| February 24, 2006 - The crazy Icelandic woman |
| Dear Friends, as any of you know who have read my little blog here, I can't go anywhere without running into freaks; and that includes overseas. When last you left my realm of fantabulosity I was planning a little jaunt with my friend, Laura, to Iceland. Well, my dears, we made it there safe and sound, and we had an absolutely wonderful time. However, the trip was not without a freak. We went to my favorite restaurant in Reykjavik, where the hostess recognized me and asked us to stay after hours for a concert being put on by a group whose name means something like "Absolutely Crazy". It not only described the band, but some of the groupies as well, in my opinion. Laura and I were sitting in the reception area, which is done up like a living room, waiting for the band to start, when this totally trashed Icelandic woman came over to us and started chatting us up. Now, Icelanders are generally a bit stand-offish when sober, but after a few shots of brennvin they won't stop talking. Anyhoo, this woman (whose hair looked like it hadn't been washed in ages) at one point said to us, "I am the wealthiest woman in Iceland. Not in terms of money, but in terms of time." And then she threw her head back and laughed like a mad scientist from a 50's movie! It was creepy and Laura and I kind of looked sideways at one another to see our mutual reactions to her. Well, the band started and it was a lot of fun; if one could ignore the fact that the drummer didn't have a single tooth in his head that wasn't black with rot. And he insisted as he played on lolling his head from side to side with his mouth wide open. Next to him stood a bass player who kept leaning to the side as though to kiss the drummer; in fact, they both leaned in towards one another in this kind of homo-erotic way, but then I realized the bass player was actually leaning forward to see the sheet music on a stand that was partially obscured from my view by an Icelandic head in the row in front of me. Well, if that weren't enough excitement for the evening, a woman came up to us to chat and upon discovering that Laura was from Scotland, she went off on a tangent about how much her daughter loves a Scottish accent. In fact, she said, her daughter runs around the house all day practicing her Scots accent because she hopes one day to marry a man from Scotland. The woman asked where one could meet a real Scots and Laura and I both replied "Aberdeen". Dear Friends, as the evening wore on the atmosphere just became more and more surreal. The place was absolutely packed with easy chairs, couches, and folding chairs, yet people kept trying to dance. Not that the music was really that danceable; it was more like some type of folk music from the sound of it. And I heard what sounded to me like "twain song". This is where, I believe, two people begin singing a fifth apart from one another. So as person A sings a C, person B sings a G. And then partway through the song, they switch roles. It's kind of an odd sound, but if you've had enough to drink and you've been priviledged to be invited to witness Icelanders in their own habitat, you really begin to enjoy it. The next night, after a fantabulous dinner at another restaurant, we stopped off at another bar where apparently only Icelanders go. I've begun to learn which area of Laugarvegur (the main street) Americans hang out in and get drunk, and which end of the street is dominated by Icelanders. So that was fun. Someone was playing a guitar and they were all singing. At one point they were trying to sing a Beatles song, and upon forgetting the words, they all just sang "Lo, lo, lo, lo" until the guitar player finally gave up. You could also tell it was a real Icelandic bar because the gin and tonics only had one ice cube in them. The bartender, realizing from my flawless English that I was an American, asked if I wanted more ice cubes, but I declined them. Too much ice just waters down the gin, in my view. I won't bore you overly much right now about the trip; perhaps I'll write some more on another day. It was a let down having to come back home and go back to hateful ol' work, but the weekend has suddenly started looking promising. I don't understand how I can go months on end with nary an invite and then suddenly everyone is demanding my company. Some people from work have asked me to go out to dinner and dancing on Saturday. A friend has asked me to lunch on Saturday afternoon. Another friend wants me to go with him to a German restaurant on Sunday. As the Morton Salt Company says, "When it rains, it pours." Next entry Previous entry Go to diary entries Go back home |