Home

I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I have the best bed in the entire world. Yes, I do. Instead of sleeping on the flight home, I spent the entire time talking and listening to this woman in her late 70's sitting next to me who has got to be to be one of the coolest people I have ever met. And I didn't take her picture, because my camera was in my laptop case in the overhead bin instead of in my purse.
So there will be no pictures with this post. Ideally, I should have a shot of my clean room with my 1,000 thread count sheets on the bed to bring things full circle from the first post with a picture of my room with clothes everywhere and the bed stripped because I was doing laundry, but I'm just too tired to take a picture, download it to photobucket, and then insert the html tag. Tooooooo tired.
I am satisfied. I am happy. I spent my last few hours in Reykjavik writing postcards in Cafe Paris and then staring out the airport bus window at the continually amazing scenery all the way to Keflavik.
When I got home, I had a voicemail message waiting for me with a gig, an email requesting an interview, and a letter from the SF Department of Parking and Traffic informing me I had overpaid them for parking tickets and am entitled to a refund. Plus happy, jumping up and down roommates. Who are very, very afraid of all my dried fish. HA. Bwah ha ha ha ha!!!!!!! So really, I feel like San Francisco has welcomed me back in every possible way. It was good to be away, and it's good to be home. The best of all possible worlds -- excuse me while I tend my garden, Pangloss. Well, my window box. I think the jasmine waited for me to come back, I thought for sure it would have bloomed and died while I was away, but it looks like all the big sprays on it will open tomorrow.

OK, I lied about the pictures. So ends the Iceland blog. I hope you all enjoyed reading it and looking at the pictures as much as I enjoyed writing it and taking photos, but I don't think that would even be possible. There was actually so much more, that I couldn't even begin to fit in here, photos and stories both. But it was really fun choosing which stories to tell. I'll tell you one thing though -- I saved some of the best of them for telling over drinks with hand gestures and funny voices. Cheers to all, and to all a good night!
Love, Pacey

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.

Eggshells

My little feet hurt. I canna shop no more. Plus, I have to get down to the tjorn (pond) tomorrow and whirl through some museums before I get on a plane and come home. Ooooooh, maybe the museums have gift shops! It's in my blood, I tell you, the shopping. I feel the need for concrete things to take home with me, especially since I haven't been writing nearly enough. There just hasn't been time.
I do have to say, Reykjavik has an amazing culture of creativity. You wouldn't really think this would be a place where you find tons of fashion designers, but in fact there are some really cool Icelandic ateliers here in town. I have dutifully gone into and photographed a bunch of their stores, since I can't afford 99% of the actual clothes. The style here is very wild, with lots of metallics and snakeskin. Sort of a cross between 80's excess and Viking wildness. Here's an example:

Note the heels are metallic.
I also stopped into a ceramics studio today and talked to the woman who does all the ceramics in her store from her work space in the back. In addition to selling dried fish, the flea market also sells these gorgeous big old turquoise and black eggs that come from cliff-nesting birds called razorbills. She had a bunch of eggs in one of her dishes, and they were all different shades of bright turquiose, pale turquoise, and cream. She told me that the blue-green color fades as they get older, so the eggshells she has from last year are paler, and the ones that are several years old have lost all their color. Something about the impermanent nature of that intense color really struck me. I was wishing I could take some of those eggs home with me, but then I realized I would just end up with plain cream and brown speckled eggshells eventually anyway. It really reminds me of the the very beginning of the very little Proust I've read:
"Many years have passed since that night. The wall of the staircase, up which I had watched the light of his candle gradually climb, was long ago demolished. And in myself, too, many things have perished which I imagined would last for ever, and new ones have arisen, giving birth to new sorrows and new joys which in those days I could not have foreseen, just as now the old are hard to understand."


p.s. If you ever want to look up an entire book online, check out www.gutenberg.org. Also, www.bibliomania.com has some pretty interesting stuff.

Comments

Joanna helpfully emailed me that my comments settings weren't open to take comments from everyone, so I fixed that. Thanks Joanna! I was wondering why no one was commenting . . . . and thanks to the biel and yen for making the blog a little less lonely . . . going off to shop now. No photos for now. Go comment on something!

Finally, I'm Cold in Iceland

Man, I went on quite the tour today, let me tell you. I went to the northern part of Iceland around Lake Myvatn, which is supposedly only about 150 miles from the Arctic Circle, and I can well believe it. It's supposed to to get the least rainfall of any area in Iceland, and is usually around the high 50's or 60's in the summer. Someone clearly alerted them I was coming because it rained the entire day and it was FREEZING. 6 degrees Celsius, with a biting wind that made me feel like I was standing outside in my underwear instead of superthick wool pants. I saw some beautiful things, but I suffered for the beauty, I suffered for it. Had another great night tonight, although quieter than last night. Saw Crash and then nipped in to Sirkus Bar -- Sirkus was totally cool, great music, great atmosphere. Crash was amazing. A couple of people in the U.S. had told me that it was the best movie of the year, and then Sigrun, one of the lovely Icelandic girls from last night, was telling Stuart and I we had to see it. So I was trying not to have high expectations, but I was completely blown away.
Here's a picture of a crater on the edge of Myvatn Lake.
Also a picture of the place where two tectonic plates are pulling apart -- Man, this country is a geologist's dream, between the volcanoes and the tectonic plates and the geothermal springs. And the herring! OK, geologists wouldn't care about the herring, but I had to mention it.

Conquered by a Viking

If I ever, ever had any doubts about the whole going to Iceland on my own thing, they were vaporized earlier tonight when we came upon a group of outlandish, gutsy, insightful, wonderful Icelandic girls in a tiny bar. They had just come from the Viking festival in Hafnarfjordur, and they were completely wonderful. Following find picture of me being hoisted in the air by a Viking girl while drinking out of her horn.

Went on horseback riding tour earlier today and met fellow traveler Stuart, who became my conspirator in expensive Icelandic dining and bar-hopping. Following find picture of how the evening ended up -- you'll have to talk to me in person to hear the story.

Geysirs! Waterfalls! Sheep!

I finally got a decent night's sleep last night. Of course I thought about heading out at 11pm and tearing it up until 3am or so, but reason and exhaustion prevailed. Even though it was Saturday night. Yesterday was "shop 'til you drop" day, literally. I only made it until about 2pm before I was sitting on a bench sucking down fruit juice trying to gather the strength to make it up the hill home. But before I did, I managed to visit many expensive clothing stores, tourist knick-knack purveyors, and the kebab stand, of course. I also went to the indoor flea market, which was amazing and tacky and full of dried fish. I swear, there were 5o different kinds of dried fish in the food area of the flea market. Apparently there is at least one kind you are supposed to eat as a snack with butter. I'll let you know how that is once I try it. And I will try it, I promise. I had monkfish for dinner last night, but it was wrapped in bacon and steamed or something, not dried. It was kind like a cross between lobster and fish -- not flaky at all, but very meaty. The rest of the flea market was full of (probably pirated) videos, dvds, heavy metal T-shirts, jewelry, used clothes, old china, and tons of furs of every kind. Fur is kind of big here in Iceland -- it seems like it's part of the culture. So if you're a PETA fan, you do not want to go to Reykjavik.
Here's a picture of some dried fish at the market:

And, just so you have something to look at besides dried fish, here are pictures of the view from the top of Hallgrimskirkja Church, one block from my hotel, and a picture of Gullfoss waterfall.

Faster Than Without Water

That's a line from the Arcade Fire about dying from lack of sleep. I don't think you can really live longer without water than sleep, but I don't want to find out. Fortunately, I have plenty of water, and as soon as the ambien hits my system, I'll have sleep too.
Oh goodness. Far, far too much to fit into this post. Taking a cab home at 6:00am this morning, we drove along the edge of the Bay for about a mile -- it was incredible. There are no buildings between the road and the Bay, giving you an unobstructed view of what seems like miles and miles of sapphire blue water. I've never seen water that dark and sparkling blue before. I wish I could have asked the driver to pull over for a picture, but his English wasn't so good, and of course my Icelandic is non-existent/an abomination, and I was afraid he would misunderstand and think crazy American girl wanted to be left by the side of the road. So here is a picture of me in my sleep mask instead.

No Time for Titles

So I got my wireless to work over here. I sacrificed a couple of shots of tequila to the computer spirits, but I think it was the chocolate from the minibar that did it. Whatever, it worked. I spent the day today wandering around in a haze in the bright sunlight with 5 million other tourists celebrating Icelandic Independence Day. There were all these free concerts out on a big lawn/plaza area, and everyone was sitting outside of cafes and drinking and chatting. On my way walking into the downtown area I passed this group of kids rocking out:

I have discovered skyr over here. What is skyr, you might ask? Is it a potent Icelandic beverage? Is it a new post-Bjork band? No. It is an addictive, tasty treat, and I have to stop eating it, BUT I CAN'T. It's kind of like yogurt on steroids. You know that super delicious greek yogurt, Fage? It's like that but sweeter and thicker and creamier. I'm telling you, it's the crack of dairy products. I can't wait to try the blueberry flavor. But I have to stop eating it. Tomorrow. I'll stop tomorrow.
OK. I have to get ready to go out now. It's midnight, but perfectly light out. Here's a picture of what midnight last night looked like.

Still Damned, But We Have Work Around

Ha!
Following find a picture of the Blue Lagoon. Which I bathed in, yes. And, FYI, there is no such thing as overdressed on the main drag in Reykjavik. Which is why I don't have much to say about it, because I just peeked in to a bunch of places and decided I would go back when I have my gold strappy high heeled sandals on.

Damn Internets

As anticipated, there are internet problems . . . . not to mention the icelandic characters on the keyboard, because of course I can't get my computer on the internet, Oh no, not my computer. Anyway. 2am, still light out. No pictures. Kaffibarinn, Damon Albarn's bar, has wireless. Cross your fingers for me. Yes, I've been to four bars already. And a kebab stand.
xxxxoooooo, Pacey