Tíu Dropar

Tíu Dropar

My last day in Reykjavík, my last day in Iceland, was going to be low-key, I had no choice in that matter.  I have to admit, I was exhausted.  I didn't want to think about I'm leaving in the morning.  I didn't want to leave and I was too exhausted to think I'm leaving in the morning.

I'd arrived by air back to the capital in the later morning, from Vestmannaeyjar, refresht and not hung over from excess, clear-headed from an early walk on the docks that were all clean and washt down, or so I thought, since there was missing the rank of a fishing port, a familiar smell, and a smell I wouldn't have turned me off; the sea has a smell, and (I cannot believe this opportunity has been laid in my lap, I get to quote that, apropos of nothing) every port has its own name for the sea.  Vestmannaeyjar's name for the sea is what?  Someone write and let us all know.

I'd say the the town was quiet asleep still this morning except that's how it was in mid-afternoon yesterday; like a Sunday.  Today is Sunday.  I counted the pairs of shoes in the hall before I left the guesthouse and they added up to no scores, explaining the good night's sleep.  Let's not temper the reputation of Þjóðhátíð though. I hoped, for the teenagers' sakes, that the festival was not a bust for them.  Dan hit it on the nail, Oh the hormones.  I could've given up a some of a bit of good night's sleep if it meant oh god, at least someone's happy tonight.  I did have ear plugs.

At the docks I caught sight of the Norwegian church donated to the town after The Catastrophe.  I was about to walk over and confirm it was one of those rough-hewn timber churches, and for a small congregation, and the timber again and again over the years painted in tar to prevent rot.  As I'd seen in Norway as a boy.  I was about to wander over and check it out, and then decided, it was just too far to get there.  About two blocks.

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Gray on gray

I'm in Reykjavík in the late morning, and it was busier, but tourist busier.  I took a seat at the window of a restaurant across from Hallgrímskirkja.  The cathedral is the landmark of the city.  If its not apparent, the Icelandic architect Guðjón Samúelsson used a very Icelandic organic aspect of the land to design it.  The facade of the church mimics the basalt columns found near everywhere.  Well done.  I'm reminded that there is a Sunday afternoon organ concert series, which I was keen to go to, now ambivalent about. 

Down Skólavörðustígur I passt an art gallery with strange Aggie Zed - like figures hanging in the window.  (I was glad they were closed.) 

On Laugarvegur I found my favorite café again, Súfistinn kaffihús and bookstore, to hang out in, I go because it's like an old friend.  I have no plans.  And don't intend to.  The address is Laugarvegur 18, Reykjavík 101. The "101" is an important point. It's the "in" zip code to live in, here in Reykjavík.  The café is a bookstore (bóka+kaffi), but I've only bought coffee or CDs.  (I saw a movie called Reykjavík 101, at Bíó Paradís. I, eh, well, never got into it but stayed because it had so many stars.  I thought the way his musings about committing suicide was revolting and offensive, not funny.  I did hope they'd give the nameless baby's name "Pepsi".)  The barista remembers my having a lattè breve before, which he gladly put together again, and meanwhile I lookt it up in Wiki and was shockt to find it an entirely American invention, not Italian at all.  This isn't a complaint. (It's a lattè but made with Half-and-Half, not milk.)

I wrote a bit on some blog page that wasn't this one and on a last postcard I discovered addresst and with a stamp, but no personalized tailored story written on it.  On my list of addresses, everyone else had an "X", which, eh, doesn't mean anything does it?

I went to the concert when I noticed I had five minutes to get there and it was a 5 minute walk.  For some oblivious reason, I thought it would be a free concert. About the concert, and this is entirely a reflection of me, not the cathedral, its organ or its guest organist from France, ok, maybe because he was French had something to do with it, but as soon as the music began, I lost interest and couldn't follow the sound or the nuances of 5275 pipes playing and only found myself paying attention only at those last four chords played fortissimo possible e formata.  I don't think I hear it anymore.  Music, that is.  Ok, I'm lying a bit.  The Bach fugue was challenging and I enjoyed figuring it out.  I couldn't not hear the four last chords.  But everything else was a blur, even in the middle of a piece.  I've since come to the conclusion that had Skálmöld ("Lawlessness") played that organ, that heavy metal Viking band at Þjóðhátíð, the concert would've been evil.

I pickt up my luggage from storage, and grunted Barónsstigur Fimm ("5") to the taxi driver.  No please necessary, it's what I require, do it.  I used takk and já and nei a lot, but never please.  It took some time getting used to not saying please.  Note, I've given no translation.  There isn't one.   There's no please in Icelandic.  No please pass the salt, just pass the salt or you reach over the table and get it yourself.  No comment.  (I've reviewed every post on this blog and removed the word wherever I found it.)  Except to now wonder, whenever I used takk, did the Icelander know immediately I was a tourist?  I heard Icelanders use the word, but maybe only to or in the presence of tourists.  For them, maybe it's also an unnecessary word and invented just for us.  They say takk all the time, but don't mean it anymore than when a Brit says I'm sorry, but...  Of course, they must have a phrase for thanks for nothing.  

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Tíu Dropar Café

Since I did have nice city clothes and shoes, I dresst up for my last evening out and on Laugarvegur I discovered Tíu Dropar, its windows level with the sidewalk, and you step down into the kaffihús slash bar. I thought it a wine bar at first, had it been I'd've found another bar, but I saw the beer bottles.  It's not particularly crowded but will be.  Only one word to describe the bartender, Icelandic, long ash-blonde and wearing a blond fedora:  cool.  I askt about the Borgar brugghúss's bjórum lined up and numbered on a shelf, and ordered a Snorri Íslenska öl, Nr. 10, an Icelandic ale.  I sit at a bar along side the street side, and enjoying looking up at the passing crowds enjoying looking down into the bar.  (It's a thing I've just noticed: I'm in my favorite café this afternoon writing this blog entry, just a few weeks after my visit; my café has a lots of natural light and serves both coffee and beer, and I've just brought back to my table an Iowa Pale Ale....)

At some point, the piped music was shut off, and there was live piano.  Cool. He played covers of familiar tunes and could do so with ease and the flourish of jazz.

After about an hour maybe, I askt the tender if the pianist took requests.  Yes, he did gladly.  So I sat down next to him, and askt if he wouldn't play Your Song by Elton John.  He was excited to, it was a favorite of his, and he'd play it next.  It's a favorite of mine, obviously, and as I sit here writing this, I ask myself why.  It's depressing is the only thing that comes to mind.

Well, he does play Your Song, takk, and I was secretly pleased that of his hour's playing, only one song elicited an applause of clapping.  Your Song.  And it was me that pickt the song!  I've never ever had an audience clap for a song that I was the person who requested the song to be played.  ME!  They were all clapping happily and appreciatively for his playing a song that I askt him to play.  That's just never happened to me before.

I didn't know how I was going to spend my one 1000 krónur note.  (The beers I had were always more than 1000 krónur.  Sigh.)  The entire trip was paid by a new card with the chip, and I only had cash before to pay for the tattoo ("20,000 krónur, in cash") and cash for the beer at Þjóðhátíð ("they'll serve the beer faster").

The piano player sat down with me, and I askt if I couldn't buy him a beer, but a perk of playing there was free beer.  He had a zillion times more talent than I.  Even though I'd studied near 12 years, I never could just sit down and play anything I'd ever heard.  I know I have no ear.  I don't remember anything else about the conversation, but was glad he gave me a few minutes, before he left to mingle with others there.

So what to do with a 1000 krónur note?  On the bar were two tip cups, one for "Better weather" and the other for "Cheaper beer".  I put it into the only cup that the note should go.

I didn't linger past 1 am, I'd had three beers but didn't feel pissed, and was in no hurry, as luggage was packt and I was ready to go, but not really ready to leave.    

Your Song

It's a little bit funny this feeling inside

I'm not one of those who can easily hide

I don't have much money but boy if I did

I'd buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no

Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show

I know it's not much but it's the best I can do

My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind
 that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss

Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross

But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song

It's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do

You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind
 that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world

I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind
 that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world