TRAVEL DIARYI: 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
9:10 I'm dead. I book the WC all for myself for the next half an hour to get a good shower. It’s raining outside as well as inside, really. Mother is very enthusiastic when I suggest doing a museum tour over breakfast. Despite Risto’s attitude towards such a trip, we decide to go see a few art galleries – daddy promises to go through the bookshops again and just take some time for writing. 11:30 First, we aim for Hafnarhús, the main building of the art triangle that forms the Reykjavík Art Museum, at Tryggvagötu 17, right in the harbour. There’s a permanent gallery by the world-famous pop artist Erró and an interesting exhibition called “I Didn’t Do it” gathered by artist and writer Thorvaldur Thorsteinsson. It’s a collection of other people’s works, precious items, and also video works and art by Thorvaldur (just so you know, Icelanders never refer to each other with their ‘last names’.) Very eye-opening. “The Real Death,” a 29-minute movie of people pretending to be shot, and “the Prayer Chair,” with arranged praying times for anyone who sits in the chair. I hit the Reykjavík Muslim Association’s turn. Some personal belongings with according stories were also especially touching. The building itself was superbly interesting, sporting a rather nice café and even a small library of art-related literature and equipment for children to do their own art with. Try to find an art gallery sporting the same attitude towards children anywhere in Finland and fail, gód dam.
I recall a moment from my past while standing in the white corridors of the halls: being eighteen, and wanting to go see an exhibition of historic Japanese erotic art in Helsinki. What mom said about the art show was “seeing those things could scar you for life.” I wonder how much Risto enjoyed Erró's random toes in vaginas. Still, the gallery was very tasteful to me, smart and bizarre at the same time. Just to break free from all this artistic analyzation, for your information, the next episode of the Man Show will feature girls in Christmas suits, and let us not forget the trampolines. 23:10 on Mondays, on Popp Tíví! Don’t miss it! 12:00
14:20 It’s already past two as we head back Laugarvegur, towards our hotel, to pick dad up for a round of food. I’m surprised both mother and father want to go eating at a restaurant/bar combo called Vegamót, right in 101's center, since it’s one of the hippy bars and restaurants of the town. Dad’s allergic to, among other things, tobacco smoke, and such places really don’t tickle his pickles (did I mention you can get ram testicles in Iceland? I guess I did not. Now you know.) Nevertheless, it doesn’t get any more quiet than this, as dining around three is already very late, but not late enough for drinking to start. It’s quite comfortable upstairs, with the floor almost to ourselves. I wouldn’t mind action, but knowing my parents, it’s better this way. The Italian-styled food’s rather good, pretty and the meals are big. In Iceland, the clever traveller picks up every single little advertise and brochure and makes good use of the 10% discounts littered everywhere. That way, you can save a good sum of money in the long run. Vegamót is one of those places where you can get discounts easily. 15:40 After eating, I am on fire to get shopping! I start at Valdi’s used CD shop… it’s a nice, very small place (a "cube") for used CDs, videos and DVDs. The prices are, however, way up, and not really affordable for a Finnish shopper. I was dying for a few articles but the wallet said no. A bit of a disappointment, since he didn’t have any Maus either even though he digged in deep and hard. Next in line is 12 Tónar on Skólavörðustígur. Too small for its own good, this shop-turned-label is also a bit of a downer. They have too much emphasis on the few major class artists like every other store around Reykjavík. Björk, Sigur Rós, Múm, Mínus, the Album Leaf and Singapore Sling all have nice presentation, but there really isn’t anything else to find! The salespersonnel are rather helpful, nevertheless, but I’m not used to being pampered at a record store. Record stores are for ripping people off. Heck, they even do espresso for customers. Just out of pity, I pick up a funny-looking indie comic book called Our Prayer by Hugleikur Dagsson. Later on we discover it's more than worth its price! Having spotted an erroneously priced Maus record (and having put it at the back of the shelf) at Skifan, the main record store chain in Reykjavík, I disappointingly walk in the last place of my record tour, cursing the prices and generally just feeling spanked. It’s truly a shame that Skifan really does beat the other, indie stores with their catalogue, pricing and setting. I get what I wanted at a great price (also grabbing the one I had positioned for myself earlier) and there’s even a 15% VAT off these funded back at the airport. You can read some reviews of the bought records at the review section of this diary. After this, I go see what Skólavörðustígur’s crafting shops have for sale, as I’ve been searching for additional rings, chains and necklaces to wear, but this time I have no luck. There was also a very small art shop that carried very traditionally bizarre, cheap art by a nobody (means I could’ve bought a piece rather cheap) but sadly the owner of the store has closed early, breaking my schedule. This was really the worst blow today. 17:50 After a bun and a coffee back at the hotel, Risto, mom and dad head for one of the hot-watered swimming pools. I don’t dare with my newly-pierced nose. I ponder about my alternatives and decide to do a new round in the book shops and perhaps head to a café. Book shops are so much fun. Shame all the books that bear interest to me are either dead expensive, or flashy with lots of pictures and little of real content. Or dirty. With nude people, you know. 19:40 Bleika dúfan, “the pink pigeon,” has incorporated the idea of combining coffee and books much better than any of the book cafés at Tampere. I just sit down and write, deciding reading is not really interesting at the moment (having been looking at books for hours earlier.) The books really are there to be read, not just for deco. They even sell the books if necessary. The artsy jazz drills my ears though. Lastly, I retreat over to the city to take some final photos.
20:00 The city indeed does surprise when you search for the less-seen side of it. You can find beautiful (albeit angsty) street art and interesting house design, which of course Iceland is world-famous for. After all, there are no rules for building houses at all, everyone can decide what kind of a house he or she wants to design.
As the trip is coming to its close, I feel I haven’t seen anything yet. Iceland is one of those places in the world where you should literally get lost with a car of your own and lots of time to be used. I’ve barely scratched the surface we’re fed as tourists, and perhaps a few glimpses of what is bubbling underneath. I’m left with a picture of a barren, woodless country that’s somehow still warm and hearty (with lots and lots of ego, too.) This far, there has only really been one thing I’ve missed and that is youth dressing out of the normal format: I've yet to see any extravagant makeup, flashy goth dresses or glammy outfits. On the whole period of six days in the city, I only noticed two girls I could classify that way. 22:00 Just wanted to take a photo of Risto and the hotel.
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Erró’s “Made in Japan” works very extremely pornographic, and most of his works on display had breasted, plump girls in them anyway (accompanied by heroic American figures, as seen at left) which made the gallery all the more interesting and politically loaded. 
Next stop is sculptor Àsmunder Sveinnson’s gallery at Àsmundersafn, Sigtún. His old atelier was transformed after his death into a more suitable space for exhibiting his thrilling works in 1991, and rightfully so! This man is probably one of the most groundbreaking sculptors and artists of the last century. His works are understated, gigantic masterpieces. The studio was actually built in three parts, mostly designed and constructed by the artist himself. It’s a combination of Mediterranean, Arabic and Egyptian design, and a brilliant house at that. This is the reason why Icelanders think they’re all artists. A funny detail for a Finn, by the way, was Alvar Aalto –designed furniture in the atelier.
