Sleeping Around by Brian Thacker

Author:Brian Thacker [Thacker, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: TRV000000
ISBN: 9781741762389
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2008-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

I awoke at eleven-thirty with a volcanic hangover. There was one good thing about the biting arctic cold. It’s amazing how quickly you can forget your hangover when your face has gone completely numb. Anna had already left and Smári was still in bed, so I went for a bracing stroll into town. It was my last day in Iceland and I still hadn’t been to the imposing snow-white Hallgrimskirkja Cathedral, which soars above Reykjavík like a Gothic cathedral crossed with a futuristic rocket ship.

I caught the elevator up (I don’t think I could have faced the steps) to the top where, from behind the hands of the tower clock, you could look out over the cluster of marzipan-coloured buildings below and at the hinterland beyond—a threatening landscape, featuring icy mountains and a hungry sea that, if anything, looked higher than the land it was lapping against. I was enjoying this peaceful vista when . . . ‘DONG! DONG! DONG!’

The church bells began clanging right next to my still somewhat sozzled head. I screamed ‘The bells, the bells!’ then, clutching my ears in pain, hastily stumbled down the stairs. I spent most of the afternoon on a hangover-induced aimless stroll around town where I’d do things like walk into a souvenir shop, pick up a troll magnet, stare at it for five minutes, then walk out.

Smári had planned a puffin dinner party, but the puffins missed their flight. He was going to roast us up some puffins—and yes I’m talking about those cute little diving birds with rainbow-striped beaks—while Alli was going to make his special puffin sauce. Smári’s brother-in-law had tried to send a couple of fresh puffins over from Vestmannaeyjar (the Westman Islands), a small group of islands off the south coast, but he missed the post.

‘That’s okay,’ I said to Smári. ‘I’ll take you out for dinner instead.’

I had taken all of my other couch-surfing hosts I’d stayed with out for a meal as a thank you. It’s just that I was worried a restaurant here might break the bank.

We headed into town and strolled up and down the streets checking out menus in restaurant windows, but there wasn’t a single main course less than 55 dollars. We finally settled on Þrír Frakkar because they served puffin.

The restaurant was small and cosy with a couple of cute-looking stuffed puffins perched on the bar and National Geographic posters of whales on the wall. They also served up the not-quite-politically-correct minke whale steaks. Other local specialties on the menu included fried fish chins and Cuban-spiced reindeer. What they didn’t have, though, according to Smári, were other local delicacies like sour ram’s testicles, burned sheep’s head, lamb’s colon and rancid shark meat.

Smári then did his very best to turn me off my food by describing these delectable-sounding treats. Hrutspungar, or sour ram’s testicles, is exactly that. The ram’s testicles are pickled then pressed either into a kind of pâté or turned into a jam (perfect for your toast in the morning).

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