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.
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