It’s been a bit of a busy week, and I’m getting used to the time schedule here, so I’ve had less of a chance to randomly hike about the city. I’ve also exhausted a lot of the more immediately interesting subjects in the downtown area, with a few notable exceptions. In particular, I’m waiting for a nice clear day to photograph Hallgrimskirkja, preferably after they tear the scaffolding off it.

That said, I should have some very nice stuff over the weekend.

Five photos after the jump.

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Yup, it may be Monday but I still managed to snag some shots. Fortunately there’s several routes I can take around the city, and even the smaller streets will occasionally yield an interesting photo.

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After the picture extravaganza on Saturday, Sunday was a little more sedate, but I did take a couple of photos now and then. I’ll try to get a writeup of the weekend done at some point soon.

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Okay, here’s the big one. About 40 photographs from a long afternoon walk around the city, culminating in a visit to the Perlan, the hot-water tanks built on a hill overlooking the city. The Icelanders got the wise idea to put a big viewing deck on top of the tanks and open it to everyone, as well as preserving a decently-sized park area around it.

Be warned, lots of pics after the jump.

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Another roll of photographs from Iceland, featuring an early morning stroll around the deserted city center and then more randomness while walking a winding path in the general direction of the office.

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I managed to get to sleep around 6 in the afternoon yesterday, meaning I sprung awake today at 3 AM. Not ideal, but at least I’ll be functional during the morning. It also gave me the unique opportunity to poke around the city in the wee hours, when no other sober, sane soul is out on the streets.

Allow me first to confirm a nasty rumor about Iceland’s hot water. Yes, it does have the distinctly lovely odor of sulphur. Yes, this means that a shower smells like the restroom of a burrito joint on two-for-one day. Fortunately, the scent doesn’t seem to cling too much, and Icelandic soaps seem to be perfumed to cover up any remaining traces of pungency. I’ll still probably pick up some cologne somewhere, just in case I’ve been obliviously walking around smelling like a latrine for the past 36 hours.

After my stinkbath, I suited up and headed out in search of brekkie around 3:30 in the morning. The helpful night clerk pointed out that no restaurant was open at the moment - although there were a few pubs still serving - but there was the Icelandic equivalent of a 7-11 convenience mart down the street, called “24″. I can only presume the store’s purpose was to defeat terrorism by feeding hungry Americans in the dead of night.

Once in the store, I picked up a tub of skyr, a bottle of Toppur - Icelandic soda water, bottled by the omnipresent Coca-Cola Company - and a curry-flavored Pot Noodle. What I forgot to pick up was hot water for my Pot Noodle or a spoon for my skyr. Oops. I did, however, find the world’s greatest tinfoil.

Sweet.

I ended up munching on my skyr using the foil lid as an impromptu spoon while sitting on a park bench under the statue of Ingólfur Arnarson in Arnarhóll, a public park centered around the aforementioned statue. It rests at the top of a small hill, and the benches there provide a damn nice view of the downtown area against a backdrop of fluffy clouds and a golden western horizon. I think the sun was just peeking up over it as I broke my fast.

Heading back down into the city, I wandered randomly around the streets a bit, looking at the various statues that are sprinkled liberally throughout the downtown area. I honestly have no idea who most of them were, since any sign that existed was in Icelandic, and the gray, flat light wasn’t particularly conducive to good photography. I’ll try to get some decent shots later on, though, hopefully before I post a link to the day’s photo gallery.

I’ve put up some photos I took this morning while arriving in town, and also some from a brisk afternoon stroll. I’ve been up for nearly 30 hours straight now, but it was just too nice outside to pass up the opportunity to see a bit of the city.

And yes, there was a minor earthquake here in the early afternoon. It hit while I was in the shower. Now I’m just hoping we don’t get a volcanic eruption while I’m catching some shut-eye, as I’m liable to sleep right through it.

Photo thumbs and links after the jump.

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I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane over. I’m not quite sure why. IcelandAir is, by any standards, at least a good airline. The seats were a bit narrower than Delta’s, but there was more legroom. Perfect for me, although some of the wider-assed travelers near me were audibly less than amused. I’m guessing it’s either due to the constant grousing and shouting by the half-deaf octogenarian tour group that filled the rear half of the plane, or the adrenaline rush of finally fucking going to Iceland, a moment I’ve been lusting after like an adolescent peering into his first nudie mag.

Around 4 AM, Iceland time, I start seeing the sun rise over the north Atlantic. By 5, it’s up fully and I can see the featureless ocean below. There’s more than an hour left in the flight and my adrenals are already pumping hard.

Landing in Keflavik is an intriguing experience. As you approach, you’ll see nothing but water for miles and miles, almost entirely obscured by a fluffy marine layer. Diving into the soup, you’ll emerge and still witness nothing solid for a good ten minutes. Then, just before wheeling about, your first glimpse of Icelandic soil: a small, black promonitory jutting out into the steel-blue frigidity that surrounds this island nation. Then, all of a sudden, that hard-edged black rock is everywhere, dotted with a few red-roofed hangars, and you’re on the ground.

Deplaning into the bracing breezes of the silvery dawn, I found myself herded through the most perfunctory customs check I’ve encountered so far. A simple metal detector check, without the customary American removal of shoes I’ve come to detest. Then, “How long are you in Europe?” “Three weeks.” “All in Iceland?” “Yes.” Stamp. “Have a nice stay.”

Downstairs, the duty free shop is easily the size of the entire baggage claim area, and then some. I, foolishly, did not avail myself, having far too much luggage already. Out through customs, nothing to declare, I get an eagle’s stare from the customs attendants – after all, I’m one man walking around with 90 pounds of baggage. The total cubic-meterage of my things probably exceeds that of my own person. Walking past them, I can see only one thing in my future: rubber gloves pulled tight over frozen Nordic hands, probing anatomical areas Man Was Not Meant to Know.

Fortunately, they instead pull aside a musician walking in front of me. Rather lucky on my part and I’m immediately whisked into a car by Addi, an affable Icelandic driver. He points out a few landmarks on the way to Reykjavík and tells me about Iceland’s labor shortage as he tries to figure out whether I’m supposed to go to a hotel (and which hotel it is that I’m destined for) or to Headquarters.

After several attempts to get in contact with someone local, I’m informed that the choice is mine – go to the hotel, which probably doesn’t have my room ready yet, or head for HQ, where there is breakfast and coffee.
It’s an easy choice. Coffee wins. So here I sit, typing up the last few hours, sipping some espresso to supplement whatever choice cocktails my body has seen fit to dump in my blood and having an Icelandic breakfast. In this case, it’s a little tub of skyr (“með vanilla”), which is a sort of Icelandic cheese-yogurt hybrid. It’s actually quite pleasant and mild

My next task is to figure out how to get a shower, I suppose.

So sorry for the lack of content during this month of May. Between work and travel, I’ve had barely a moment to upgrade WordPress (again!) and insert more anti-spam plugins into the restless machinery that drives this site forward.

However, I’ve finally gotten some time to start writing up the Moroccan Chronicles, which shall begin appearing - backdated for my convenience - over the next few days. I’ll try to get them all up before the Next Big Thing hits.

As it turns out, it will hit on Wednesday night. I’ll be going up for a month-long visit to Reykjavík, and I’ve finally remedied my cameralessness, so I promise the introduction of photography. Sobriety, however, is not guaranteed.