I landed in Reykjavik at 4am on a Friday after an overnight flight wherein the sun never stopped blaring through the windows. As is often the case, I hadn’t properly planned my housing situation and couldn’t get into my room until 4pm. It had dawned on me the day before leaving that this would be the situation so I booked a bed at a local hostel, and yet again my lack of attention to detail got the better of me. You see, in my mind I’d be arriving on Friday, so that’s what I booked for my check-in date. Of course we all know that check-in time isn’t til 4pm, so when I showed up around 6am, I was shit outta luck. They were nice enough to cancel my booking without charge and let me leave my bags until I was able to get it all sorted out. So I just walked around town aimlessly, which is how I prefer it, for about 4 hours, looking around and taking pictures of random shit. By now, you’ve seen the greatest hits all over FB & IG.
My room was about 1/2mile from where I had left my bags, so I figured I’d walk it. The wheels on my suitcase are completely blown out so I switched back and forth between dragging it behind me and carrying it like a briefcase. I know from the airport luggage scale that it weighed juuuuust over 50lbs (enough to warrant extra fees) and I could feel the handle starting to give, so that half mile felt like -I don’t know- a full mile(?).
Having not slept for well over 36hrs, you’d think I’d pass out like a hibernating polar bear (ísbjörn), but after a shower and a failed attempt to lay down for 15 minutes, it was Miller Time! My apartment is literally at the end of the pedestrian street with all the hubbub, directly behind that big-ass church I posted some photos of. Easy stumble home! My first stop was to look for a gig at a place called Celtic Cross, as I was told they might accommodate for that sort of thing. They didn’t. So off to Lebowski Bar, which is exactly what you think it is. By now it’s maybeeeee 8:30pm and the place was jammed. The only 2 tables available had reserved signs on them but I sat at the tall one anyway, figuring I’d be told to move if need be. Soon after, 2 pretty girls walked in and sat down at the other short table. They asked me a few questions about the wifi password, why the tables were reserved and that sorta thing, but I couldn’t be bothered as I was in the middle of the crucial task of gathering The Big Lebowski quotes to hashtag on my ‘check-in.’ Upon completion I spun around and invited them to join me at the adult table and they did. Super nice and funny, Shima & Forlogh were 2 Persian women from Sweden on holiday. Before long I was wowing the holy hell out of them with my flawless command of their language and seven-beers-deep political wisdom so we ended up spending the next few hours popping around the bar scene. Dance club, live music, rooftop bar, etc. Some Icelandic kid tried to sell me cocaine and ecstasy and chided me like a junior high wimpy kid when I declined. I think we took a selfie, I’ll check my phone after writing. Then shaaaAAAZAM⚡️…next thing I know I’m waking up in my room to a full on marching band directly outside my window -3:30pm- no idea how I got here. But judging by the photo content on my phone, I had taken the ~scenic route~!
Despite the complete whore-of-a-hangover, I set off on my daily self-guided two legged free tour of the town. Didn’t take long to find myself in the other touristy bar central, picking right up where I’d left off. Didn’t make any friends this time, tho, because I had my face glued to my phone all night, ego stroking, checking to see if you ‘liked” my high contrasted, over saturated, Instagram edits. I hope you did