it doesn't even bother to get light until 1045am. consequently, most stores and cafes are not yet open. it's surreal. so i've been walking around as, often, the only person on the sidewalk... past windows filled with christmas lights and plants.
i love european toilets! i love the "option" button! this is the loo at my hotel... the only cheap thing about my trip.
the geothermal power here is awesome. it is impossible to get cold tap water. everything has a sulphuric smell... i was hyper-aware of it the first day- getting out of the shower and wondering 'do i smell like soap... or poo?' but i'm used to it now... we all use the same water, so everyone's probably immune to it. my skin feels softer. my silver ring has turned gold. and the water is so fucking hot that i have to turn it down. every place i go is warm... my kind of town.
cheesiness, day one.
i'm staying a block away from hallgrimskirkja, the monolithic church that can be seen from all over town. this is day one, wet hair and windy as fuck. since then i have learned to wear a fucking hat so's to not get constantly swatted by my afro.
a few blocks away...
reykjavik haunted house. it's being renovated. the architecture here is amazing.
i took the bus to the blue lagoon, about 40km outside reykjavik. i went down this road when i flew in, but it was still pitch black at that hour. the countryside reminds me of interior alaska. i had my headphones in, on shuffle... allman brothers 'little martha' segueing into suzanne vega 'headshots' into white stripes 'your southern can is mine.' everything is more poignant here... maybe it's because it's fucking beautiful in a completely new way, maybe it's because i'm by myself on the opposite side of the world, maybe it's because when left to my own devices i narcissistically imagine myself being the haunted-eyed heroine of some fucking grainy movie...
it started snowing en route.
the blue lagoon. it cost 7.400 Ikr (about $62) for the transportation and entrance, and it was totally, totally worth it.
the lagoon is huge, about 3-5' deep, and around 100 degrees with vents throughout that spurt out blazing, stinky water. it's 2/3 saltwater and so fucking turbid- white, really- that you can't see anything below the surface. you cannot see your own hands, the bottom, anything. the bottom is gravel and silica clay, which looks like cookies and cream ice cream and other people had used on their faces like masques. my skin immediately felt slippery.
i bobbed in the water for at least an hour. the wind was so fucking cold and strong that waves were hitting my back and snow was stinging my face. it was amazing. then i went in the sauna, which had a huge window looking out on the pool, and for a while i had the room to myself. i leaned back on the cedar bench and crossed my legs and grinned like a fucking simp. "i love my life" i said aloud.
then the steam room... then another shower... and i went under the waterfall and let the water pound my shoulders...
*
i had somehow forgotten in all of this that my body is regular enough to set a clock to. i tend to, you know, start my period on the morning of the 12th or 13th. i had neglected to remember the time change, and i've been oterwise distracted, which is why i was completely surprised (and horrified, and embarrassed) to get out of the shower all shiny and clean and mellow, dry off, and BLEED all over the rented (thankfully, blue) towel.
i had been suspecting that my slightly cruddy feeling was due to the skyr... which was so fucking delicious that i would eat it again anyway... so the good news is, i can probably still enjoy skyr. i wadded up my towel and dumped it in the laundry bin, feeling like a gross human. what the fuck else could i do?
anyway. sorry 'bout that.
i refused to be like the dumbass who spent his entire time in the lagoon with his camera held above his head, so i don't have any basking pictures...
i was the only one in the coach on the ride back. bare ground there, 4" of snow on return and more horizontally falling. shuffle: radiohead 'the bends', aimee mann 'ray', robyn hitchcock 'i often dream of trains,' traffic 'dear mr fantasy.' the driver was darting down the road and i was reminded anew how pussified my hometown is... smiling out the window, watching the fat flakes melt.
it's still bare ground in reykjavik but the wind is unreal: 68km/hr gusts that make me skip a step. i went to a new cafe a few blocks away that reminded me of my lair, if i had a cuckoo clock and served crepes. the woman working there complimented my finger tattoo and told me about her and her husband's matching panther tattoos.
*
i am so fucking happy. i am so GLAD i am here. i've wanted this for years, since i first discovered a used copy of 'iceland and the faroe islands' at a thrift store in 2005.
*
there is so much else to write about... i shall soon. be well, y'all. love galore.
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