There’s some definitely extremely NSFW content here involving an uncharacteristically large number of dick pics. At least twenty.
To avoid the naughty bits appearing at the top of someone’s internet feed, I’m going to complain first.
After last night’s Food and Drink Walk, I ran back to the hotel to dispose of some beer I no longer needed and change into extra warm clothes for another tour that would take us out to see the Northern Lights. It was serendipitous that I’d scheduled this specific day because we were between storms and it was going to be cold and clear, with no interference from the moon, and a Kp index of 4. Although we were successful at seeing aurora, I would not recommend doing this in a tour group.
- I booked through Wake Up Reykjavik, but the actual operator is “Reykjavik Outventures,” which was only obvious in retrospect because the confirmation prefix is different from WUR’s normal ones. This was a problem because …
- The pickup site, at one of Reykjavik’s bus stops, was a complete clusterfuck as at least a dozen different tour operators and vans were trying to properly fill from hundreds of people milling around trying to determine if <whatever bus that just pulled up> was theirs. Not having the company name made it challenging.
- Although 19 is considered “a small tour,” it’s still unwieldy as people are constantly getting in and out of the van (causing the light to go on), or someone drives by and bye bye night vision.
What I’d do instead is just drive northwest of Reykjavik and find a road that was dark where I could pull off. Karl, of Time Warp Iceland, you were right.
I got back early in the morning and discovered my lodging was having some plumbing backflow issues that made the whole front room unbearable without the windows open. While I was okay with the cold, the Friday (now Saturday A.M.) revelers in downtown Reykjavik were still pretty rowdy. Didn’t really sleep well with either. When I first got up, I called the management asking them to send someone to look at it and their guy immediately said, “yeah, we need to get you another room.” tl;dr: all good now.
So for something completely different, I went to the Icelandic Phallological Museum which is exactly what it sounds like. Penises, penises and more penises from mice to house cats to whales, giraffes, and people. Somehow I ended up near a couple of late 50s/early 60s British women who offered constant amusing commentary on everything they saw. “I wouldn’t put that in my mouth” and “Oy, 14 inches would do some damage.” It’s hard trying not to laugh.
In addition to real penises on display (such as the Sperm Whale above), they also have people. Today I learned that Jimi Hendrix inadvertently became involved in having a plaster cast made of his because the person who was supposed to do it was having mechanical problems. There are occasionally displays of people who have bequeathed their penis to the museum, where it either appears on display in a jar, or as a plaster cast. Sometimes there are groups of them:
There is an attempt to categorize them among groups of species. For example, there’s a whole section of ungulates. There are also other species humans commonly interact with like the common housecat:
And adding some levity are some phallic office furniture, foreskin lights, penis thermometers, and penis-o-clock.
After touring the rounds, I realized I hadn’t had breakfast because I was dealing with the room stuff. Yes, the museum has a cafe! And I ended up with a pair of penis waffles with apples, maple and pecans, whipped cream, and a coffee:
Since the building is underground, cell phone coverage was poor. Fortunately the museum has wifi.
For my next odd place, I noticed there’s a Iclandic Punk Rock “museum” located, naturally, underground, with loud punk music playing while it’s open. This is a bizarre museum, and I’m saying that after spending the morning looking at penises. Entrance fee is 1500 ISK (about US$11), paid to a younger kid who really doesn’t want you interrupting them.
Inside are three toilets that have been punked up with narrative (in Icelandic and English) of different musicians on the Icelandic scene. There’s a super crowded room of where they’d probably play if live performances were there. And after that, an egress.
Because I don’t have a lot of context or familiarity with punk rock (beyond the soundtrack of Repo Man), especially specifically to here, there wasn’t a lot of context to keep me glued to reading everything on the walls. I skimmed.
For the rest of the day, I picked up geocaches in the area and tried to figure out how to work the washer-dryer in one unit in the apartment.
