Keflavik Airport is easily the most attractive and efficient hub I've ever traveled through. Upon arrival, the passengers from our flight filed into an orderly queue and patiently waited their turn at the passport control. Naturally, I will avoid lines at all cost, so we used the time to simply lounge around and snack, figuring once the wait thins out we'll go up. Before long however, a security guy showed up and headed straight for us. I braced myself but instead of berating us for not following the crowd he welcomed us to Iceland, wished us bon appetit, and suggested that if we'd like to head on upstairs the line should be very short now. Translated into CPD speak "Whachudoin' down here?! Shoo."
Sometime later, while waiting for the (super) shuttle to Reykjavik I popped into a 7-11'ish type joint and armed myself with a baked pecany something. Turns out: crack m'fing cocaine! I am hooked on these things and I don't even know what they're called. Sometime later Creech found me another one downtown Reykjavik and I inhaled it in seconds. No idea what's in it but it's the most heavenly combination of cinnamon, nuts, and flaky pastry coat with some sort of delicious filling. Yummmm.
So yeah, the Downtown Hostel is nicer than most hotels I've stayed at. We've got a private room with our own bathroom and the view of the harbor. Complete with goose down blankies and a parquet floors. Hostel, really?!
The peeps here seem really chill. Most are surprisingly our age, from all over the world. All together we're enjoying the global economic downturn in unison.
Anyway, tomorrow's agenda includes a museum of photography, the wicked-cool looking church, and the seaside fleamarket. And of course in the undying words of Andrew-fucking-Bird: "there will be snacks!"
P.S. It is now just past midnight. This is how dark it gets.
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