Damn you, Snorri No.10 beer, I felt exceedingly rough all day today and I didn’t even have that much. So that was the G-Monster driving again (hey, I have only just started with this driving lark, and we’re on the wrong side of the road here).
We made it to a carpark without a fight this time, at least. Even though the G-Monster kept asking me if I was embarrassed about the night before, which I wasn’t, thankyou, because for once I hadn’t done anything wrong at all. Victory!
I was a bit concerned about the amount of money I might have spent, though.
We went to the Whale Museum, which is down by the docks and consists of a bunch of life-size models of whales. All very impressive, and with loads of information in English, even if the only fact that made it into my aching brain was that the Right Whale’s bollocks weight half a tonne apiece, but not really worth about a tenner a head, perhaps? (If I have the exchange rate right today). Unless you’re really, really into whales.
We went to the Saga Exhibition too, which was just along the road, and that was just what I needed – it was dark, you put on these headphones and wandered round looking at dioramas of various points in Icelandic history and didn’t have to talk to anyone for a while.
After that we drove through the lava fields to our booking at the Blue Lagoon, for which we were horribly, horribly early, so I suggested we go a bit further to this wee seaside village called Grindavik (and probably pronounced ‘Cushdadushdadush’ or something).
I’m not sure where I picked up the impression that Grindavik was going to be a lovely wee picturesque place full of tweeness, possibly just from the name, but it was kinda more of a fish-processing place? Although we were off-season, I bet it looks very different when it’s stuffed full of people like me. There was a pizza place, however, where once again they didn’t have the one thing I quite fancied off the menu (my quest for Local Icelandic Fare is proving futile, possibly because everyone here prefers pizza and burgers or something sensible like that).
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Blue Lagoon except that it would be touristy as hell, and probably involve being herded about, and I was wrong about neither of these things. It also involved having to get changed into a bikini in public (during which I got the damn top-piece on the wrong way round three times in a row, and eventually got caught in it and took forever to get out again. It is not easy to Houdini your way out of very simple pieces of clothing while trying to look casual about it). By the time I made it to the actual outdoor lagoon, the G-Monster informed me that he thought I’d been eaten by a whale or something.
Well, it was everything the pictures suggested. The water was nice and warm, the breeze, while chilly, was not the car-door-killing gale it was on the other side of the rocks they’ve piled up around the place, and there was a sunken bar where you can drink beer without ever having to leave the water (and die, presumably). I was quite tempted, but feared it might be my turn to drive home, and I didn’t want a fight. It didn’t even smell of eggs there, which is quite impressive, because sometimes when you turn on a hot tap, a farty smell comes out along with the water?
After we’d gotten wrinkly enough to consider we’d Done Geothermal Lagoons already, I discovered my hangover had entirely gone away. Hurrah! Secret: discovered! Shame it’s of no sodding use anywhere but here, really.
We went back to the pub for dinner, very cautiously, but didn’t see anyone from the night before. Just in case, we didn’t stop out late. I may have had another Snorri No.10 though. Clearly the magic of Saturday night was gone, however, since this time nobody had any clue what I was on about until the guy next to me said, ‘Shnorri’.
I shall have to Sean Connery it up bigtime if I want to be understood.
Some other points I’ve noticed (two whole points!):
- The seagulls here have a definite Accent
- There are buds on the trees (note: there is pretty much one species of tree here, everything else is a dwarfy bush) but no leaves yet, and it’s three weeks to midsummer. I have no idea how these things have time to get leafed up before it’s autumn again, but I suppose the very short summer nights helps.
In conclusion: That bleak and marshy plateau that Beaky House sits on? Is going to look ever so lush when we get back!