OOOwwwwooowwwooowwwoowwOOwww. That is the noise of someone who carried possibly 60 kilos of luggage through the streets of Reykjavik at 9am which is actually 5am for her after being on a plane 5 hrs and not sleeping a wink. Oh yes. The ridiculous thing is that a taxi pulled up right after I started asking a guy for directions, and then I DIDN'T take the taxi because the man said it wasn't far to my hostel and I didn't want to look like a pussy. HA! That shows me for trying to prove my viking strength. As I laboured under the weight of my accumulated belongings I thought: 'What does not give you a back injury only makes you stronger.' I've hit a crisis point with my luggage. I simply have too much stuff. Books, mainly. I'm a travelling library. If I have one tip for travellers it is this: when you leave home, do not take any books. One if you must read on the plane. Before too long you'll be a book magnet.
I'm staying in a guesthouse which looks like it was a hospital in recent history - parts of the room have sections curtained off. It's a drab destination after the bus ride from the airport which took me past lava fields, moss-covered rocky terrain, mountains in the distance and rainbows over the ocean. I listened to Sigur Rós and felt euphoric. Iceland has been my biggest fantasy for so many years. And now, here I am.
Unfortunately, the problem with introducing fantasy to reality is that reality contains things which suck. Such as Iceland being expensive as all hell. But I can hardly complain about that - I knew what I was in for. And besides, my next stop is the Czech Republic, where I can recoup my losses and live like a queen.
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