Molten Pistachio Ruby Trabant

So, I am blogging again now because I don't think I'll have a single second tomorrow, unless my flight gets terribly delayed and Keflavik airport has free wireless access.
I was cranky about figuring out what to do for dinner, because I wasn't hungry and I kind of wanted to go out big to clubs and bars tonight, but I knew I didn't have it in me. So I finally kind of fell into Oliver, a restaurant/club on Laugavegur, the main drag. It was actually pretty good -- I had a cheeseburger and "molten chocolate cake" with pistachio ice cream. It was just as a molten chocolate cake should be, with whipped cream and raspberries too. And some ruby port -- that was my addition. I insisted on sitting upstairs even though it's the smoking section, because I knew all the interesting people would be up there and I wanted to be where I could hear them, even if I couldn't understand what they were saying. I was right, there was a group of about 8 people across from me laughing and arguing with each other and clearly getting into pissing contests of one kind and another even though I had no idea what about. God knows what they were discussing and laughing at. Probably my hair.
I am so sad to be leaving. I feel like I was just starting to have a really great time, in my own brash, geeky, semi-slutty, stumbling, innocent way. I went to Kaffibarinn later and met these two Icelandic girls originally from Akureyri, who live in Reykjavik now and were telling me all about what bands I have to listen to and how they have been best friends forever. Look at them, they are so cute:

Oh, and we should all be listening to Trabant, according to them. Then I met these American guys who kind of depressed me. One of them was a lawyer. In New York. That doesn't really explain it, does it? Hmmmm. They just had the same defensive yet smug air of every man under 50 I meet in San Francisco or in the U.S., for that matter. Kind of like "Don't think I am trying to pick up on you, because believe me, I don't need to try and pick up on anybody, you got that? Even though I am talking to you and would probably sleep with you if I had the chance." I'm sure a lot of women do the same thing. But, uh, can't we just talk about politics or books or music or something we give a shit about for a while so we can forget for a minute or two that every one of us wants something out every single human interaction, whether it's to be entertained or distracted or admired or to get laid? It's always something. Tell you what. I'll admire you if you entertain me, how's that? And then if I'm feeling really witty, we can switch!
Anyway. Then I was walking home and realized that I forgot to go to the sculpture garden which is RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER from my hotel and it doesn't open until 2pm every day, and so I will not be able to go tomorrow before I have to leave for the airport. So I climbed the fence. And took pictures. And froze at every passing car, convinced that some law-abiding Icelander had called the police on me and I would be, not held at gunpoint, but scolded in Icelandic, which would have really sucked. But I made it out of there without mishap. Thank god, I wouldn't have wanted to create an international incident.

. . . and, one last picture of my hotel. Goodbye hotel! Goodbye Iceland! SNIFF.