A night out in Blonduos
At midnight they arrive. You never know it´s midnight here which is made obvious by the fact that me and Chris the Cannuck are on our way out the door to play frisbee and watch the sunset.
Two girls get out of the car and introduce themselves. I´ve given up on Icelandic names already and tap people on the shoulder if I want to talk to them.
“You want to go to Blonduos for a party?” You´re damn right I do.
We drive an hour skulling beers and possibly vodka through Iceland´s rocky, sunny scenery and arrive at this so called party. It´s more like a shitty band in a high school gymnasium and costs 3,000kronur to get in. That´s $50! I´m not paying $50 to get into anything. Chris goes in ands scouts out the sneak in possibilities. Through a stroke of luck we all happened to have taken the bouncers rafting the previous week.
“Can you let me and some friends in?” asks Chris.
“How many?”
“Like…eight?”
“No problem!”
The girls who drove us are pissed because they just forked out the 3,000kr.
The band was such complete crap that if I had paid to get in I think I might have murdered the lead singer in my drunken rage. This is pretty much how the rest of the night went:
I´m okay, I´m okay.
Tags: Eurasia: Marco Polo-in' it, Iceland
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