Sex and the Icelandic City girls
I made it until 3 a.m. - admirable, I think for a gal with little more than a power nap under her belt and a vat of white wine in her gullet. But I am nothing if not a trouper. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much on one evening as I did with these Iceland gals. Gorgeous and accomplished - a lawyer, engineer, nurse and bookkeeper, they have families and busy lives, but when they set out to party, clear the decks! First stop was dinner at a resto called the Fish Company, which was terrific but very expensive. I'm quickly learning that's a relative term here. It is very pricey - and the Icelanders assure me it's a lot better for me since the economy tanked - my money goes a lot further. You just need to get your head around the fact there are no deals here, but the payoff is huge in terms of a great time, gorgeous, otherworldly scenery, fantastic people (all with wicked senses of humour) and the best coffee this side of New Zealand. So we ate and drank (and drank) and hit a variety of bars. Reykjavik is very small
Osk wrote down a list of which bars we'd hit - in order of importance. We got to them all
- you can walk the entire downtown in about 20 minutes and the compactness of the place is a real advantage. We kept running into local minor celebs that the girls gleefully introduced to me (sadly no Bjork) including a guy named Herbert Gudmundsson who was something of an 80s phenom (and Alan Frew look-alike) whose lone hit Can't Walk Away contains the unfortunate line "change direction" with a long repeating chorus "rection, rection, rection." Sometimes things don't translate so well, Herbert.
The five of us wound up at the hot dance club of the moment and had an absolute blast. Rather than annoying house (for a woman of my years, anyway) he was playing everything from Gaga to Bob Marley, to ACDC and when he played New York State of Mine, my little SATC Iceland posse and me had a joyful moment on the packed dance floor singing our hearts out. Interesting note: guys in Iceland dance. Really dance. And they enjoy themselves - no white man's overbite here.
The streets were packed as I left the club at 3 - like a roving frat party. People were seriously drunk, noisy and having fun. It was all pretty good
We had shots of this vile, licorice-flavoured booze. Ick!
natured - no signs of fights of nastiness. Unlike what's going on this weekend in Toronto. I have been watching with horror at thestar.com. Shame on the lot of you.
Finally home and in bed with my sleeping mask to block the light, I slept until noon and got up to greet the day - overcast and 10C, perfect for walking and exploring.
Meanwhile, a little Herbert Gudmundsson....
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