Fu, John, Nick and Mary — last night in Reykjavik.
We paid $20 to go into a meat locker with walls and a bar made of ice. They served us black death, a shot of brennevin, made from fermented potato and caraway seeds. Brennevin means “burning wine.” This was the stupidest thing we spent money on.
A clinic at the Blue Lagoon. We spent an hour or so in a cloud of mist. There was this white goop that we put on our faces, and we looked ridiculous. There was a hot waterfall. A bizarre heaven.
At the southern tip of Iceland.
A geothermal power plant in a lava field south of Keflavik.
“There are no obstructions, no trees. I can see for kilometers and kilometers. This is very important for me as an Icelander. It is freedom.” -Albert Albertson, Mary’s Icelandic uncle
Einar Jónsson Museum near the Hallgrimskirkja. This is a statue called “Spring.”
Cafe Prikid.
Ye’re gonna blog about this, aren’t cha? I knew it. I could smell it.
