Iceland: Vikings, Hot Dogs and Algae [DAY 2] - The Devouring

If you do not like the idea of eating cute, endangered and reasonably domesticated animals, I advise you to suspend judgment or stop reading now.

I'm serious.

Spoiler alert.

Glyn and I woke reasonably early today in time for the 'continential breakfast buffet'. If any of you have been on school trips to Mainland Europe, you may have an idea of what this actually means...

Imagine a cheap sandwich, like the really dodgy looking ones next to the Ginster's pastys and slices in a corner shop. Now separate it into its individual bits and lay them onto silver dishes. Do this 200 times. Congratulations! You have made a continental breakfast buffet! But, eating until full is always a nice feeling.

It was at this point we realised that the snowstorm had slowed enough to allow a foray outside. We had been left with completely frozen over pavements, about 3 feet of snow anywhere unpaved and gale force winds. Unperturbed, your writer and his intrepid parter Glyn stepped out into the street, ready to face the elements like warriors. People watched us leave with pity and wonder in their eyes: how could they possibly do this and survive? Were they FOOLS?

Like us, they were probably British townies unfamiliar with snowy climes. For someone who has never skied or climbed/walked across snowy mountains, I was surprised to find that I wasn't being blown out to sea, or my nose not turning black and crispy in the icy wind. An Icelandic proverb states: There is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.

No shit. I wore 943 layers of clothing and was as snug as a bug in a rug. More on the weather later.

Our plan for the day was to check out a museum in the morning and then get right on back to the hotel in time for a whale watching tour in the afternoon. Me and Glyn traversed the high street and came out next to Reykjavik Pond which, after the snow, had frozen over quite beautifully. I wanted to have a meander on it so I went down and had a wander (staying close to the edge) although I wasnt actually sure if I was walking on a pathway, or grass, or frozen water, as the snow was so deep. We moved quickly on. I had left my cameras SD card in my room so I didn't get any shots of this... for shame. Seeing a tiny circle of water and about 100 ducks all jostling for somewhere to get their little feet wet was very cute.

The walk to the museum proved longer than we expected and, needing to get back in the early afternoon in time for the whale watching, we had a perfunctory look around and played a little chess instead. I remember a woman at a reception on a phone who kept saying ‘Yo! Yo! Yo!’ in progressively passionate tones. I later learnt this meant ‘Yes’ in Icelandic. I wonder if she was having phone sex?

Horny receptionist in background

The whale watching itself wasnt a real success. There were no whales to be seen, and a few nights of partying in London before drinking my way to sleep the night before had left me incredibly tired. I greatly enjoyed the rising swell (up to 4m!) and, after standing on the deck without seeing anything for 90 minutes, I went below deck, sat down, and the rocking sensation sent me straight to sleep. I woke up towards the end of the trip and found almost everyone downstairs with me; it had started to blizzard, and only Glyn remained on deck like a Viking warrior, determined to catch sight of prey or solid land for him to raid and pillage. He came down covered in snow and reported: no whales. Fortunately for me, everyone got a ‘come back for free’ voucher based on the whale no-show and me and Glyn went on our way. We were feeling down, but we knew things were gonna get better.

Mountains in the background, Wally in the foreground. An awe-inspiring sight.

Couple o' old ships

It was time for the karmic roundabout to spin in our favour.

An hour later we found ourselves sitting in a very cosy little restaurant. The waitress was out-of-this-world beautiful, there was a biiiig American couple sitting behind us (think In Bruges, Colin Farrell at the bottom of the church tower) and three Korean friends sitting next to us. I remember the others because when I say cosy, I am not joking. If I turned my head slightly I could have joined a Korean conversation without much trouble. However, we had not come for the space. This was one-part curiosity, two-parts cultural experience.

And one-part revenge.

We had come for the whale steak.

Starter #1

Fermented Shark / kæstur hákarl

Served in a little porcelain jug alongside some crusty, soft bread, fermented shark is an Icelandic delicacy Glyn had been telling me about for some time. Make no mistake, this is rotting shark, shark that has been killed and then left to hang and ferment with some spices, exposed to the air and allowed to rot. To my surprise though, the meat had first been frozen and then diced into little cubes, so it honestly had the consistency of frozen berries, and with each bite a rush of amine flavour (the smell of rotting meat/fish) would storm out of your nose like a wasabi supernova. The colour was slightly orange but and the bread suited it perfectly, a texture combination made in heaven. As the shark thawed, the smell and the taste got even stronger. I wonder what it tastes like immediately after you take it down, room temperature? Must be so soft and rotten... oh man...

Starter #2

Smoked puffin breast with mustard sauce / Reyktur Lundi með sinnepssós

Yes. Delicious, red-pink strips of soft puffin breast, served on a plate with mustard and herbs. It was also cold, not warm, which surprised me. The texture was very game-y, reminding me a little of sashimi in that regard, a certain soft chewiness. The serving size was laughable though in my opinion (Then again, how big are puffin breasts?) but you definitely got a food feel for the puffin. The mustard accompaniment was excellent also.

Main course #1

Grilled Horse tenderloin with mushroom sauce / Grillsteikt Hrossalund með sveppumsósu

Oh buddy. This was definitely the best steak I have ever had, of any animal, whale/beef/lamb/pork included. Glyn ordered it rare and when it came it was nicely browned on the outside, nice and red on the in. Literally, this meat was so tender and so easy to cut and chew I can't even express it. It was served with thin-sliced wedges, vegetables and mushroom sauce. The texture was like the best beef but the flavour was not. My unlearned tongue would call it: horse flavour. Nothing to compare it to, but it was distinctive and I recommend it to everyone.

Main course #2

Whale pepper steak with pepper sauce / Hvalkjöts piparsteik með piparsósu

This is it - the realness. It wasn't particularly fatty but it was pretty red - keep in mind the mighty whale is a mammal! It was cut thin and tasted a little bloody but it was pretty damn tender and honestly, other than the fact it was whale, it just counted as a really nice, thinly cut steak. I guess the taste of intelligent meat, of something able to form complex relationships and communicate on deeper levels did add to the experience... but I might just be a sick puppy for thinking about it like that. I wouldn't eat it outside of a culture that didn't do it regularly themselves, thats for sure. I would eat the horse however. 

And that more or less concluded day 2 of Iceland. We watched Chelsea vs PSG in the CL later that night and it was an excellent game, PSG deservedly going through. We got into some of the pale ales and white ales available, although we were told the white ale is for girly-men only. I quite enjoyed it, actually....

Watched at the Lebowski Bar!

Stay tuned for day 3.

Iceland: Vikings, Hot Dogs and Algae [DAY 1]

I hope that title got your attention.

I am not suggesting that I ate algae-covered hot dogs served by Vikings but, they all played a part in an excellent little trip I just took with my good pal, Glyn.

Before the whale hunt. Glyn was more excited but that's because
he hasn't readMoby Dick.

Wally thought that looking down and closing his eyes would mean we couldn't
actually find him.

Our trip gave us its first indication of "We Plan To Disrupt Your Plan! Fuckers!" when our flight departure was four hours delayed. We were told it was due to strong winds in Iceland, given a £5 voucher for any of the fine establishments in the airport, and told to get on with it. We did, at Frankie and Benny's. Top marks to the waiter who very magnanimously said "Let's seat you by the window so you get the view!" and as we sat down, as we looked over miles of runways, cars and ventilation tubing... we laughed. Together. A nice moment.

Fast forward 7 hours. The descent into Reykjavik had begun, and we had been told that weather was 'Stormy and Snowy'. We later learned that this was an understatement. I am sure Canadians and Scandinavians will both scoff at me for saying this, but landing in a blizzard is fucking extreme! The plane was literally being buffeted in all directions by swirling whiteness, and it felt like we were slowing down way too quickly and dropping way too fast. People were holding onto their seats, crying out, but I was just thinking; "This is fucking awesome." Gotta embrace the riiiiide, dudes.

I was imagining what it would be like for the plane to hit the ground too fast, nose first, and have it snap into two pieces like a walking stick you lean on too hard. With my seat right at the tail end, I felt confident that if the plane folded in two about the middle and my seat was to come loose, I would probably be cushioned by the people and chairs that would pile up in front of me. It's funny where the brain goes in a (quasi)-crisis. Its sense of invulnerability is seldom tested and when it is, the denial and rationalisation that happens is fascinating. I don't think the landing was much worse than winter landings often are but it was a new experience for me. The overriding sensation was my letting-go-of-things-I-can't-control instinct; I can either die scared or die smiling, and the only difference is the tenderness of the meat, post-mortem.

But we landed. We went into taxi, we stopped, and everyone start getting ready to take cases down from the overheads. The lovely Icelandic girl (Brita) we were sitting next to, however, remarked; "We're nowhere near the terminal."

Hmm.

Then we were told that actually, that wind we felt shaking the plane from side to side was going at >100km/h. The snow we saw covering the airport was deep; very deep. All of the roads in and out of the airport were closed, and the airport was full of trapped people. We therefore had to sit our kiesters back down and wait. 

Armed with my camera and with cabin fever setting in, here are some of the things that happened.

By the time we got into the terminal (3 hours later) we needed to start drinking. We bought a six-pack of Viking Beer in the off-duty part of the airport and drank our way into the evening and all the way though the coach journey to our hotel. We met an Icelandic girl on this bus who lived in Brighton, and who insisted that we go out with her later that week in Reykjavik. I wasn't gonna complain, and her part in the story will be told later.....

Stay tuned for Day 2!