For the first few hours of the day, I just felt sad. True, I'm really tired of traveling, tried of sleeping in hostels, or on couches, and riding on trains, and flying on planes, and running to catch things, and being late, and lost, and updating this gosh darn blog, that's for sure. But over the past few days, the feeling of wanting to stay in Reykjavik in a more than touristy way, got really strong, and on Monday morning that feeling grew mixed with the simultaneous feeling of what a stupid, overambitious, likely very disappointing aspiration that was. If you know me, it's not typical to get big ideas like that, and my sensible self came alive Sunday morning for sure to bring me back to earth. On the bright side, I woke with my stomach ache completely gone. I completed one blog post (and was now only 2 action packed days behind).
I walked downtown one last time, had one more pylsa at Baejarins Bestu, and went to Havari (the music store that had bands playing all day long) to pick up some CDs before going home. Unlike my previous trips to Havari, it was empty now, all the Airwaves tourists having gone home. I picked up FM Belfast's "How to Make Friends" and S.H. Draumur's compilation Allt Heila Klabbið, featuring the album Goð, among other things. I also bought an illustrated book called "Popular Hits", by Hugleikur Dagsson, which features some pretty hilarious illustrations for the titles of some songs (click link for examples). Running around on the streets of downtown Reykjavik were several groups of costumed youthful types (some were dressed as tigers, others as pigs, etc.), apparently on some sort of scavenger hunt. One of the items on the list was a photograph getting kissed by a stranger. I appear in this photo for 3 of the groups. This cheered me up a bit.
Said goodbye to the apartment in Vesturbaer, and walked fast to the BSI bus station for the ride to the airport. I underestimated both how far away it was, and how easily I would find it. I rode the bus and listened to my iPod, and looked out the window and felt sad about leaving again, not knowing when I would come back again, and of course always worrying that the next trip won't be as good as the previous. This isn't like me to worry about this sort of thing so much.
The Keflavik Airport was rated best in Europe in 2009, and I believe for good cause. It's one of few airports that are just a pleasure to be at. I bought smoked lamb and flatbread at the Inspired by Iceland store and made myself sandwiches, browsed the 66 Degrees shop for woolen sweaters and gloves and scarves (none of which I will buy, as I have no occasion to wear them), bought some whiskey and Topas at the duty free store for consumption in London, and noticed the other tourists still wearing their Airwaves wristbands.
Of course, the flight was a pleasure. I watched the second half of Mama Gogo (the Icelandic movie about the old woman with Alzheimer's) and had to hold back tears, as well as a few episodes of Simmi and Joi's reality show about building the Hamburger Factory restaurant in Reykjavik (their field trip to the Cheesecake Factory in Boston was pretty funny).
The lowpoint of the day was UK immigration. The guy at the counter first yelled at me for having my Blackberry in my hand (even though I was by no means using it, even at all), and then told me that my passport was in unacceptable condition for use in the UK and entered something in the computer saying that I had to leave the UK in no more than 48 hours (my plan anyway, but still) and that I could not return without obtaining a new passport. One more task to complete on getting back to the States, right? This filled me with worry.
As always, it was good to see Joe and Natalia back at their Notting Hill flat, although just for just one last evening. Joe made pasta with tomatoes and olive oil and vinegar, and we drank the whiskey and ate Icelandic licorice and stood out in the cold and said goodbye again.
Madness -- Victoria Gardens
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