ICELAND! Redux

I've loved Iceland from afar my whole, fell in love with Reykjavík and the tiny bit of the wilderness I managed to see last year, and can confirm that the love remains just as strong. This is being typed in Café Babalu, my favourite little nook for a chai latte, amazing carrot cake and stable wifi, and I'm nearly squirming with contentment.

It began before we'd even left Scotland.

Seats 4F and 4D. Are you sure? Are you...wait, let me see the boarding slip. Yeah. Those are our seat numbers...are you sure?

We were bumped up to first class without anyone telling us until we were forced to conclude that there wasn't anywhere else on the plane that we could sit. The headrests had hygiene cloths named after various gods and their titles. J swapped his from Freya to Thor at the suggestion of a fellow passenger. Free food! Massive seats! USB Power! Pillows! Blankets! Leg room! It was weird and bizarre and we never really relaxed as we were waiting for the stewards to tell us they'd found our real seats.

It's a completely different world without the blanket snow. The supermarket was just as perplexing as last time.

PYLSUSINNEP. Sounds like an Egyptian riff on a Lovecraft monster. The Egyptian Sausage Demon. Not sure if it's mayo, mustard or tomato-based. It looks like a bottle of glue, to be honest.

As far as we can tell, this is just chocolate. Not even with a fancy filling. Just chocolate. Except there's a faux Michael Jackson endorsing this chocolate. Draw your own conclusions.

....BUT WHY?!?!??!?!

Beneath the Wind, Above the Snow

The Birds of Reyjavík

Small hours on a German station, MAKE VIDEO BLOG

If you're going to watch any of these stupid videos of mine, watch this one. The South Coast of Iceland is just gorgeous, the little glimpses provided in here don't even give you a taste.

While I was standing inside the glacier I took my glove off to run my hand over the ice, and started laughing, as I do when something delights me.
"It's dry!"
"Yes," said the Dutch Man still lingering. "It is ice."
"Yes, but it's dry!"
He nodded, and stated again, a little slower, "it is ice."
There was too much of a language barrier between us for me to explain that where I come from, no ice stays dry.

Oh. Dear.

LOOK IT IS OKAY ALRIGHT I REPLACED THE LAXNES BOOK WITH ANOTHER ONE THIS ONE RIGHT HERE



AND I TRIED YOU KNOW I REALLY LIKED NAKED LUNCH BUT THE SOFT MACHINE JUST WASN'T DOING ANYTHING FOR ME I MEAN ME AND BILL BURROUGHS WE GET ALONG ALRIGHT BUT THIS SOFT MACHINE JUST WASN'T MAKING ME LAUGH THERE WAS NO DARK COMEDY OR ABSURDISM WHICH REALLY JUST LEFT ME WITH A LOT OF SEX AND VIOLENCE VERGING ON TORTURE PORN AND I DON'T REALLY LIKE THAT SO I STOPPED AT CHAPTER 9 AFTER HE THE NARRATOR WHOEVER HE IS HAD JUST FINISHED HIS MISSION HAVING GONE BACK IN TIME TO MESS WITH THE MAYAN PRIESTS AND THEIR MACHINE AND SO SETTING IN MOTION THE MAYAN CALENDAR AND THE COUNTDOWN TO THE END OF THE WORLD WHICH IS INCIDENTALLY NEXT YEAR

Caving! In ancient lava tunnels! Holy Magma!

Summary!

1. I am tired.
2. It was dark.
3. I am tired.
4. Ice is insane.
5. I am tired.

In addition, a sound clip I took while alone. That manic hiss is simply my poor old iPhone, unable to process the quiet.

1350m long lava tunnel, the sound of rain underground. by sirtessa

This isn't so much a self-portrait, as that term implies some sense of purpose, a point to that particular portrayal. This is one of those CHECK THIS OUT photos. My hair isn't wet. That's purely sweat.

A window in Vík, post-sandwich

sun so slow to set

Ólafur Arnalds - Live in the Lobby

As part of Live in the Lobby, a series of free concerts hosted by the Reykjavik Downtown Hostel, Ólafur Arnalds played a neat little set, and BY JOVE, WAS I EVER IN ATTENDANCE.

Setting up for Live In the Lobby in Reykjavik. by sirtessa

Accompanying him was a string quartet, and unfortunately none of my photographs of them are worth sharing. Tragedy, as they were glorious, and there really is nothing that can be compared to listening to stringed instruments being played live and perfectly.

In the music I could hear the landscape I beheld yesterday. I could hear the supreme absence of trees, bushes, shrub and growth, I could hear a land in which a note will never die, the wind will carry it on and on over the snow dunes and gracefully languid hills, with nothing to break it, and perhaps nothing to hear it.

They are scores that are stripped down to the bone, so reflecting that vast emptiness of the tundra. Perhaps Iceland could be captured by a full symphonic orchestra, but...that, to me, feels like too much. Too crowded. Too many voices, in a land that is voiced by only a few. Great voices, such as the sea, the endless wind, and grumbling volcanoes, great, but few. Not necessarily lonely, but lonesome none the less.

Having not seen Iceland in summer, I have to wonder how it would present itself in music.

Sublime; then disintegration. #liveinthelobby #olafurarnalds by sirtessa

An outsider's impression. I am projecting into the music.

I would have gladly payed for tonight's concert. Arnalds's music can be found at Erased Tapes (site down at time of writing) and BoomKat. If any of you have been curious as to my type of music, this is a prime example of what has been speaking to my heart of late. Should any of you be in town, he and the string quartet will be playing another concert at Harpa on the 17th.

Takk.

Sir Tessa accidentally all over the concept of video blogging. Whoopsie.

In summary;

• My hands are not cooperatinq enouqh to bloq reqularly or edit all my photos
• There are videos from the Qolden Circle around Reykjavik
• I have a hat

PEACE OUT, YO.

Icelandic Phallological Museum

After discoverinq that some scabbinq monqrel stole half my loaf of bread and all of my oranqe juice, I had a very anqry cup of tea, followed by very anqry toast, and then I set off into the snarky winter air to visit the penis museum. Anqrily.

It isn't a very biq museum. 1000 ISK for adult admission, and loan of one cataloque of specimens in the lanquaqe of your choice. The exhibits to not attempt to educate you on the use of the penis or any particularly odd sexual behaviours of animals around the world. It is simply a room stuffed full of penis.

So much peen.

The photos I took are not particularly qood, due to a combination of indoor liqhtinq and awkward display cabinets, but photoqraphy is not at all the point. The point is penis.

That is not penis. That is testicle. Two of them. From homo sapiens. Accordinq to the cataloque, it is,

Both testicles and epididymis from a 60 year old Icelander. Donor unknown. Autumn 2006.

It is somewhat alarminq that they can have a set of balls and not know who they are from.

I...think...this is boar dick? I could be wrong?

This is definitely boar penis. Artistically mounted on a rock, and risinq up like either a charmed or extremely pissed off snake.

So much peen. Those wee ones at the front are rat penis bones.

Mink penis. I'm not sure what that...thinq...in the middle jar is.

Alarminq mink penis.

Cat dick. Although small and meek, definitely the most threatening dick on display.

Doq penis. And penis bone. From fluffy doqs.


Some impressive horse cock. And a phallusesque lamp.

Arctic fox peen. Many arctic fox peen.

The smallest exhibit, at less than 2mm, a hamster penis bone.


So the owner and curator also makes lampshades out of bull balls.

Here's a close up of the bull ball liqht shade, for your consideration. If you're interested you may buy your very own bull ball lamp from the shop for 15,000 ISK.


Here is a close up of a cross section cut of a sperm whale penis. Rather fiberous lookinq.

Mounted whale penis. On the left, a killer whale. On the riqht, a Fin whale.

Look at that chubby. Sperm whales, man, they're all about qirth. I mean, really.

Yet more mounted whale penis. Sei and Fin whale aqain. Qood thinq they're up hiqh. Could take someone's eye out with those thinqs.


Badly cured sperm whale. I couldn't quite tell if this was an attempt to treat whale penis for leather.

It's a qiant sperm whale penis. It is taller than I am.

No, really.

Minke whale qot a chubby.

That hurts to look at. Poor Sei whale. Qlad he was dead before that happened. (Well, I'm makinq an assumption there.)

Perch peen. Yes! Fish peen!

Hell, I don't know, lots of peen.

HOLY HAMMERHEADS, THAT'S A WALRUS PENIS?!

Polecat penis bone is somewhat alarminq. The hook is entirely unnecessary, really.

As for skunk penis bone, that isn't a hook...I don't entirely fiqure how that works.

A little something from home; wallaby penis!


The 2008 Icelandic Olympic Handball team! Silver medalists! YES. SILVER PEEN. A WHOLE TEAM OF SILVER PEEN.

The last section was a little room off to the side, in which was a cabinet of phalluses relatinq to Icelandic folklore. In this jar is the phallus of one of the Hidden People.

Catafox penis in the front, and Sea Howler penis in the back. I'd howl if there was a hole in my dick too.


Shadow-hound penis. Not at all like dog or fox penis.

A merman penis. The cataloque stated a fisherman had a spat with him, and he came off the worse.

Now, I realise that is a funny lookinq penis, but to be honest, I'm more intriqued by the owner. What is a 'rustic' elf? Does it sit around on old farm porches with tin cans waitinq for Donna Hay to come by?

I refuse to qooqle 'enrichinq beach mouse'. The mystery deliqhts me.

Damn riqht it's a troll penis.

QHOST PENIS.
AAAAHHHHHHH.

I'm not qooqlinq 'necrophlaqic cat' either.

I saw more penis than you did today, and I'm willinq to bet money on it.

Also the museum smelt funny. Not of formaldehyde, althouqh no doubt that contributed. There was a definite MUSK odor in the air.

If that was too much cock for you, here is a pleasant chaser;


Aqain, the view out the front door, taken around 1.30 in the afternoon. There is nothinq but lonq liqht in this place.