Notes on Food and Booze from the Worst Plane Ride Ever

I think this airplane is named after a volcano. It doesn't bode well.


(This is not a picture of an airplane or volcano. This is the view from the exposed ledge of the North American continental plate.)

Josh and I got stuck in different parts of the plane, which I've decided will be fine, very relaxing, like a tiny island of silence and relaxing and re-reading Triumph of Achilles. (RETROSPECTIVE NOTE: DO NOT READ LOUISE GLUCK ALONE ON A PLANE.) I'm trying to decide if I should buy some headphones for in-flight movies or white wine. Probably I should buy neither, considering the state of my checking account, yet the yappy pubescent youth behind me seems to be going through a precocious rebellious stage with his confused parents, and I'd rather not be privy to his developments.

Last night, we finally got to experience the fabled Icelandic party scene. It was something that we'd heard a lot about--the later into the week it got, the more various locals encouraged us to check it out. Icelandic youth are rumored to know how to throw down. And it is true. Worry not, my bros, I have done a research. Since drinks are so expensive, the local practice is pregame all evening with shots, and then when the sun starts to set, roll out to the bars for dancing and fighting. At about 11 pm, all previously sleepy, charming and even "quaint" pubs turn into parlors of crazy.

Josh and I expected a lot of metal, but strangely, the music scene predominantly consisted of pop rock from the early 90s. The first bar we went to was called the "Celtic Cross"--dark, wooden Irish pub decorated with like celtic knots, runes, rustic wood paneling, drippy old candles set in wine jugs. The band was playing Green Day's "Good Riddance" when we came in. Which is a great song and all. I mean. I'm not trying to say anything about enjoying 90s music, especially upon drinks.

As baffling as that was, the exceptionally hot, wildly drunken Icelandic youth more than made up for the mellow soft rock with their out of control, screaming antics. You wouldn't think "acoustic covers of hits from the 1990s" would be the number one party jam, but at one bar, I watched a young blonde guy leap up onto a table, literally rip his shirt off his body and swing it around his head in circles to the tune of Oasis's "Don't Look Back in Anger." Huh.

My favorite part of Icelandic drinking was their utter disregard for litter. The city was extremely clean, well-maintained and beautiful during the day. But at night--so, you're walking from one bar to another, right, with your transition beer? (Open container = not a thing.) And then, when they reached their destination, they'd just....literally....smash it to the ground. Soon, the once-tidy city streets were a landscape of obliterated fragments, glittering like ice across the pavement.

We mostly drank beer---Viking or Tuborg, which seem to be the Miller Lite of the North, and taste a bit like a Heineken, although each one costs about the price of a ....fancy beer sixpack. We did the "black death shot," because you know, that's a thing. Not bad--kind of a lighter absinthe--peppery. But mostly we sat in the corner and watched the procession like meek churchmice.


(Some whale bits we also found in the street. Just in the street. For scale, each one was the size of me.)

Describing food makes me want to talk about food again. So part of our mission statement was to eat as many weird things as possible, and I feel like we did a good job of that. And you know, it was good. They eat some strange fish and sheep parts, but the thing is, fish and sheep are both good, and especially good when they're very fresh. The grossest thing I ate over there was pretty normal: some creamy fish soup thing at a tourist trap viking restaurant. It tasted like chunky seawater. The best thing was fish and chips--although our hotel had this amazing breakfast buffet that formed the main part of my diet there.


(Some food things.)

Anyway. The plane rolls on. I am gonna get that wine. Probably one more post about vikings before I wrap this blog up but hey. Fun.

Is Ben Stiller still a thing?