Ég er á Íslandi (part 2)

Note: the grammar of this post is going to be absolutely atrocious even for my standards, because I am nearing death. By which I mean I am suffering from manflu. This is where I thank the Gods for not spending four days here, like last time, but four weeks. Therefore the only natural phenomenons we witnessed were nearby stores.

At Mal og menning I tricked a local into believing I was one of THEM. For approximately five seconds. And the joke was on me. I asked, in what was apparently perfect Icelandic, “do you have ‘Litla, gula hænan’ for me?”. I did not understand any part of the response, not even punctuation. At the end they didn’t have it, and I bought a book about Vikings. Written by a Scotsman.

From there we moved on to Spuutnik, where I purchased a very pleasant sweater. While not a lopapeysa, it’s going to keep me warm while my actual lopapeysa lingers at home waiting for my return. (It did, however, cost less than 20% of the lopapeysa‘s price. I WIN.) After this we moved to a pharmacy, where I exclaimed “I have a cold! Get rid of it!”, and obtained throat lozenges plus Icelandic version of lemsip. Which could be accurately described as blood-coloured-toilet-cleaner-sip. It does clean my nose (and toilet), allow me to breathe, and unfortunately it also improves my ability to perceive taste.

While we’re on the topic of taste: Icelandic water is a true natural phenomenon. Cold water comes straight from glaciers. If you buy mineral water in Iceland you’re either underinformed, or you just like throwing money away for no reason. Cold water from the tap is possibly the most delicious beverage I have ever tasted. Hot water, on the other hand, will make you smell of rotten eggs forever. It will also turn your teeth yellow, split your tongue, and melt your fingernails. You’ve been warned. If you’re about to come over, start getting used to taking baths in ice cubes.

After I spent a few hours dying, I demanded that husby drives my snotty royal highness to Forlagið. When you look at the photo above, exactly one book (“Víkingarnir”) was not bought there, and I feel I made a major mistake by leaving some books unpurchased. We’ll be going back once the buyer of my kidney sends the PayPal transfer. Upon our return I went to bed, where I spent the next hours hallucinating that someone is knocking on the door, and grabbing the door handle. Obviously, I reasoned, my manflu was truly bringing me to the gates of hell. The truth was worse. A Chinese couple rented out an apartment. They came over. The apartment was already rented. To us. I didn’t even walk to the door, because I knew I was hallucinating (duh), and husby went for a walk. The poor, lovely, non-English-speaking couple waited outside until he returned. It took both them and us good few hours to realise that this building actually has a first floor and a ground floor, and the entrance isn’t shared. We were sorta kinda aware that there are two apartments, but since they had a printout featuring the photo of, err, our entrance, we assumed that Internet exploded something.

All’s well that ends well. They are currently downstairs, hopefully warm and dry. I am on the sofa, preparing for my impending funeral. Husby is watching the news. I spoke four languages today, which has somehow become a daily occurence. And the biggest problem (once I am resurrected) that we are facing is that aurora forecast for Thursday night is “moderate”. Pray to Gods you believe in for the number to go up. And, obviously, for me to make it alive.

Not much writing, other than this post, was completed today, because I AM DYING.

Resource for today: Iceland Magazine.

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