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7 PM now.
I'm sitting in Kofi To'Masar Fraenda on Laugauegi, Reykjavik's main shopping street. Downtown can be criss-crossed pretty quickly -- I must have done it at least five times today -- but its small size does not detract from its charm. Actually, I think its charm lies in the very fact that it doesn't feel like a downtown at all. It reminds me of an enlarged version of a ski town's main street, like Old Mammoth Road in Mammoth. Or of Queenstown, New Zealand at dusk. There are no skyscrapers, no dazzling displays of modern architecture (save the giant concrete church), no subway system. In fact, all of Iceland is devoid of trains. The country-circling Ring Road was only completed in the 1970s.
But its distinctiveness can't be denied. Reykjavik is trying hard to be noticed -- not easy considering its geographical location and the country's history of devastating abandonment. I've been here for a day and I've already seen three international events advertised -- the international film festival, Iceland Soundwaves, and the international jazz festival. Reykjavik's not keeping quiet.
But then again, it's not bustling in the slightest. Asleep in a misty fog until 12 PM, even when the city did wake up was people-watching fodder sparse. And today was Thursday, in a normal work week.
The Who's "Teenage Wasteland" is wafting from the speakers and two guys are speaking French at the table to my right -- both are sweet to my ears. The Who belongs to the realm of Berkeley and the French to that of Göttingen, both of which I've left and one of which I'll return to.
Dark is descending on Reykjavik, and despite my latte my eyes are getting heavy. It's lovely to sit here, though, and watch the feet pass by on Laugaregi. It's nice to be away. Disconnected. There nothing like a cold, little island in the North Atlantic to refresh the spirit.
Cold it is -- scarves aren't merely fashion statements here -- but the weather today was beautiful. It was misty in the morning and it rained briefly in the afternoon, but when the sun broke through the clouds the effect was magnificent, rays of sunshine bathing the multi-colored buildings of the city center. You could physically feel the heat energy they contained.
I can say, though, that I'm not particularly looking forward to leaving this cozy cafe and walking back to the hostel. The more I put it off, the colder it gets, but leaving this warmth is just not appealing in the slightest. Instead, I'll write down what I did today, for posterity's sake if anything:
After sleeping 12 glorious hours to make up for yesterday's all-nighter, I dragged myself out of bed and ate breakfast, leaving the hostel at 10 or so -- but not before booking a trip for tomorrow to see the famed Golden Circle. I tried to find a bakery recommended by a guide to buy some special Icelandic sweet bread, but settled instead for a cappuccino to go at Kaffitár. Cup in hand, I "hiked" up to Reykjavik's highest point to visit Hallgrímskirkja. A massive modernist concrete structure, the church does not fail to make an impression. The inside was sparse, adhering to Iceland's Protestant faith, and its highlight was the view from the top of the tower. The bars were key -- the playing of the bells would have startled me into falling off if they weren't there. My fingers definitely went into my ears -- the sound was deafening. The bells were only a few feet above my head.
But anyway, the view was fantastic. The city is hemmed in by water, mountains, and volcanic landscape. Breaking through the clouds, the sun danced on the rooftops of downtown. And the elevator played eerie choir music during both the ascent & descent.
After a bit of wandering, I returned to the area around the church to walk through the sculpture garden behind the Einar Jónsson museum. The sculptures were amazing. I don't pretend to be an art critic by any means, but these sculptures were nuanced and multi-faceted and only enhanced by their titles. Simple statements -- death, rebirth, spring, etc. -- cast in bronze.
From Jónsson I meandered down the hill to walk alongside the lake Tjörn. My fingers turned numb when I sat on the bench and jotted in here, but the they thawed in the Tourist Center soon thereafter. I didn't really figure anything out there; really, it was just an excuse to hang out near a heater. I then ate a hot dog from Baejarins Beztu, the famed "best hot dog joint west of Hollywood." I admit, it was pretty damn good. It must have been the first hot dog I had eaten in two years. With that in my stomach, I walked a bit more through downtown, loosely following a walking tour in the Lonely Planet guide until I ran into two Brits I had met at the hostel last night. I walked with them for a while, the blond half-Brit, half-Norwegian and the dark-haired Chris with the penetrating gaze. They were coming back from looking for work on the shipyards.
Around 3 PM I left them and made my way to the National Museum, where I learned a bit of Icelandic history, most of which I was vaguely familiar with from the Viking & Medieval Scandinavia course I took last fall. On the way to this cafe I discovered the aluminum ship -- still my favorite -- and then made my way here. Also of note: I can't help but picture every Icelander I see as a Viking in fur coats with a long beard and sword.
Well, it's gotten to be 8 PM and the sky is completely dark now. The hostel is showing an Icelandic film at 9 that I'd like to catch, so I'd better start heading for the door. There'll be no partying tonight -- pick up for the Golden Circle tour is at 8 AM. Plus, I've got to save my energy for the "Runtur" -- the traditional Fri./Sat. Icelandic pub crawl -- tomorrow. Let's just hope they don't ask for ID. I always seem to be a month shy.
Okay, into the cold I go...
