Let it snow let it snow let it snow

better late than never, my final few days in Iceland. I write this from a country with no snow, a bedroom with no fellow travellers packed in like sardines, a sky devoid of mystical green lights. It sucks!
I left us at Emma and Andre jumping in the sea. It was about 36 hours since I'd had to be rescued by a policeman after a bout of hypothermia, and I was still feeling cautious. Looking back, I kind of wish I'd done it, but at the time it was probably the smarter decision to have one dry person in case they'd needed looking after! The thermal lagoon at Nautholsvik was closed on a Sunday, if I'd had the option of that delightful, slightly sulphur-y bath afterwards I'd be writing a different story now!
That was the 11th, and was a day where not a great deal happened. Slightly exhausted from our ordeals, the three of us plus Eiden trampled wearily downtown to get a pizza in the early afternoon, and Andre departed for Denmark shortly afterwards. The 11th was probably my least notable day of the holiday really; no good wildlife, no drunken stories or anything! Still recovering from a hectic few days, I retired to bed at about midnight, having learnt a few handy drinking games from James. But (for once), retired no more than a bit merry.
James and I blew about 8500 kronor on a whale-watching trip on the 12th. I don't entirely know why; I knew it would be a waste of time, but I tried to convince myself we might see something like an Ivory Gull. In the event, no such luck, and we didn't see so much as a Porpoise or a Dolphin! The best sighting was 20+ Little Auks, and we could have saved a lot of time and about 50 quid by enjoying the one that could be seen in the Harbour, without even stepping on the boat! Also about today were a Merlin over Reyjkavik and a few Great Northern Divers in the Harbour. With a few hours before the off-licenses shut (they close at six here), we split the cost of some booze for the night, planning on staying in and enjoying some drinking games with everyone at the hostel. Budgeting, we found the cheapest thing going, a 40% bottle of Icelandic, Moss-flavoured Schnapps. I jest you not! Tastes truly dreadful going down the hatchet, though I forgot to ask James if its any better coming back up the other way. I can't see it being worse! Again however, my refrain would shock you all to the core. I got very lucky on the games, meaning I probably got the least drunk of everyone, although I do still remember buying a bottle of red wine as a gift, so I can't have been a model of sobriety. That's my final memory, the next thing I remember is waking up in bed at about 9. Slightly worried about this lapse, I checked with everyone and apparently I simply wandered back up to bed at about 1, failing  to embarrass myself in any substantial way, which disappointed me. I've barely ever suffered a "Hangover" style loss of memory, no matter how much I drunk, so I was hoping for a tiger in the room at the very least.
The 13th was my last full day in Iceland. With Rhys (Australian traveller of snowman building fame, see my second Iceland blog), and Johnny (from Toronto, all round nice guy who wear Iron Maiden vests in the snow and owns a Coyote pelt), I went to the Phallological museum. This quirky little institution, with only about three rooms, is one of the best spots in Reykjavik for the curious traveller, hosting quite possibly the most complete collection of Penises, and their related culture, in all of western civilisation. Ranging from the Blue Whale (a good few metres) to the Field Mouse (2mm at most), and with paraphernalia ranging from a film poster for "The Final Member", to a poem about a Walrus's penis. The latter was so good I had to relay it back to you!

Strange things have been done in the midnight sun

and the story books are full

But the strangest tale concerns the male,

magnificent Walrus bull!

I know it's rude, quite common and crude,

perhaps it is grossly unkind;

But from first glance at least, this bewhiskered beast

is as ugly from front as behind

Take a look once again, take a second look then,

you'll see he's not ugly or vile

There's a hint of a grin in that blubbery chin

an the eyes have a sly secret smile.

How can this be, this clandestine glee

That exudes from the Walrus like music.

He knows, there inside, 'neath blubber and hide

lies a splendid contraption- The Oosik! 

"Oosik" you say - and quite well you may

I'll explain if you keep it between us;

It's the simplest truth, though rather uncouth,

"Oosik" is in fact - his Penis!

Now the size alone, of this walrus bone

Would indeed arouse envious thinking -

It is also a fact, documented and backed,

there is never a softening or shrinking!

This then is why, the smile is so sly,

The Walrus is rightfully proud;

Though the climate is frigid, the Walrus is rigid,

pray, why is not man so endowed?

Added to this is a smile you might miss -

though the bull is entitled to bow -

The one to out-smile our bull by a mile

is a satisfied Walrus cow!

I don;t know who wrote this poem, I doubt they're british, but all the same I hope the government immediately offers them the position of Poet Laureate, for life. It was certainly a wonderful memory to be one of the last I'd take home from Iceland with me. If you're visiting Reykjavik, have a wry sense of humour and appreciate something a little bit alternative, this is one of the top places I can recommend visiting. 

A few new arrivals from Australia, France and America had arrived on the 13th, and being the friendly types, they came and joined us for what would be my last night of drinking in the hostel. I was required to get up at about 4.50am for the bus back to the airport, and James sensibly went to bed at about 11. A few more beers, shirtless snow angels and photos with a Coyote pelt later, and I realised it was 2am and everyone else was turning in! Time for goodbyes to the people I'd met on this wonderful holiday, and presumably cramming an hour or two's sleep in myself. Thankfully Johnny and Joey, one of the Americans, were still suffering from an American body clock and weren't ready to hit the hay yet, so they helped keep me awake, discussing Falconry and the Army (Joey was an Iraq veteran, and had some interesting stories), and showing me Canadian TV (which might be an important thing to have a grasp of in a few months time!). Then, before I knew it, it was 5am, James was up and, both too shattered to utter more than a few brief words, we hopped on a few buses, took a flight to the airport, and were back in Manchester Airport at 11am. I slept the majority of the journey, and of the National express coach that took me as far as Victoria, before catching a train to Seaford. And, like that, the adventure was over. Home by 11pm on the 14th, back at work on the 16th, normal life feels almost resumed by now, the 19th. 

It was a great trip in so many ways though. I always find travelling pushes me to do things I might not have known I was capable of otherwise. if you'd told me on January 4th that I was about to jump in the sea, survive a near-death experience, drink, dance and laugh with total strangers from almost every continent on earth, have snowball fights on frozen lakes and eat a rotten shark, I'd have thought you were mad. It started out for James and I as a birding trip, on which we'd planned to spend a few days socialising and experiencing Reykjavik's feted nightlife. However, while I'll remember some of the unforgettable birds we saw, for me the people ended up dominating the holiday far more, and became the much more memorable component. Travellers are a unique, unruly, dishevelled bunch, but I'm proud to finally say I feel like one of them. I think that first experience of "proper" travelling, living out of a backpack in a cramped dorm, and making friends with whoever happens to be around, it what I'll remember Iceland for the most when I'm old, grey and wistful. 

Thanks for reading, if indeed you have. If you scrolled all the way down to the bottom and missed out a whole chunk, you make me want to vomit. I'll be back with a "tips for Reykjavik" post when I get the chance (I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to Iceland yet!), and after that, who knows! The world is my Oozil...