Keflavik Airport is so cool. It's all glass. Windows everywhere. It's a sunny day, so after we landed, we were just walking down these sunny tunnels on our way to baggage claim, basking... basking.
I am in love with the language here. Every time the airplane flight attendant made an announcement I had to stop what I was doing and just listen. It just falls out of peoples' mouths like a babbling brook -- tumbling over rocks and stones. It's absolutely enchanting.
We hopped in our Suzuki Swift and headed up the long, barren road to Reykjavik, blasting music, windows down, smelling the fresh ocean air and whooping like lunatics. When we got to the city around 8am, we were informed by the landlady of Apartment K (where we are staying) that today is a holiday -- the day Christ ascended into Heaven and was seated at the right hand of God -- and that businesses would open late, if at all. Heh heh. Happy Holidays, and all, but where is the coffee. Somebody give us the coffee.
She recommended heading down to Hverfisgata (that's a street name) to a cafe called the Grey Cat, or rather, Grai Kotturinn. Luckily it was open and we were able to pour the caffeine down our gullets. While there, we met Diana, who just finished her pre-reqs for med school in Boston and was alone until the afternoon, when she would meet up with her sister who just finished her Peace Corps run in Senegal.
We sat with Diana and chatted for an hour or so, then parted ways and walked around the cute, quiet downtown, looking out the tower of Hallgrimskirkje (a church) and buying Lopi sweaters like true Icelanders. We will fit right in when riding those Icelandic horses.
We have now checked into our room at Apartment K. Due to some major troubles in confirming our reservation, they upgraded us for free to a one bedroom flat with a million windows, magnificent views, and uber mod decorations to within an inch of its life. Life is good.
It's 50 degrees but apparently that means midsummer to these people, as nobody is wearing a jacket, and shorts are prevalent, as are very very short strappy dresses. Wha? I was nearly ready to don my Lopi when I saw a young woman prancing about practically in her skivvies. I guess if mid 60s is standard summer temps, 50 is pretty darn hot. More power to them.
We're off now, to somewhere. Maybe Þhingvellir National Park. It's late in the day, but since the sun will be out forever, we figure it really doesn't matter much. Now that we have coffee at our disposal. :)
Looooove,
H (& T)
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