Reykjavik is, in terms of population and land area, about the same as the city of Knoxville in East Tennessee, close to where I grew up. Our third day in Iceland found us wandering the city, taking things a bit more slowly; we were all tired, me more than others, perhaps, because of the long driving of the previous two days.
First a note on our Air B and B that we chose. About ten minutes by foot from downtown, it was a small, one-bedroom flat on the lower floor. The sofa became a comfortable second bed. There was free wi-fi, a stocked kitchen, and everything we needed to be cozy.
The rain didn't keep us from heading downtown on Sunday night. It's not accurate to call it rain, at least what we had that day. It was like a really heavy mist that every so often coalesced into a light drizzle.
I got the feeling there are two sides to Reykjavik. One is that which is shown to the tourists; the bars with happy hours, hot dog stands, souvenir shops, stores with overpriced coats and rain gear. Somewhere, though, there is that other side, where the locals go. Every city that has a heavy tourism element knows these two faces, the sometimes opposing market forces of foreigners flush with cash alongside locals whose average income is barely $50K - not bad, on the surface, but only when you consider a hot dog costs five dollars and a beer over ten.
We went to get a hot dog, because that's what tourists do, and also because my son and I wanted a hot dog; in Iceland it's called Pylsur (initial cap because #respect). They make them slightly differently in Iceland. The wiener is very similar to an American hot dog, but is more like a true sausage in both taste and texture; the difference is that the Icelandic hot dog has lamb in it. The bun is a basic white bread bun. It's really the toppings that makes it unique. First the onions: we opted for one with everything, and one without the raw onions (because I hate raw onions). The deep-fried onion bits added a nice flavor. There are three sauces on the typical Icelandic hot dog: ketchup, pylsusinnep (a sweet brown mustard; I hate mustard, but this has a very nice flavor), and a type of mayonnaise that has capers and a few other ingredients. It all combines for an amazing taste experience.
After eating the Pylsur, we walked around the town a bit, and headed to the apartment.
The next morning, my wife and I woke up early and, while our son slept, walked to a local coffee shop: Kaffihús Vesturbæjar. It was surprising to find such a place in a residential area. Inside we found a cool vibe, with minimal decoration and good seating space. The breakfast looked incredible, but we only had espresso drinks and a croissant. The barista knew what she was doing, and the coffee was superb; the croissant lived up to the expectations you should have when getting a croissant anywhere outside of America. Next door is a bakery: Braud & Co. It wasn't as surprising to find the bakery there; what was surprising, though, was the quality of the bread. We got our son a croissant for breakfast, and would visit the bakery twice more before we left, choosing a variety of other breads. All were excellent.
Our son drug himself out of bed and we drove to a large church: Hallgrimskirkja. Initially we planned to walk there; but the rain became actual rain, fairly heavy, and it made no sense to walk. It was started in the post-war 1940's, but not completed until the mid 1980's. It's stunning on the outside, simple with hard lines like you'd expect in a Lutheran church. Inside is a massive pipe organ, but little decoration.
We headed down the street from the church to Sandholt, a restaurant known for excellent pastries. Even though it was early, I had a beer, because that's how I roll. My wife got a sandwich, my son a cinnamon bun. Our conversation was lively, full of the expectation you should have early in a trip.
From Sandholt we walked in the general direction of the Penis Museum, going to stores for some shopping, but really just as a way to get out of the persistent rain.
The official name is the Icelandic Phallological Museum. Everyone calls it the Penis Museum, because that's what it has on display. Lots and lots of male members from a variety of animals.
It was bit uncomfortable going to a penis museum with my son. He's 18 (almost 19), and we have a very friendly relationship. Still, he's my child, and the museum had examples of sex toys and statues from both modern and historical times. There is a picture of the man with the largest penis measured, which hangs down to near his knee.
Yeah. It was a bit odd.
The museum is compact, and most of the male organs on display are from whales. They are quite impressive, either because they are very large or very pointed.
From the museum we got another hot dog from a smaller place; it was just as good as the hot dog from the day before, if not better. Then we walked back up to the car and went home.
Home wasn't very fun, and we decided after a couple of hours to go to a local brewery, the first brewpub in Reykjavik: Bryggjan Brugghús. I didn't want to drive, since I'd have a couple of beers. But it was raining. That meant we had to make a decision, and in the end we made up our minds to walk. My son being the only family member smart enough to bring a proper rain coat, it was pretty miserable. I had a small umbrella, and my wife had one slightly larger, and they did absolutely nothing to stop the brutal wind that drove rain almost horizontal and turned the umbrellas into sails.
The beer was excellent, but we were too tired to fully appreciate it. We went next door to Kaffivagninn for supper, which was minimal. All of us were exhausted and needed sleep more than food, so we hoofed it back up the hill to our apartment and, drained, fell asleep.
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