The Vikings, Icelanders
“Don´t we get gloves?” The guy looks at me with bloodshot eyes and my eyes can´t help wandering to his tossled blond hair that looks like it was styled by the corner of a sofa. He reeks of beer.
“You don´t need gloves man, you´re a viking!” Oh right. He looks reassured but only for a moment. I stop short of saying “and you´re still drunk” but I know the alcohol isn´t going to keep him warm at all. It might make him puke once he hits the ice cold water though.
This is a trend here on the river. Despite the ridiculously high alcohol prices Icelanders still love to get wasted. And in turn we love to take them out into the glacial waters and waste them all over again. On this particular day we´re taking the 10-11 crew, as in 10am to 11pm, from the northern city of Akureyri. 10-11 is a supermarket and judging from the name all this drinking has made people a little lazy. The 7-11 thing doesn´t fly in a country known for its wicked hangovers.
The trip turns out to be a fiasco. Flips galore, lots of swimmers, and panic, panic, panic. One of the rather large ladies spent most of the trip screaming down the rapids like she was about to die. She actually was because I wanted to kill her.
When we get back to the bus she insists on hocking up a huge loogy that she swears came out of her lungs.
Generally Icelandic customers are awesome. I don´t mind the hangovers or canceled trips. They are energetic, gung-ho, hard paddling folks that can come in my boat anytime.
Tags: Eurasia: Marco Polo-in' it, Iceland
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