So as for the riding... Friday was great. Ran all around Reykjavik and saw a whole bunch of museums and sights.
Decided that I needed to treat myself to some American food and had a wicked good Pizza at a little place run by either swarthy Icelanders or pale Syrians. I could not tell. They spoke English and said "My Man" a lot. I think they learned English from Miami Vice. But it was an awesome pizza! New York style... right out of Famous Ray's of the Village. Perfectly done. Hand tossed. With a Coke... it was comfort food!
Then the fun began....
First, did I mention my hotel, the Egilsborg Guesthouse, was a s&%$hole? It was. Looked great on Hotels.com, where they can make the pictures of Birkenau look like Club Med? Well, that's what these folks did. I am sure that if you are a Lebanese backpacker or a Lithuanian crackhead, this is the Aspen Ritz. But it was a craphole. Shrill and bitchy little woman at the entrance. "Oh, you are early. That will cost extra...." As I stand there hypothermic and shivering from my ride over the mountains. "Towels are extra. Shower on third floor are broken. Use second floor shower." It went on from there. I still have to find out if she double-charged me... as I thought I pre-paid online. But that's TBD.
My room turned out to be next door to some kind of slavic tweaker and his Goth girlfriend. For 36 hours straight, they babbled... except for going outside for either a case of Red Bull... or to smoke Meth. Judging by the smell in the place the next morning.... it wasn't Red Bull. Not a wink of sleep. Taka takka taka taka... never quit. Talked to the owner the next morning... his excuse "We get all kinds of people. Some are not good. Nothing I can do. They are leaving today. " Well, they left... after fighting with the owner... at 2. Owner told them to get out at 10. They stayed in their room tweaking and talking.... until mid-afternoon.
Saturday, they day of their departure, was also a raging gale outside. 50 MPH winds, horizontal rain and sleet. No riding. No chance of going out. Road into the capital closed. I holed up in my room, got sleep (after 2) and later ventured out to find a great dinner and good Bordeaux at a local 'food court' for lack of a better term. Seven or 8 small restaurant stands under a single roof with a common seating area. Amazing food.
Sunday, I went out to go to a Bike Bar/restaurant in the city. The weather had cleared. And... some shitwad had come into the parking lot of the Egilsborg Guesthouse (did I mention it's a sh%$hole???) and stolen the tent off my bike. 20+ countries. Hundreds of parking lots. Urban areas. Campgrounds. Ferries, storage units, museum parking, downtowns... and noone ever touched so much as a thing. Someone stole the tent off my bike. Talk to the owner again.... No, no cameras here (every inch of this city is cameras.) "There are a lot of bad people in this neighborhood. Probably Poles or Lithuanians. And the students, one street over. All drunk and drugs." Well, great. Thanks for the heads-up on the neightborhood that Egilsborg Guesthouse is in (note that I am making sure the name gets in here regularly."
"Ok," says I... "I need to have the police come up so I can do a report. Please phone them for me." '
Well now the song and dance begins... "No police on Sundays... they are closed. Police, there are very few. They have fired most of them. Police here don't do anything. You won't get them to come... No police on Sundays."
Riiiiigggggghhhhhttt... So, flip out the retirement badge and ID... and I am sure he isn't reading the word "Retired" clearly. And I say... "They'll come for me. On the phone, now, please." Which he does with all the enthusiasm of a guy who is about to walk the plank.
So I end up talking to what I assume is the Icelandic equivalent of the desk sergeant. He says he is a bit short, but would I mind coming down to the station. It's only 500 yards away. "Hell no, glad to, brother! Be right there. Will be nice to meet you guys!"
File my report... and, because I carry a pocket full of Thin Blue Line pins to hand out... made sure everyone had one. And they gave me patches and pins and goodies back. And we all talked and had a great time! One has family in Mississippi. Another in Boston and they are over in the U.S. a lot. They are an awesome bunch! Big, Happy Vikings who probably have +Vhlfbhert+ written on their Mondanocks and PR-24's. We talked a lot about the Egilsborg Guesthouse, too. And right now, if (probably) the only bright orange Harley-Davidson-branded tent with a built-in garage for parking your motorcycle under shows up anywhere on this wonderful little island... There are going to be some hard-core fun-loving Viking types on it like Thor on an anvil! I could care less if I get it back at this point. But anyone who will steal the gear off a bike... deserves what they get.
And, besides, the building and hotel codes in Iceland are enforced by... guess who? The Iceland Police! Those awesome, and funloving Viking desendants.
BTW, their motto is awesome
First, the word police is Logregla (there is an Umlat over the O... making them that much tougher!) It is m = Ordade up of two words. Log = Law. Regla = Order. Their motto is Meo Logum Skal Land Byggja, which is a quote from the Saga's. It's from a passage that states "A country shall be built on law, but ruined when no law rules." Words after my own heart!
Anyway, that little side trip prevented the trip to the Bike Cave... and I ended up back at the same restaurant as the night before. Awesome food.
Just because, through the miracle of Google, the Egilsborg Guesthouse will no doubt show up here when people inquire about it (and I will be posting reviews far and wide...) Here are some pictures! BTW, they are listed as a 3.5 Star Hotel. They aren't even a 3.5 Star Dumpster!
The hotel is the white building in the middle of this ghetto, with the burned out neon sign and the additional graffiti on the wall. They are also a car-rental agency. I would not pass one of their 'cars' for inspection. Low bald tires, broken lights. Pathetic all around. BTW, in front is a 3.5 Star dumpster. Better than my room.
The third floor bathroom. Apparently, they are all about fixing that shower. Because it's full of banana boxes. And the pipes have not been touched in years.
The doors to three adjacent rooms. Under the rafters. The walls are a layer of particle board veneer. Fire exits? None. One fire extinguisher at the top of the stairs. Can't get out the windows. And no way down, short of dropping 2 floors.
The 'window... shared with the next room. Foam rubber stuffed between the walls. The 'opening' part is wide enough for an anorexic Somali to squeeze out and drop onto pavement. That's probably their usual clientele at the Egilsborg Guesthouse.
The electrical system in my 'private/premium' room at the Egilsborg Guesthouse. That, of course being Scandinavia, is 220. The carpet is about as thick as a McDonalds napkin. And stained. They don't want any food in rooms. I assume because they don't want people to spill on the carpets and improve them.
And in case you wonder what a premium private room 'really' looks like... it looks like this.
So anyway... I got the hell out of there... minus one tent and more Kroner than I can count. And a night's sleep. And I probably got pants-rabbits from the mattress.
But I have a keyboard and time. And new friends who do hotel inspections. And, of course, if any of you fine lads want to have fun posting reviews.... I am sure some of you have stayed there, world travellers that you all are.
Then it's off to the last stage of the trip... More on that shortly.
Cheers,
Sirhr