[Upon arrival in Edinburgh, after rental car return debacle]
Hayl: I never want to rent a car again… except for in Iceland two days from now.
Such grand plans we’d had for how to spend our two and a half days in Iceland. We would spend one day at the Blue Lagoon, and we’d rent a car another day and drive to Eyrarbakki (EY-ra-bock-y) and Stokkseyri (STOKE-serry) [note: pronunciations are approximate, as we non-Icelanders don’t possess the know-how to even attempt some of these vocal sounds). We’d head to the country and hike the beaches, possibly see a ghost museum…
But before all that we had to catch the Flybus into town.
[On Flybus]
Hayl: What are these roundabouts doing here? I thought we were rid of those!
Thayer: I don’t know why you thought that. Do you not remember Mosfellsbær?
[Please see our 2010 video here for our little ditty about Mosfellsbær.]
We checked into our final Airbnb, an apartment above the Ruby Tuesday several blocks east of downtown Reykjavik (RAKE-ya-vick). There we met Ragnar, who showed us around his Ikea-filled one-bedroom apartment that we had all to ourselves. We hit the local Nóatún grocery store and found ourselves well outside of Kansas. In the downtown groceries, the labels, they help you out a little. Here we had no English assistance, which is why we spent about ten minutes staring at sugar packages, patting and squeezing them, trying to determine which would be raw, brown, and granulated. Eventually we just picked one and went with it. We chose incorrectly, of course, but luckily cornflakes and molasses sugar go rather well together.
That night we had our first “home-cooked” dinner in three weeks while couching it with a Richard Burton Bond movie before heading to the nearest swimming pool at Sundhöllin. There we wandered from hot pot to hotter pot to steam room and back again, reveling in a spa evening that would cost a fortune in the States but was a mere $4 thanks to Iceland’s crazy geothermal water pumping system. A word of warning, though, for all you modest Americans. All pools, including the fancy shmance Blue Lagoon, require you to shower without a swimsuit before entering. It's not up for debate. You’ve just got to own it like bam, here I am, Iceland, and in return you’ll find that, naturally, no one cares.
Requiring additional couch time after that, we proceeded to indulge our newfound obsession with British Royalty by watching The Queen with Helen Mirren, courtesy of Ragnar’s extensive movie collection.
The next morning it was time to get a move on—rent a car, drive southeast—and right about then is when we decided to check ourselves before we wrecked ourselves. Neither of us had even the tiniest desire to get into another car, so instead we chose to spend our next two days as Reykjavikians.
We wandered downtown and into the tourism office where we picked up a couple of “welcome cards” that would cover museum admissions and bus fares for two days. With that, we hit the Culture Center, where we learned more about the Icelandic sagas that were written in the 13th and 14th centuries and how they’d all have been lost were it not for a Dane who came over and compiled them in the 1600s (Iceland was ruled from Copenhagen at the time) and took them back to Denmark. It was a huge deal when the sagas were returned to Iceland in 1974, and they play a large part in national pride.
After cruising the incomprehensibly overpriced shops downtown, getting thoroughly soaked with mist as we did, we returned to Sundhöllin for another couple of hours at the pool. While we sat in the outdoor hot pot, the clouds finally broke and the evening sun shone gloriously. As the sun tends to bring out the chattiness in people, we soon found ourselves talking with a bright-blue-eyed and red-bearded Icelandic/American named Villi. With an Icelandic dad and an American mom, he’d grown up in Iceland and gotten his bachelor’s degree—but where else?—at Evergreen College in Washington. Villi gave us the lowdown on Reykjavik’s club scene, where folks really stay out until bar time. No, not at wee early hour of 2 a.m. like in the States. Bar time in Reykjavik is 6 a.m. At $8 to $9 for a pint of brew, we are far too old and miserly to afford a typical all-nighter in the city.
Instead, Thayer’s college friend Shauna—who lives in Iceland now—came over to our Airbnb with a bottle of wine, and we spent a lovely evening in the living room catching up on our lives since last we saw her in 2010.
Day 3 saw us at the National Museum of Iceland checking out fascinating exhibits from the beginning of Iceland’s recorded history around 800 A.D. The final exhibit was an oval baggage claim conveyer upon which sat groups of items representing daily Icelandic life from 1900 to the present. Thayer and I were stunned to learn that homes did not have running tap water until 1900, and the first Icelandic grocery store was founded in 1955. No grocery stores until 1955! My personal fave was the 1970s exhibit, which contained a teenage Björk’s first record album.
[leaving the museum]
Thayer: Takk. That means “thank you,” right?
Hayl: Yeah. Takk. I like that. Nothing’s cuter than two K’s in a row.
And then it was time for the pool. This time we tried out Laugardaslaug, a much larger facility with not only hot pots but a giant hot outdoor pool with kid waterslides and the whole bit.
“Hi,” came a familiar voice shortly after we submerged ourselves in the warm water. And there was our red-bearded friend Villi from the day before at the other pool, having “guys night” with his little nephew. We’d heard that Reykjavik, a city of 250,000 people, had a small-town feel, and having run into one of the two people we “knew” in town, we experienced that for ourselves. We were stoked to happen upon our new friend again, and we spent some more time chatting in the hot pot while Villi’s nephew squirreled adorably around him. It turns out Villi's dad, Villi Senior, runs the popular Volcano Show at the Red Rock Cinema, which we hadn't previously heard of, but were now totally bummed to miss out on. I guess this means we'll have to go back again to see it.
After a late dinner of overpriced burgers and brew at Islenski Barinn, we crashed back at our Airbnb, waking early to pack and clean up so we’d have time enough to hit the pool for the fourth and final day. As we floated in the pool, we talked about how great it would be to have pools like this in Seattle, lamented the impossibility, and laughed as we said our goodbyes to Iceland and happily discussed returning to home and Frank and Stu.
[on the Flybus]
Hayl: They have a Kaffitár at the airport.
Thayer: What’s that?
Hayl: That coffee shop. And do you know what they have there?
Thayer: No.
Hayl: No? You haven’t heard?
Thayer: [laying on the sarcasm] Nope.
Hayl: Let me tell you a little story about a beverage called the Swiss Mocha…
Thayer: You are a desperate fool, you know that?
We made it to the airport with time to spare, so we hit the Kaffitár and grabbed some floor space in our terminal.
[waiting for boarding]
Hayl: Someday we should fly Saga class. I bet they have hot pots in their airport lounge. Hot pots, swimming pools, sheep… someone to massage your shoulders…
Thayer: Someone to cut your head off…
Hayl: What?!
Thayer: The Sagas were dangerous times.
And here we are, on our return flight to Seattle, cozily watching movies as we fly over the clouds. UK/Iceland 2012 has been a long and unforgettable three weeks, and I think I can speak for us both when I say meeting new people was one of the very best parts. There are wonderful people all over the world, and we feel lucky to have met just a tiny handful of them.
And with that, I close the trip with a big thanks to all the family and friends who have kept up with this blog.
Skól!
Slàinte mhath!
Cheers!
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I love this. :) Hot pots every day!
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