Reykjavik: A Place I Didn’t Know I Loved Part One

Summer was coming to an end, and as usual, there was a sense of last-minute panic, especially when it came to traveling. This worry was based on the not so incorrect assumption that starting fall, things would start getting busy both work and life wise, so it was a final attempt to fit in a bit of fun and relaxation before the merciless routine kicked in again.

This year, since we both had passports, my son suggested to travel internationally instead of our local excursions to Whistler and Kelowna. He had his first taste of visiting London as part of a school trip, but the question for us was where to go? Places that were on my list were not ideal or it was just not the right time to visit them: Cuba was one of the places of interest; Universal Studios has been on our list for a while and would have to wait for a while longer, and so it boiled down to two potential candidates to the left and to the right of us respectively: Iceland and Japan.

The latter was a country that my son has been interested in ever since discovering anime; he had even learnt a bit of Japanese including some impressive reading skills. Iceland was my baby and has been for a long time; it was an item on my bucket list. How it got there I’m not too sure. I remember playing a board game in my youth where you could fly to Reykjavik so this desire may have perhaps unconsciously been planted and formed way back then.

So what to do when you have two conflicting choices? Ask Chat GPT of course! And it told me, taking into consideration my 17-year-old travel companion, it would recommend Japan as way more exciting for a younger mind. I think Chat GPT broke it down 70% to 30% so not a close call at all. Yet as I asked around by canvassing humans, everyone seemed to discourage traveling to Tokyo in August, including the travel agent I went to see. He added that Europe was equally a bad idea considering the heat waves and forest fires, so there was little left to work with. Plus, a Japanese friend gave a clear and unequivocal “no” to this plan.

But what about Iceland then, we asked ourselves. As the weather was mild, their summer tends to lack heat, and it was quasi and technically Europe, it became our destination of choice. I mean this is the birthplace of Bjork and Sigur Ros we are talking about, so it would be interesting to see how the landscapes may have influenced their music, which is unique and distinct from anything or anywhere else. The night before and the day of I decided to learn some basic phrases in Icelandic, just in case. It turns out that it was not necessary at all as almost everyone, except one guy (more on him later), spoke English fluently.

Security Check and Flight

No matter where I go, security checks are a source of worry and stress. This time, at least in Vancouver, there was nothing of note, except the agent telling me that my fly was open. Yeah, flying with your fly open is not something that was recommended but it was something that was easily remedied. In fact, I was grateful that this was pointed out to me sooner than later. We had a connecting flight in Calgary, and then it was straight to Keflavik, a place about an hour away from Reykjavik itself.

The arrival was not smooth. There was no gate, so we were told to descend from the plane and get on a shuttle bus. From there on, there was a lot of confusion and not enough information, but we ended up in a long line to enter the country. They did the biometric fingerprints and took our photos, and the border agent asked the reason for our trip. Tourism, I said.

“What places are you going to go to?” he wanted to know and all that came to mind was The Blue Lagoon, incidentally the one place I did not end up going to.

“How long are you staying in Iceland?” I responded, one week. Then he asked, if we had intentions of staying in Iceland. I was a bit surprised and taken aback by the question, but I said that I did not.

He then smiled and told us to pass through and enjoy our stay. Yet it took us another half an hour walking in circles, tired and jetlagged as we were while desperately trying to get outside, and for a moment I thought we had lined up again at the same spot to face another inquisitive border agent. Yet once outside, we followed the many tourists and took the bus that drove us to the Bus Terminal in Reykjavik and found our way into the downtown part.

 

First Impressions and Later Things of Note

We entered our first Icelandic café, a very nice and artsy place, which was right next to the National Art Gallery (but we did not know this yet), and after the initial shock of the price once converted into Canadian dollars in my head, I was thirsty and had a sip of water and almost fell off my chair! Damn, it was the best-tasting water I have ever had topping even the Swiss by a mile in that regard! I could not wait to get into our room and drink it nonstop from the faucet like a cherished and endless supply bottle of quality wine.

The people struck me as a bit reserved but friendly, and they would not give unsolicited help or advice, unless you asked for it, then they would do so freely. The city was beautiful. I loved the Tjornin lake and could not wait to take long walks there. The colorful houses were just as I had imagined or seen them depicted in pictures before the trip.

The food was also quite good, albeit incredibly expensive. It was twice, sometimes triple the prices I would see in Vancouver, but it tasted very good. On the first day, I saw this sign and knew that I would have to try Icelandic lamb burger sooner than later. This was in addition to their famed hot dog stall that you were supposed to order as “one with everything” and which included crispy onions as a delicious condiment.

The ice cream at Valdi’s was amazing. Just like the frog in boiling water, at that point, I was not too shocked to shell out a 1000 Krona, which all things considered with the new lens and framework of reality in place seemed like a good deal to me. Considering that fast-food cost almost triple that amount and that you got big portions of ice cream, it was certainly worth it. Mine was Kinder just in case you were curious to know.

The absolute necessity and lifeline for survival was the kitchen that our accommodation included. Strangely enough, there was no microwave in the unit, but the electric stovetop and basic kitchenware and cutlery made things slightly more affordable for us. Breakfasts were not on the house but rather made in the house: we ensured and were proud to confirm that we managed each day’s first meal at our new adopted abode. It was interesting because in my regular routine, I would always skip breakfast as part of my intermittent fasting regime but since I had my young travel companion with me, I had to adjust to his at least three meals per day schedule, which I did not mind in the least.

We found two supermarkets in our area. Our preferred option was Kronan, which would be the North American equivalent of Safeway. They had a good assortment of food and groceries, and I bought eggs, milk, cereal, pepperoni sticks, and burger patties to name a few items. The other store was called Bonus and that one did not look as polished and reminded me of the Canadian No Frills chain.

Their emblem was a large pink pig. I was tempted to buy their sweater as a souvenir but then I was not ready to hand over more than $ 50 CDN for an image of a pig, a reference that only Icelanders and people who have visited the country would get. Everyone else would be wondering why on Earth I was wearing a pig sweater as there was no other writing or information on it.

It was in that store that my son encountered the only non-English speaking individual in perhaps all of Reykjavik. We were inseparable throughout but, on that day, he ventured to the nearby store looking for some hairspray and had PIN issues with his credit card (technically it’s not his; he spends the money and I pay the bills) and he could not communicate with the clerk. It was fine in the end as he did get his hairspray and was able to pay in cash.

To be honest, I am a bit sad to see that cash is becoming obsolete all-around; there are even places that do not accept it in the first place. And with high denomination of bills and even higher costs, it felt like paper money had lost its value. All payments were contactless and I noticed that using my phone eliminated the need for adding my PIN, which I was not 100 percent sure of. Something that I was told before heading to Iceland and that Icelanders kept me reminding me of was the practice of paying in their local currency as opposed to in mine as you would be saving a bit of money in that transaction.

Final note and piece of advice on buying food: double-check the labels. Pretty much everyone does speak English, but the labels tend to be in Icelandic. Well, you can’t have it all now, can you? Although there were some similarities between English and German and I could make out some meanings, some of the other words looked and were indeed completely foreign to me. Do not buy items based on what they look or appear like! Right before consuming the patties, I was wondering if it was indeed beef and not fermented shark meat or ground bull testicles, so I did a Google translate and was relieved that it was indeed beef!

Less luck with what I assumed to be potato salad. It turned out to be coleslaw but with an Icelandic twist: it contained pineapple for some odd reason. I could not adjust to that and was not able to eat it. My son did not even attempt as I had already lost him at coleslaw. The second item was yoghurt. Now the milk, eggs, and ice-cream had been a great success, so I had even greater expectations for Icelandic yoghurt. And it tasted pretty good at first until the after taste kicked in. I thought maybe it was an anomaly and had another spoon, but the same thing happened.

I checked the translation and it turned out to be both sugar-free and lactose-free, and this is why I highly encourage to translate labels for your own safety and sanity. Except for sausages. Those were always and everywhere delicious and rumour has it there is lamb in it, but I do not wish to know the ingredients or the process of making sausages. I have been traumatized by a Simpson episode once and since then, I do accept and eat hot dogs without any need for additional information or details.

 

Sightseeing, Galleries and the One and Only Museum

We had the chance to see pretty much all of Reykjavik, at least the downtown part. It was not very big to begin with, and you could easily and conveniently get around on foot; they had two wonderful pedestrian zones, one of them the rainbow walk, which lead to their famous church, the Hallgrimskirkja that you can climb to the top.

Well, not sure you can climb it, but we took the elevator. The view of the city was quite impressive, and all this time, I was wondering about the architectural style and inspiration of the church. This was because I had recently partaken in a series of talks and debates on the link between philosophy and architecture in my beloved monthly philosopher’s café and was now slightly more aware of choices and differences in architectural designs.

Speaking of architecture, their convention centre Harpa was an amazing modern glass structure that was impressive to look at from both inside and outside. They had a Volcano Express activity that was a distant cousin to FlyOver, the flight simulation, except in this ride (if you can call it that) you get “dangerously close” to lava. You even feel the heat on your face and the seat does go up and down in often unexpected ways that made this 4D event quite memorable.

The Volcano Express was short – and yes, expensive – but I appreciated the videos and installations around it as they were not only educational vis-à-vis Iceland and their fascinating and often troubled history with volcanos but also showed us the sense of awe that Icelanders have regarding the power of nature. In a way, it feels like they are living on top or under a ticking time bomb and they are not necessarily afraid but accept and take it with a stoic Viking spirit (but which may also explain their particular interest and belief in elves!).

It so happened that Bjork had an exhibition called “Echolalia” in her hometown at the National Art Gallery. Or in fact, she had three separate exhibits. One of them was the amazing nine-part acapella piece entitled “Sorrowful Soil” that she composed right after her mother’s death and that she sang alongside a choir with 30 individual speakers emanating each single vocal track; they were all spread out in the gallery room as walls of sound. All the while, a video of Bjork was playing on the screen. It was certainly the most impressive installation there.

The other was a video made with the help of AI, something that my son disappointedly pointed out to me, and I was worried he would lose the respect he had been building up for this Icelandic iconoclast. AI or not, it was still quite good and unique, and she’s still keeping it real, at least musically and lyrically.

The third exhibit was just videos of her in a live concert given in Reykjavik interspersed with strange sounds and odd dance moves; some of them were very impressive. Yet the most memorable thing of them all was a sign that encouraged photography! I had never seen or experienced such a thing in an art gallery before. In Vancouver we have stuck personnel that does not let you breathe close to the paintings and artwork, let alone dare to snap a shot.

Their other gallery, The House of Collections, was also quite fun and entertaining. I know galleries are not really supposed to be that, but Icelanders not only appreciate their art, but they try their best and with success to make it interactive. We went to this gallery because access was included in the ticket I got, plus, anyone under 17 could enter for free, and that was music to my ears proving to me that we had planned this trip just at the right time.

The paintings and art exhibits were quite good and the floors were separated by themes of land and water, and the latter one had a rowing boat that you were again encouraged to use; it made splashing sounds and with the visual effects of waves projected on the walls around you, you really did feel at sea but without becoming seasick. And apart from daily walking, that was the only other exercise I did in that whole week.

The third museum was not included on the ticket, and we were hesitant to go there at first, and no, it was not just about the exorbitant ticket price but more due to its subject matter. In fact, I was adamant at not going there at first but reconsidered on the next day. I just did a thought experiment of going home and not having been to “the only penis museum in the world” and imagined how I would regret it on my deathbed saying with clenched teeth and a broken voice, if only I had been to the Icelandic phallocentric museum when I had the chance and opportunity in Reykjavik! Now I shall never know what it looks and feels like.

Well, I do know, and it was still shocking despite the mental preparation for it. It was also silly and surprisingly educational. Something like this could only occur in Iceland and although we were both traumatized, we do consider it worth a visit. One of the claims of fame was an authenticated cast of Jimi Hendrix’s member and I got to see it with my own eyes and cannot unsee it anymore.

And then, there’s Elmo – no, definitely not the one that you are thinking of! - and best for you to check out the bizarre but outstanding documentary entitled The Final Member. Watch it before you enter the museum and you will have an even greater appreciation of animal and human male anatomy.

The final comment I would like to make here is about the fashion and lifestyle in Reykjavik. The fashion was rather colorful and taken from the 60s or perhaps even more the 70s, especially when it came to the women. It did not look bad or anything, but it felt slightly odd and out of place for our era.

The second thing was the shocking popularity of e-scooters. Now they are popular around the world, I’m sure, but over there, people would dress up while being on it; a business suit or a fancy dress was not out of place for them and it was often accompanied by - no not a helmet - but a drink of sorts be it a bottle of beer or a glass of wine, champagne, or a mimosa. The other thing was how easily they would discard the scooter whenever they were done with it, and it would be left behind often in the middle of the sidewalk or at other more improbable spots like this one encountered before dawn in front of their trademark church.