We had a handful of hours before our flight left for Toronto. The Reykjavic agenda: The Perlan, Harpa and cheese.
We stopped at the Perlan first as it was furthest from town. The sisters shared a few bites from the buffet. I scanned mildly rude tourist items in the gift shop before we took obligatory cityscape shots.
We moved deeper into the city, stopping at Harpa. Like fishscales, it glittered in the sun. We had it entirely to ourselves.
A quick walk away was Burid: The Pantry– famous for its cheese. Except it had moved. So we went on a Reykjavic adventure:
We hustled down the sidewalk with time on the meter, gaining the odd catcall from a construction worker here and there. After circling the area for 20 minutes, we finally popped into what was supposed to be the cheese shop- a comic book store. The clerk, a tall and goofy Weird Al Yankovic, graciously offered us print outs of maps, adding that it had moved last year and guidebooks are often quite wrong. Sending us out with our new address, we skirted the harbor before tasting all the local soft, salty, bleu-like cheeses from a petite blonde man with soft features. Splitting the bill, we sat, one lump in each papered lap, spearing chunks as teenagers passed us by with peculiar stares. The seagulls cried overhead as they darted through the harbor. Tiny boats were tied and untied as they bobbed near their posts.