Photo Friday: Lost in Reykjavik

Iceland is a country of artists.

In the land of fire and ice, people are resilient, and it's hard to find anything that could cripple a country this strong. Although it has a tiny population of only 320,000 people, it seems that not even the financial collapse of 2008 could send this country to its knees.

Hell, even in the middle of that financial mess, they somehow managed to gather the resources to build this massive thing. I call that pretty impressive.

Harpa concert hall and conference centre, Reykjavik

The first thing I notice about Reykjavik is that it is very new-looking. The buildings can't be older than 50, 60 years old, and everything is fresh. There is no peeling paint, no old worn-down stone, and the place looks immaculately clean.

The second thing I notice about Reykjavik is that everything is built down low to the ground; in a country of 320,000 people, I don't suppose you really need high-rise buildings.

Laugavegur, downtown Reykjavik.

The third thing I notice about Reykjavik is that this is probably the city with the best freakin' view in the whole world.

Just a mountain across the lake at the end of the road, you guys.

I am armed with an arsenal of maps and city guides, impressing even myself, and I get ready to take on Reykjavik and get lost in all her winding streets.

Lots of brochures from the tourist information centre.

Laugavegur runs right through downtown Reykjavik, and it is here and on Skólavörðustígur (try saying that out loud!) that you will find the mainstay of Icelandic craft and shopping - small little quirky shops with handcrafted Icelandic wool sweaters, elf socks, and Icelandic volcanic ash pottery.

It becomes a little bit of a game to see if I can pronounce any of these tongue-twisting Icelandic street names. I quickly found that it was much easier to remember the look of the word rather than actually remember what the word was. Can anyone actually remember "Skólavörðustígur"?!

Say it with me: sko-la-vu-or-thu-sti-goo-r.

Somehow, alongside the souvenir shops selling jars of canned Icelandic mountain air (I'm not kidding) and bits of a real Icelandic glacier (put in the freezer to preserve), Reykjavik also manages to maintain some wicked street art. Hjartagardurinn, or the Heart Garden, is a bursting technicolor of graffitied walls and spray can art.









I soon find that I adore the Icelandic sense of humour. They are proud of being small, and they are proud of all the quirks of their city, and I find that beautiful. I see little bits of Iceland Wants To Be Your Friend everywhere I go - in the funny postcards, in the phrases printed on Iceland magnets (one of them says I Survived Iceland) and on their tee-shirts.

What part of Eyjafjallajökull don't you understand?

I put this picture here just in case you didn't believe what the postcard in the previous picture said.

There is an abundance of music - Iceland is the country with the world's highest ratio of artists to population, and Icelanders support their music. I walk into several record shops and talk to the people who work there, and it is clear that they are proud of their artistes.

"The good thing about music here is that people still buy music from shops," one person tells me when I ask about how music stores are staying afloat here even while shops elsewhere are closing. "Icelanders don't want to steal from their own people."

Skífan, Laugavegur.

I love Icelandic music - there's something enchanting and ethereal about the music that these people make. It sounds like it's from another world. I decide to walk into 12 Tónar, a store on Skólavörðustígur that has been the meeting point for many Icelandic artists including Björk and Sigur Rós, and spend a good few hours doing nothing but listening to Icelandic music.







I love that Iceland knows the rest of the world finds Icelandic a strange, unpronounceable, and old language, and that they find the rest of the world funny for thinking them strange. Iceland is old, and comfortable with being old, and that is probably what I love the most.

In some ways, Iceland reminds me of an old, elderly grandparent, warm (even though it's Ice-land) and comforting. So in a very unusual way, Iceland is almost like coming home.