TRAVEL DIARY

I: 31.07.04 II: 01.08.04 III: 02.08.04 IV: 03.08.04 V: 04.08.04 VI: 05.08.04 VII: 06.08.04

09:10

The normal routine: a wakeup, a breakfast (and I accidentally make my tea ten times too strong and thus undrinkable), and then off for today’s trip, the Blue Lagoon, a bit before 11:00.

12:00

The Blue Lagoon is a big surprise – not the kind of tourist haven you’d expect, but not the kind of natural wonder either. This place does not fail you the slightest - the moment I get in the water I feel an instant wave of relaxation hitting my body like an axe in the neck. It’s that quick. My shoulders had got slightly sore the day before, and now the warm, beautiful water caresses them like never before. The water colour is from another world.

As the audience is generally older, I don't see youth much, but just soaking and hovering in the water feels kind of sexy. The whole lagoon is loaded with a certain type of natural eroticism. After three hours in the water, I’m completely baked and ready to go… it’s a miracle my feet still carry me. As I walk back to the shower room (you need to shower up before and after very well, the salt water would otherwise corrode the dressing rooms), my hair feels salty and sticky and my chest is glowing red, but nothing beats the feeling.

In the lobby, where we dine, they’re blaring Björk’s Glíng Gló in the background, and my camera batteries are already almost dead although I haven’t used them at all today. You know, I loaded them all night! This is how it goes. The sun shines.

17:15

The way back home is like every other time, the driver drives way too fast and everyone on the bus is taking short naps to cure the weariness. It's actually funny how much Icelanders pay attention to car accidents; on the main road, there's a statue of some kind built of car wrecks, with a plaque that reads the number of car accidents every year. It's updated as people crash. Admirable dedication. The last time I saw it, the sign said 15. Although we are extremely tired, we decide to eat a little at the hotel, and Risto gets his share of the local delicacy, the pylsur. We try two different stands, as the little stall next to the harbour is supposedly the best. Hot dogs are very popular in Iceland and there are plenty of stands that sell them around the city. I go for a Döner Kebab at Kebab House, and am gravely disappointed. Then again, what can you expect from a place emulating McDonalds with their logo. Just wasn’t hungry enough to go buy something better.

22:00

Doing the TV routine.

24:00

I decide to, against the odds, leave for the night life again. This night, there’s more of live music, but it’s fucking trubadours and cover acts. The places are either booked full or hopelessly empty, depending on how desirable the place is. After aimlessly wandering through most of the pubs (and pouring down pity pints of the local beer, Viking) I come up with a few guidelines for anyone wanting to visit the city for popp culture:

#1. Bring a friend with you.
#2. Do it somewhere else.

Just kidding! Despite producing several prominent acts every now and then, Reykjavík’s everyday musical offerings don’t necessarily even match those of Helsinki or even Tampere. Shame it had to go this way!