Reykjavik has been and gone in a flash of brilliance and apathy. Charmingly small for a capital city, I’d explored the main sights within an hour or two’s wandering.

Of note were the obelisk/cathedral, clearly the home of Sauron, and the old harbour village.

Friendly but indignant whale-folk, bright young things enclosed in papier mache whales by their cruel masters, bobbed around the stunted main drag protesting the minke whale on the menu of tourist restaurants nearby. Prices were sufficiently high to harpoon even my hope to dine on puffin before I left, not that minke was ever a realistic prospect.

The deceptive late evening light left me stalking the streets in search of food after 11pm, a miscalculation that left me bitterly ruminating on Domino’s like bad cud.

The transfer back to Keflavík airport was pleasantly staged via the Blue Lagoon spa, where I floated around in geothermal bliss and got mud in my ears. Highly recommended.

Me wallowing in my pity and some mud

Me wallowing in my pity and some mud at the Blue Lagoon, Iceland

Next stop: New York City.

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