Reykjavik part 3. Cafes, Restaurants and Bars

In summer, Iceland is a pot of coffee by day, bottle of wine by night kind of country and Reykjavik is famous for its cafes and its nightlife.  On Saturday morning we visited the Laundromat on Austurstraeti; a breezy, colourful cafe which pulled a young, hipster crowd in the centre of the city.  The following day we went to a more homely coffee house down a discrete stair from the capital's main shopping street; Laugavegur.  After so long away from civilization, it was great to relax with a cappuccino again; my first in over month.  Both of the cafes we visited were pretty friendly, chilled places with excellent decor.  In the Laudromat maps of Europe from the '60s and '70s ran down the walls next to signs with messages like "We like babies and boobs."  The other cafe, sadly I have forgotten the name, was more conservatively furnished in creamy whites, mint greens and wooden panelling.  It reminded me a lot of the wonderful cafe at Glaumbaer in the north that we visited three weeks earlier.

On Friday evening we dined in a restaurant by the port where we ate kebabs of Haddock, Hallibut, Potatoes, Vegetables and Mink Whale.  The fish, which came straight from the harbour, was as fresh as possible.  Of course, the shock was whale.  Though whaling is illegal in most European countries it has resurfaced in Iceland at very low levels since 2006; 30 Mink Whales and 9 Fin Whales.  Generally speaking, I believe that if you eat one animal you should eat them all irrespective of how cute or fluffy they are.  However, if ever there were an exception it is surely whales which, though neither cute nor fluffy, are a highly intelligent endangered species.  The Icelandic government are highly responsible and take over-farming seriously; this summer Puffin hunting has been temporarily banned because of concerns over depleting stocks.  Inevitably though their is some danger caused by human error or less scrupulous whalers flaunting legal restrictions.  Honestly, I don't know if I believe it is conscionable to eat Whale.  For that reason I ordered a very good but relatively unexciting Hallibut kebab, part of which I traded with Emily.  Unlike Shark, Whale meat is very tasty; it calls to mind a tender beef steak with a mild intonation of the salty sea water.

When in a new country, I believe that one should try all of the local foods.  I intensely admire Bruce Parry's willingness to eat anything.  Though the idea faintly horrified me, heads of Sheep are considered a delicacy by many Icelanders so, on Saturday evening Emily, Steff and I found a restaurant in the centre of town where we could have them prepared for us.  Sheep's heads are cooked in advance; it can take three hours or more for the meat to soften.  Therefore, we were not left too long, in a blur of dry mouths and fluttery stomachs before the heads arrived replete with all their skin, mouths and ears intact.  From empty sockets the rams stared out blindly as upwards wafted the stench of boiled skin and fat.  In death the sheep appeared looked oddly dignified and really, profoundly sad.  My hands started to shake and I tried hard not to cry genuinally uncertain of what came next.  Could I do this?  I turned to my friend, feeling filthy, and asked them to cut the head from ear to mouth and  rip the jaw apart for me.  Then, I ate my meal.  First the tounge, then the interior of the jaw and finally the small area of meat around the base of the skull.  There is very little meat actually on a sheep's head which is mostly fat, bone and other undesirable substances.  I have no idea how this fucking tradition got started.  Of course, all meat is taken from dead animals, there is no reason why it should be better to eat an animal's head but not it's body.  It is not the same though, with the face their is no illusions to hide behind, you are made aware that this is an animal, this is what you are eating and that this is what you have become.

That night, our last in Reykjavik, we decided to drink in Iceland's pubs and bars.  Of course, alcohol is expensive in Iceland because of the country's low PPP and restrictive licensing and tax laws so we headed to the cheapest place we could find along the city's main party street which happened to be a gay bar.  Barbara is an Elizabeth II themed night club in the dead centre of town.  At 400 kr the beer here was half the price of the other place we visited, a rock club a couple of doors down.  Icelanders famously party lately and when we arrived at nine their was hardly anyone there.  A couple of small groups sat beside as at the tables which lined the wall running perpendicular from the bar.  By half eleven, the music was blaring and the place was packed with dancing people.  The streets, quiet by day, thronged with inebriated Icelanders as we made our way back to the hostel.