Last day in Iceland. Mt. Esja's profile is smiling at me from the top floor of the Prikid cafe. It's good to be able to see the thing you set out to conquer.
Last night I spent at the Salvation Army Guesthouse, sharing a room with a half-French, half-American alcoholic going to custody court in Iceland. She couldn't construct a sentence without at least eight cuss words, no matter how long the sentence was. Even the towel was referred to as "bitch." She was nice, though -- she offered me dried peaches and tips about stretching out uncomfortable boots (stuff wet wads of newspaper in them and leave them overnight). She asked me if I thought that Iceland was really all that expensive, or if it just was "the extra numbers."
The weather certainly is clear. The water is raging -- the wind is picking up -- and a ship looks to be making circles in the strip of water I see through the houses in front of me. Old, romantic jazz is playing overhead and a cacophonous chorus of early-teen Icelandic is rearing up to my right.
It's been a good trip. Maybe not successful in the amount "seen," but I really think I got a feel for Icelandic life. Or Reykjavik life, that is. But that is the life for 2/3 of Icelanders.
I explored the city, on foot and on Bus #14 when it was raining or dark. I saw the sights -- the piercing church and it's piercing bells, the National Museum, Perlan & the Saga Museum, the Culture House, the Blue Lagoon. I also experienced the famed Reykjavik nightlife from a more local perspective, visited the ultra-Icelandic flea market, got a lesson in Icelandic from a stranger on the street at 6 AM Saturday night, and just wandered and wandered and wandered. Those kids to my right are getting rather annoying. Although I like the sound of Icelandic, that strange language that sounds like a mix between Finnish and Dutch without the throat-clearings, they're giving me a headache. Like 15-year-olds from any country.
It will be nice to be back in Sweden tomorrow, though. Though this trip was exactly what I needed -- escape and anonymity -- the real world beckons.
----- Is it bad that I still imagine everyone in cloaks with animal skins thrown over their shoulders?
In other news, I just spent 8,000 IKr in a record shop, modeled for the German GEO travel magazine, and took the wrong bus to the hostel, which is going to make me late for my meeting with Jason to go on the hike. And this is probably my last look at downtown Reykjavik for a long time. Tata!
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