We took the bus from the airport so we wouldn't have to enjoy the dreary highway in the middle of lava fields, clogged with cars scurrying in both directions. Andrey was against it, for reasons that are impossible for me to understand. I can still somehow relate to the fact that the ticket is expensive (although losing a day to travel is a hundred times worse, considering we only have two weeks for the whole trip). But the idea that riding from the airport to the city is very interesting, when real wonders await us inland, just doesn't stick with me. Anyway, I'd better end the list of mutual grievances here, otherwise the whole series of posts will turn into whining and swearing, which I wouldn't want.
As you remember, I promised you hardcore stuff and wonders for every day in Iceland. And so it was, but the passions heated up gradually, and it was far from right away that things got completely rough.
The recently built modernist-volcanic-style concert hall “Harpa”
We went around the center looking for a burner, and on the main street, called Laugavegur, we dropped into a store selling camping gear, the way to which was pointed out by the first random passerby, and before him — by the airport bus driver. This is where the first little bit of hardcore stuff happened — the burner in this trendy shop, jam-packed with expensive equipment, came in only one model. The burner was simply wonderful, with a special little pot for quick food heating, all so stylish and hi-tech. One problem - the price tag on it was 120 lats. Andrey immediately screamed in a voice not his own: "I'm not buying a burner for that kind of money," and I yelled in response, where the hell are you gonna go, it's your fault you lost the burner, and we have to eat something, you won't get far on cold groats in ice water. The beautiful-faced shop assistant girl immediately became less friendly when I, following my tradition, honestly declared “We cannot afford it”. Fortunately, despite the fact that her facial expression clearly showed what she thought about broke losers who screwed up and lost their burner, and can't buy one, she still didn't find it hard to tell us that there's another sports store in the harbor. It's bigger in size, and we clearly should go there, so the Icelandic beauty marked its location with a cross on a free map, one of the several that can be easily picked up in abundance in Reykjavik.
In the center of the city there is a pond occupied by huge birds, my mouth literally watered
Interestingly, I tried to find such a store beforehand on the Net, but somehow it didn't work out. So here's the thing: In Iceland, almost everyone is ready to help you (despite the Nordic character), and everyone speaks excellent English. If you have no difficulties communicating with strangers speaking a foreign language (I usually have none at all, especially when I'm in the role of a tourist, like a soldier in uniform), then it's easier to just ask everything on the spot, and not bother with really minor details. Fortunately, info centers are scattered all over Reykjavik, a state one at the end of Laugavegur street, and private ones — along its entire length. There they will help you in the line of duty, just like they helped me buy a rotten shark — hakarl. But that was at the end of our trip, and we are at the very, very beginning.
Like a “Smart”, but cooler
In the store, a perfectly suitable burner was found for us — perfectly suitable, mostly in price, because its other specs were the simplest possible — a baseline model, after all. The price, though, was far from baseline by our standards — 30 lats, back home one like this would probably cost half as much.
Having bought the burner, we started testing it on the curb outside the store. Another NPC bored on the curb approached us in the form of an older guy, and instead of lecturing us that we shouldn't light burners on the side of the road, contrary to my fears, he offered us to move it to his table, which we did. This was the first Icelander with whom I exchanged more than a couple of phrases, and even then I was impressed by the calmness and relaxation with which he communicated. I showed him our route, drawn with a marker on a paper map, which is very well suited for this purpose, didn't learn anything useful, except that here and there it's “very beautiful”, here he had just been fishing, and over here road F225 is good right now, just “bumpy”.
It must be said, roads in Iceland widely change their condition over the course of the tourist season, which usually lasts just a couple of summer months. Only in some warmer places, a bit longer, from late spring to early autumn. In general, asking knowledgeable people about your route, meaning hardcore tourists or campsite wardens, is very useful — you can avoid all sorts of craziness, which we got a real mouthful of. Of course, it's not a bad idea to ask about the weather too.
On our way out of the city, we stopped by the central square, we were already really hungry. The punk, per his usual custom, was running from one joint to another, looking for the one with the best design, and couldn't make up his mind, while I unpretentiously bought a submarine sandwich at a suspicious-looking stall called Hlölla bátar. I paid a terrifying 5 lats and 70 santims for it, meaning 11 dollars.
I sank my teeth into it — and was blown away, it was so delicious. The best fast food I've ever eaten in my
life.
