kidchamp dot net

04.04.11



i think we all knew this iceland-telling would take a long time, given the cumulative effect of my tendency to digress, my working in an office on non-iceland-related matters, and my deep and abiding fondness for talking about iceland (it will probably get worse rather than better now that i've actually been there), but in the interest of full disclosure: it will be a haul.

on friday afternoon (that is, day two) we went to kaffibarinn, 1% of which was initially owned by damon "face that launched a thousand pairs of knickers" albarn. it was britpopsterless that day, but it did boast freya, a friendly icelandic sheepdog mix; admiring her led us to her owner, (a different) damon, an equally friendly icelandic guy who'd spent ten years in london. at one point he asked me to mind freya and dashed out of the bar, returning ten minutes later with a massive sheet of adhesive moustaches (which he then distributed around the room). "it's moustache march." well, obviously. we were then overtaken by a pod of men in tuxedoes, in for a pint before a choir performance. "it's the handsomest choir in iceland," they said. damon introduced us to jonas, a tuxedonaut who worked at the foreign ministry; he and joe talked shop while damon explained why we needed to break into the sculpture garden next to hallgrímskirkja ("just hop the fence, god will protect you"). jonas then extricated himself with apologies, explaining that he had to warm up before the performance. ah! they were the choir. exeunt tuxedoes to the room upstairs.