I’m not so into the cold. Really. It took a little convincing for me to go on vacation to somewhere not warm. But I had seen enough Sigur Ros videos to know that the beauty would make up for having to pack a coat.
We rolled into Reykjavik in the middle of the night. Neither of our flights fed us substantially, so I was pretty hungry and decided that the best option would be to buy a packaged sandwich at the bus station because I was afraid that everything would be closed. Not so. Tall blondes were spilling out of bars right and left, and stumbling into convenience store hot dog joints. Turns out, hot dogs are the drunk food of Iceland.
But the weird, gross bus station sandwich had satiated my hunger, and we moved onto a new problem before us: the small dilemma of not being able to find our apartment. After a good 45 minutes of walking up and down the same stretch of street and asking the more sober-looking amongst us if they recognized the address, I was almost convinced we were scammed and stranded in the street at 2 a.m. in Reykjavik with herds of drunk Norsepeople.
After realizing that our street changed names right in the middle, we soon found our building and were greeted by warmth, whites, oranges, and fluffy textiles. I still sometimes fantasize about that duvet and those pillows. It was the coziest, and I am forever an AirBnB evangelist. When we go back to Reykjavik, we will be staying here. How could we not, with this friendly face to greet us?
I realized that I somehow neglected to take photos of the beautiful room we stayed in. Here’s one from its AirBnB page. It was really the coziest. In the afternoons, the sun would shine through that great big window and warm the whole room. Some days, we’d take a break and come back for a little siesta in the Icelandic sun.