Punk Nintendo

It takes 10 minutes of conversation in English to figure out that Armir is Swedish, and that she’s heading for the Blue Lagoon. Sounds not only as a plan, but a very good one, especially after a long flight. 30min later I find myself watching the stars on my back in a giant natural pool heated by geysers making it an incredible sight, discussing everything from politics to life itself for a good 3h.

By then Imba, my Islantic host, found thorough hospitalityclub, has finished her work and so we meet up in central Reykjavik where I get to crash for a few nights. I share the place with one cat, one rabbit, one chinchilla and two punk girls. All of them being excellent hosts, and gave me a tour Reykjavik (the girls that is). With only about 200.000 inhabitants it’s not a big place. Sigur Ros hangs out at the organic coffee place, and Björk got her hang out across the street.

Saturday equals party and on Island this is serious business. The girls brings me for a punk concert in an art venue covered in graffiti. As I walk in, flashbacks reminds me of aching thumbs and red eyes in front of a TV set, as the band dressed in capes perform punk versions of old Nintendo tunes.

The absurdity continues as I later keep on partying with a group of Islantic cowboys (?!) that claims to be Islands first country band.