101 Reykjavík

I left the Anderson Clan alone for the day, with the goal of figuring out what to do with rest of my stay in Iceland. I easily fell into the small town dynamic of Reykjavík, starting with the staff at the Holt. I asked who I should talk to about arranging my week. It seems everyone has a cousin, just down the street, who can help. One thing led to another, and by mid-day, I had arranged to rent a car, booked a hotel in the southeastern area near Skaftafells and Vatnajökull, arranged a glacier-walk tour, and booked car ferry passage to the Vestmannaeyjar Islands.

Then, I was on my own, walking the streets of Reykjavík, baking in the uncharacteristically bright sunshine. The Icelanders seemed very happy to be in shirtsleeves and sunglasses in the >20C warmth, though I, having been sun-blasted in the Mediterranean for weeks, had been looking forward to cooler weather and a break from smearing SPF30 on my head all day.

On yet another recommendation I ate a late jet-laggy outdoor lunch at the café Vegemot, in the central zone referred to a 101 Reykjavík**. I don’t know why this restaurant has that name. Veggies don’t seem to be a big part of the scene. I admired the young Icelandic women, sunbathing while they had drinks or caffe in the outdoor patio. Some Icelandic women are spectacular – they have a certain blockiness to their features that is exotic and characteristic. I first noticed this look with Maga and her family. There are a surprising (to me) number of red-haired people here, among the blonde and fair-haired. Upscale baby strollers are a big part of the daytime scene here as well (I forgot to pack mine), and the children of Reykjavík are well-behaved and often left alone by their parents, who seemingly don’t worry or hover over their kids as Americans often do. Part of island life, I suppose.

Reykjavík has a small town feeling and is a chic, sleek urban playground at the same time. I suppose it’s a kind of Carmel-by-the-Sea. But I don’t feel the ticky-tackiness that I always feel in places like Carmel. Probably just because I don’t speak the language. If I spoke Icelandic, I suppose I’d see through the shiny, sophisticated candy coating to the sweet, tourist-trap, milk-chocolate center... Hang on a minute – I think I just made myself hungry for a bag of M&Ms.

OK, I’m back.

The center of Reykjavík is pretty small, and I found myself walking up and down the main street. There are a lot of chic shops and cafes, and further up the northwest direction, a collection of Euro-designers (Maxmara, Prada, etc.) that bored me. But the Icelandic jewelry shops and some of the more esoteric women’s clothing shops were really interesting. I bought some pearls for a certain somebody, and a crazy sweater for myself.

This mellow day by myself ended with a Clan Anderson dinner. Ian sent me a last minute SMS to join them at an Italian restaurant on the main street. A relaxing meal, at which we also made plans to go experience the famous “Blue Lagoon” spa the following day. That seals my Anderson adoption papers, I think to myself as walk around town again afterwards, before turning in early at my cozy, woody room at the Hotel Holt.


**I haven’t seen this movie yet, but it’s on my Netflix list. Or it would be, if I had a Netflix subscription. Or a TV.