October 2006

Saturday afternoon. Young AAH approaches her mother in the kitchen.

AAH: Can I sleep over at [boyfriends’] tonight?
YT: […?]
AAH: [hastily] His parents will be home. His mother wants to talk to you.
YT: So you mean … sleep in separate rooms?
AAH: [indignant] No…
YT: Sleep together?
AAH: Well, you know, not sleep together.
YT: But in the same bed.
AAH: Of course in the same bed!

Yes dear readers, such was the conversation that took place chez YT yesterday. The boyfriend, who is her age, has been in the picture since the summer, but they officially started going out at the beginning of September. She has never brought him home. Claims she would feel too embarrassed.

YT: Embarrassed? What do you think we’d do?
AAH: Give him the third degree.
YT: We would not!
AAH: Oh sure. I’ve seen how you are around [Barbie’s boyfriend].
YT: Oh, you mean making polite conversation around the dinner table and trying to make him feel welcome?
AAH: No! [exasperated] You don’t understand.

Needless to say, I did not give the green light for the 15-year old resident princess to sleep over at her boyfriend’s, in the same bed. I know they’re fooling around– I’m not naive – but giving her my blessing to start spending nights at his place at the age of 15? C’mon.

Bizarrely, my absolutely immovable position in this matter was met with the greatest indignation, cries of ‘why not??’, followed by an expression of the utmost disgust before she retired to her chamber and slammed the door.

By the time EPI and I returned from Halim Al yesterday evening [see previous post], Her Highness had vacated the area [leaving the front door unlocked, smooth] and without a word about where she’d gone.

Her curfew [12.30 am] came and went. At 12.40, YT got on the blower and called her cell.

YT: Where are you?
AAH: At [friends’].[Not boyfriends’, take note.]
YT: Ah. And when are you coming home?
AAH: I dunno. Whenever.
YT: Whenever.
AAH: Maybe around 2 or something.

[Deep intake of breath.]

YT: I want you home now.
AAH: No.
YT: What’s this all about?
AAH: Nothing.
YT: …. Because I won’t let you spend the night with your boyfriend.
AAH: I’m sick of you you’re such a bitch you never let me do anything you’re totally unfair!!
YT: So you’re not coming home then.
AAH: No!

We’ve been down this road enough times for me to know that it was time to back off at that point. However, after getting off the phone I did sit down and write a text message that went something like this:

Sorry ur feeling disinclined to follow rules around here. Will have to rethink permission for autumn trip.* Watch out for the rapists on the way home.** Good night.

Her Highness was home half an hour later.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE WEATHER STATION
It was a gorgeous day today, sunny and mild. That said, it was probably colder than it seemed, because at one point I almost slipped on black ice covering the path along the shore. Temps right now are 5°C and sunrise was at 08.57, sunset at 17.25.

* The autumn trip is a 24-hour hour excursion organized by the local community centre next weekend, that is wildly anticipated. Kids lined up an hour before tix went on sale last Friday because it was first-come first-served. Parents have to sign permissions for kids to go, to be handed in this week.

** There have been two very serious rapes in the last while here in Reykjavík – the first three weekends ago, the second last weekend. Both were very similar – two men dragging a young girl walking alone to a secluded spot and raping her. It’s likely that the two incidents are linked. There was also a third rape reported on the same night as the latter incident, involving a foreign woman who accepted a ride with a stranger. Our small community is very deeply shaken by these reports. And while AAH has a curfew of 12.30 on weekends, she is not to be outside after 10 pm and never alone.

Today was one of those days that managed to be action-packed and full of fun and completely free of stress. [Well, almost. There was one moment when we were just going out the door and were already very late and EPI’s cell phone rang and he tried to talk intensively on it with his shoulder to his ear while applying shoe polish to his shoes with a shoe brush and YT saw in an instant that all the little flakes of shoe polish were about to land all over the floor and said in a calm, measured, insistent voice: EPI DO NOT DO THAT. DO NOT DO THAT. DO NOT. DO THAT. – He was talking on the phone you see, and I had to be very insistent so that he would hear me and grasp my meaning.]

The day started with a workshop-slash-conference that went from 10 am to 3 pm and that I can’t tell you much about for various reasons.

Next we went to a 50th birthday party that one of EPI’s friends was throwing. EPI’s friend is an artist and was giving the party in his studio between 4 and 7. It started at 4 but we didn’t get there until 6.15 [hence the tense moment with the shoe polish, we were late] and by the time we got there it was dark and trés atmospheric – a low building at the back of an alley with candles lighting the way and lots of people inside having a great time. And everybody was in such a happy mood and so happy to chat [a rarity in Iceland] – possibly because the studio was not very big and had all these people packed inside so you were kind of forced just to talk to the person next to you. In other words, the best kind of party. Just like in college.

I don’t know EPI’s friend all that well [they went to school together] and so was a little surprised to discover that nonetheless there were loads of people there I knew, and some that I hadn’t seen or spoken to for years. People like:

* The film director who was one of the first people I interviewed when I started working as a journalist 12 years ago and who I had not talked to since…

* The architect I first met in Toronto over 20 years ago when I was slinging beer at the ratty old El Mocambo on Spadina and who at the time was studying at the U of T. He came in with a bunch of his friends and when they found out I was from Iceland they went into conniptions. We went on a couple of dates back then but nothing serious; then when I moved back to Iceland, having lost touch, we discovered we were neighbours…

* The graphic designer I worked with at Iceland Review 12 years ago and his wife the costume designer, who also belonged to our hiking group [they’ve sort of dropped out, I think]…

* The newspaper editor who is one of the few people in Iceland who has read my first novel and who believes in my book even more than I do; who keeps crossing my path and reminding me that it’s a great novel and that its time will come…

* The former Artistic Director of the National Theatre who is one of my father’s closest associates but who didn’t recognize me all grown up like this…

… And lots more.

Anyway, the party was soon over [on account of us getting there so late] so EPI and I walked back and no sooner were we home than we decided to go back out again to get some food at our favourite Thai place, but alas, on arriving there we found only a note on the door saying the staff was having its annual party [árshátíð] so they were closed for the weekend. No matter; our Plan B was to head to an Indian place that’s actually called Shalimar but that we always call ‘Halim Al’ [an inside joke that only resident Icelanders will get] – in fact we’d passed it half an hour earlier and said ‘Hey! We haven’t been there for ages we should go there sometime,’ but who would have believed we’d go there so soon?

[We used to go to Halim Al a lot when I worked at the British Embassy. That Embassy job was extremely cushy in a lot of ways, and one way in which it was cushy was that we had the Embassy driver at our disposal and among other things he could be sent out to get lunch for us each day. [Not to mention drive us wherever we wanted to go during work hours, so long as he wasn’t busy.] So every lunchtime there would be the regular brainstorming sessions about what to get for lunch; sometimes it was vegetarian, sometimes Thai, sometimes KFC, occasionally a greasy burger, and frequently Halim Al. And the driver, Óskar, would always go out and get us whatever we wanted. Because he was a sweetheart. And had this absolutely rare quality that some people have – he enjoyed serving people.]

So anyway, EPI and I go into Halim Al after searching for a parking space for ages and are remarking on how weird it is that we haven’t been there for a full three years and then I hear my name being called. And I turn around and who do I see? Óskar, the Embassy driver! Sitting there with his wife and the two of them just polishing off a bottle of red wine. Two of the most wonderful people in all of Iceland. This was followed by copious hugging and kissing and getting caught up and gossiping and we didn’t even think to order our food until much later and by that time we were practically passing out from lack of nourishment. But who cares because what are the chances? Three years since I quit the Embassy, three years since I was at Halim Al, and the day I venture back inside, who’s there but Óskar! And now I shall stop because it appears I have verbal diarrhoea. Which – it suddenly occurs to me – was one of the main reasons I stopped visiting Halim Al back then. There were a couple of times that it didn’t quite, er, agree with my constitution. Only there was no verbosity involved at that particular time. Ahem.

AS FOR THE WEATHER
It’s been quite lovely. This morning and early afternoon it was gentle and beautiful with the sun shining and just the slightest breeze. Mild, too. Late afternoon we had a sun shower, and since then it’s been generally damp but still very mild and calm. We walked all the way to the party and back [30 mins each way] and it was superrefreshing. Temps right now are 2°C and sunrise was at 08.57, sunset at 17.25.

I confess: I am really an html genius. Masquerading as a weathergirl.

Huzzah!!

AAH brought home the new Outkast, and now I cannot stop dancing to this.*

RAINY SLEETY WINDY LESS COLD
… Is the summary of today’s weather. It rained buckets all day long, except when it turned to sleet; it was windy but not as cold as yesterday. Right now 2°C; sunrise was at 08.51, sunset at 17.31. And now if you’ll excuse me….

*It’s even better when you hear the whole thing.

Remember my neighbours? The ones with the ferocious dog, the tattooed arms and the unholy shouting in the night? The ones from this post?

Curiously, just a few days after that post appeared, my neighbours … disappeared. That is to say, they no longer appeared to be residing in their flat. No screams in the night, no barking dog, no marathon party sessions. Mind you, there was still a light burning, which was actually a string of lights stuck into a vase and left in the living room [I could see it through a crack in the blind]. But for all intents and purposes, they were gone.

Well, the guy with the tattooed arms and the pugnacious attitude was gone. His girlfriend appeared approximately once a day with the dog. Typically she came driving up with another girl around her age, who also had a mean ferocious dog with her, in a small compact car. She’d arrive, slam the gate, go into the flat, and reappear a few minutes later. Then they’d drive off again.

From this we derived the assumption that the boyfriend had been busted. Or that he’d gone, er, collecting somewhere out in the country. Or that he’d gone abroad to pick up a delivery. Or any number of other scandalous scenarios. [Oh yes, our neighbours light up our dull lives with excitement galore!]

However, just as we’d relegated our tattooed friend to the dungeons of Litla-Hraun prison, suddenly one night he appeared. Or shoud I say, became audible. Shouting and cursing in the middle of the night, just like old times. Serenading us to sleep on the sweet wings of nostalgia. Yessirreebob.

But lo! The next day he was gone. And the routine resumed: the girlfriend turning up once a day with the dog, going in, then back out and away.

Then other people started appearing. Some girl arrived carrying bags [like gym bags, according to AAH] and went into the flat. Other people arrived and went into the flat, where they stayed for a time before leaving again. During those times there would sometimes be vague party sounds – nothing raucous. Then the flat would become deserted once more.

A few days ago, our tattooed friend showed up again. It was early evening and at one point our friend came out into the yard and hung around a bit, as if waiting for somebody. About half an hour later whoever he’d been waiting for arrived with a delivery of some sort, that they carried inside. That night, as before, there was some party action, but nothing major, and by morning all was quiet. Around 10 am two guys showed up, stoned out of their tree, and knocked on the door, calling someone’s name. When no one answered, they turned to leave, and as they did, one took a flying leap and hopped over the waist-high fence, his crotch escaping the sharp edge of the pickets by a couple of millimetres. Probably thought he could fly. Probably was unaware how close he came to losing his balls. Poor bastard.

Then a couple of evenings ago, it seemed as though they’d all been reuinited – the friend, the girlfriend, and assorted regulars, all except for the dog. Partying away, shouting throughout the night, awake until the early hours of the morning. Just as I was having breakfast around 9 am, a black Benz drove up, and a guy got out who had the same aggressive aura as our friend. He went through the gate and knocked on the door, and whoever was on the inside demanded to know who was there. About an hour later, they all got in the car and drove off.

Since then – nothing.

So what do you think? Meth factory? Hideout? Weapons trading? Trafficing in humans? Nuclear bomb construction? More to the point: D’you reckon I could get a job as a spy? Or write a thrilling suspense novel like Arnaldur Indriðason and make millions of Icelandic crowns? [We’ve certainly made up enough stories already to fill several novels]. Or write a screenplay and sell it to the BBC who could make a series out of it starring James Nesbitt?

Or do you think I should stop spying on my neighbours and get a life?

NEVER MIND – WHAT’S THE WEATHER LIKE?
Another cold day. Ventured out at noon to go to the bakery and post office and got seriously afflicted with frozen-thigh syndrome. Meanwhile, young AAH insists on wearing summer shoes with cut-out holes in them, barefoot, and no winter coat. Why she has not contacted pneumonia fifteen times over I cannot understand. Current temps 4°C, which doesn’t sound so bad, but we have windkill. Sunrise today was at 08.48 and sunset is due for 17.35.

My favourite cartoonist was at it again today in Blaðið. As regular readers may recall, Iceland recently signed a new defense agreement with the US and - literally - only two people in Iceland know what it’s about. [And no - that’s not the joke, although it’s pretty hilarious when you think about it. Or sad. Whichever.]

Here we have the Prime Minister and the Minister for Foreign Affairs - both of whom were in Washington to sign the agreement - gazing at the Donald Rumsfeld scarecrow with the PM saying: “I don’t think we should tell the lefties down in the parliament what the new defense agreement is all about, do you?”

Snort.

MEANWHILE, BREAKING NEWS….
mbl.is has a report of a report in the Danish Jyllands-Posten, which claims that 12 Japanese tourists have serious mental breakdowns annually as a result of the rudeness they encounter in Paris. Two of every three recover completely in due course, but one-third suffers from long-term mental illness as a result, or so claims Yousef Mahmoudia, a psychologist at the Hotel-Dieu hospital in Paris.

The report goes on to quote a Danish psychologist, one Herve Benhamou, who says, “Sensitive tourists can break down when their lofty ideas about a particular country are revealed as illusions.” He says that such cases are becoming increasingly frequent with added tourism and this has now been given the name “Paris syndrome”. Evidently Japanese tourists are especially at risk because they’re used to extreme politeness at home, and often receive a shock when confronted with the rudeness of other nations.

Which begs the question why the Iceland Tourist Board has not launched a campaign to warn Japanese tourists of the perils of Reykjavík nightlife on a weekend night. The way I see it it’s a fricking time bomb, particularly in view of Japan as an emerging market and all that. I can just see it: Laugavegur littered with Japanese tourists having mental breakdowns en masse every Friday and Saturday night. The Red Cross setting up emergency tents on Lækjartorg square. Rescue helicopters circling overhead. Trauma counselling clinics next to the toilets in Bankastræti Zero. A time bomb, I say!