying past me through the air as you decline your nouns with the greatest of ease, and suffix your definite articles without a second thought.
But seriously, Iceland....right now you guys really need the tourists because you're pretty much fucked. Maybe you could be a little less rude? I know I'm short, confused and in the way but really.
Little tiramisu things in a cup. That taste like tiramisu and don't appear to be made of anything gross. Those are great.
GIANT PEARS! They're frigging huge and green, and rather tasty if a bit on the appley side. I don't think they're grown here, but damn, they're good.
Gravlax are not expensive, and strangely enough, butter is about half what it costs in the US.
And just for the sake of reporting, I had dinner at Vegamot. Very trendy. Very damn trendy. I need to hurry up and get a frigging lopapeysa so I'll fit in. However, the food was really not all that great. What I had amounted to linguine alfredo with a bit of lobster and broccoli thrown in. The waitress was very nice to me, retarded foreign guy that I am, even if the rest of the staff was rude. One guy snatched my cheese off the table without even a hello. I wasn't using it, but still, Christ almighty. I've never been against tipping, but now I REALLY see why it's a great idea. The upside is, the waiters don't annoy you here. The downside is, they also don't give a shit whether you like your food/service or not. This is twice I've had my plate plonked down in front of me uncermoniously, like an angry ex-girlfriend returning a sweater that she'd rather have mailed than actually show up at my house (table?) to give back.
One thing that's kinda cool, is no one assumes that I don't speak Icelandic. They all assume I do. At first. Some people don't even care that I don't. Which is great. Linguistic purity is nice. I think it's great that even though you all speak better English than I do, you still speak Icelandic all the time. I like to picture all the case endings flying past me through the air as you decline your nouns with the greatest of ease, and suffix your definite articles without a second thought.
But seriously, Iceland....right now you guys really need the tourists because you're pretty much fucked. Maybe you could be a little less rude? I know I'm short, confused and in the way but really.
Day 2 part b
Apparently puffins don't live here until May. WTF? I thought they were a kind of penguin. I thought they liked the cold. It's not even cold.
Fuckers.
Fuckers.
Day 2, Wednesday, January 7th
I am so frigging hungry.
I walked around a lot today, up Laugasvegur, which is a big shopping street. So far, I'm trying really hard not to feel discouraged. It's dark as fuck. I mean, really fucking dark. There's four hours of sunlight a day and it's sucky sunlight, and the sky has been nothing but drippy-ass clouds dripping drops on me and making my hair curl up. I can't have crappy hair in Iceland; everyone here looks great all the time.
Bear with me, I'm almost done bitching.
I feel really short, and I don't know anyone at all. I'm really trying hard to find something awesome about Reykjavik but so far it seems like a cleaner, more Nordic Asheville with more hipsters and fewer weirdos. My host is great but she's too busy to show me much, and she doesn't seem to go out too often. I feel quite alone. Maybe the purpose of this trip is to get me to appreciate all the people that usually annoy the crap out of me back home in Greensboro. I wish I hadn't quit smoking, because at least that'd be something to do.
I don't want any overpriced handicrafts except for one of those lopapeysa everyone looks so awesome in. I can't stand shopping.
I feel incredibly guilty for not knowing Icelandic. Everyone speaks English but it seems like no one REALLY wants to, which is perfectly understandable to me.
No one has been discussing ships or gold or axes so I can't use any of my Icelandic.
On a good note, I went to the National Museum, which was fantastic. Lots of great old Icelandic historical items, and a lot of ecclesiastical artefacts, which are right up my alley. Unfortunately, photography was prohibited so I have no pictures of that. I'll try to take one of the outside.
Tomorrow I'm getting out of town and going on an excursion southwards to see some famous waterfalls, some black sand beaches, and some puffins. So far I've found nothing really worthy to photograph. I mean, a city is a city. And this is a dark ass city.
I went to a small park in Hafnarfjordhur today. No real reason except that I felt like going to a park in Hafnarfjordhur. It was pretty rugged--big rocks and scrubby trees, lots of moss and spent fireworks everywhere (from the last day of Christmas, which was last night). Speaking of which, I was thinking of all the fireworks noise; if that were my neighborhood in Greensboro, I'd think there was a gang war going on. At least Reykjavik is safe.
I'm hoping I didn't pick a really shitty time to come here. I'm determined to enjoy myself. Things will get better. It's just culture shock. I'm fine. Really.
I walked around a lot today, up Laugasvegur, which is a big shopping street. So far, I'm trying really hard not to feel discouraged. It's dark as fuck. I mean, really fucking dark. There's four hours of sunlight a day and it's sucky sunlight, and the sky has been nothing but drippy-ass clouds dripping drops on me and making my hair curl up. I can't have crappy hair in Iceland; everyone here looks great all the time.
Bear with me, I'm almost done bitching.
I feel really short, and I don't know anyone at all. I'm really trying hard to find something awesome about Reykjavik but so far it seems like a cleaner, more Nordic Asheville with more hipsters and fewer weirdos. My host is great but she's too busy to show me much, and she doesn't seem to go out too often. I feel quite alone. Maybe the purpose of this trip is to get me to appreciate all the people that usually annoy the crap out of me back home in Greensboro. I wish I hadn't quit smoking, because at least that'd be something to do.
I don't want any overpriced handicrafts except for one of those lopapeysa everyone looks so awesome in. I can't stand shopping.
I feel incredibly guilty for not knowing Icelandic. Everyone speaks English but it seems like no one REALLY wants to, which is perfectly understandable to me.
No one has been discussing ships or gold or axes so I can't use any of my Icelandic.
On a good note, I went to the National Museum, which was fantastic. Lots of great old Icelandic historical items, and a lot of ecclesiastical artefacts, which are right up my alley. Unfortunately, photography was prohibited so I have no pictures of that. I'll try to take one of the outside.
Tomorrow I'm getting out of town and going on an excursion southwards to see some famous waterfalls, some black sand beaches, and some puffins. So far I've found nothing really worthy to photograph. I mean, a city is a city. And this is a dark ass city.
I went to a small park in Hafnarfjordhur today. No real reason except that I felt like going to a park in Hafnarfjordhur. It was pretty rugged--big rocks and scrubby trees, lots of moss and spent fireworks everywhere (from the last day of Christmas, which was last night). Speaking of which, I was thinking of all the fireworks noise; if that were my neighborhood in Greensboro, I'd think there was a gang war going on. At least Reykjavik is safe.
I'm hoping I didn't pick a really shitty time to come here. I'm determined to enjoy myself. Things will get better. It's just culture shock. I'm fine. Really.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Day 1, January 6th
So, it's 10 am and it's still dark out. And wet. And not at all cold. These are my first impressions of Reykjavik.
Everyone is really tall. OK, not everyone, but the average height does seem to be more than it is in the US. I seem to be about the same height as your average Icelandic fifth grader, who, from what I've seen, is also more indie rock than I am and dresses far cooler.
The airport is great. I hate to perpetuate a stereotype, but if IKEA designed an airport, that'd be it. Lots of glass and warm woods.
Everything is spotless here. I don't know why we love to fuck up our own shit in the US, but we do. From my two hours of observation, Icelanders don't. Everything looks brand new, ultramodern and just lovely.
Most people seem quite friendly and willing to speak English to me, which makes me feel terribly guilty about not being able to speak Icelandic better. I can read every fifth word or so but that's not terribly helpful. The Icelandic I studied in college is actually Old Norse, so if anyone starts talking about ships, gold, trolls, ettins, elves, battle axes or Ingolf Arnarson, I'm right there.
As it is, I did not sleep on the flight, so I am going directly to bed. More later as more happens.
Everyone is really tall. OK, not everyone, but the average height does seem to be more than it is in the US. I seem to be about the same height as your average Icelandic fifth grader, who, from what I've seen, is also more indie rock than I am and dresses far cooler.
The airport is great. I hate to perpetuate a stereotype, but if IKEA designed an airport, that'd be it. Lots of glass and warm woods.
Everything is spotless here. I don't know why we love to fuck up our own shit in the US, but we do. From my two hours of observation, Icelanders don't. Everything looks brand new, ultramodern and just lovely.
Most people seem quite friendly and willing to speak English to me, which makes me feel terribly guilty about not being able to speak Icelandic better. I can read every fifth word or so but that's not terribly helpful. The Icelandic I studied in college is actually Old Norse, so if anyone starts talking about ships, gold, trolls, ettins, elves, battle axes or Ingolf Arnarson, I'm right there.
As it is, I did not sleep on the flight, so I am going directly to bed. More later as more happens.
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