Finally, I came back to the hostel one Saturday evening to find my room overtaken by three Swedes. I had seen this item in Reykjavík Mag, an English publication in the tourist office, and for several clean-shoed evenings after that it was a source of poignant disappointment. We can’t really explain it but be aware that the bars are really crowded so it’s a given that a lot of people will step on your feet. Can anyone explain to me what happened?Ī: It is still a mystery to many who live in Reykjavík who wake up with the same problem after hitting bars in this town. I don’t remember visiting a farm while out on the town. Q: I went out last weekend and when I woke up the next morning my shoes were covered with mud. Weekend nights were different, because that was when the city came alive: In the evenings, I would wander to the waterfront or read by the big downtown pond. Each morning, I would walk to a café that had become my office. In Reykjavík, overpriced and thriving that fall, I lived in a hostel and followed the kind of overcontrolled schedule only truly underemployed people can devise. I had come to Iceland on a small research stipend, after three months of failing to support myself in New York. This wasn’t an unusual pursuit, since at that time I was a stranger to adult life everywhere I went. I spent much of the month walking through unfamiliar neighborhoods, trying to imagine what it would be like to make a life in each. By eight o’clock, the sun would start to set, and little yellow lights would trace the contours of the hills. It was September, and each morning and late afternoon a wind would come through Reykjavík to clear the air, sifting and reshaping the clouds. Once, many moons ago, I spent a month in Iceland with too little money and nothing to slow a march of days that seemed already to be getting much too short.
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