Deep Thoughts

So, Jen and I were sitting at a small table at Ölstofan, her with the usual Sauvignon Blanc and me with my shot of Jamo. We were pretty much brain dead after our Golden Circle Tour. Both of us idly picking at our radically unhealthy nachos.

An aside – we got the best nachos known to mankind at U Černého Vola (The Black Ox) in Prague, very near the castle. Seriously, they were UNbeatable. Ever since then, we try our luck. We order nachos in every country we go to and YES we have been, unsurprisingly, profoundly disappointed. The nachos at Ölstofan weren’t the worst but they def had some Velveeta-ish cheese action lurking under the veneer of cheddar and mozzarella.

While sitting and sipping, wondering why there aren’t acres of windmills harnessing that fierce, Donna-toppling wind out in the Icelandic countryside by Gullfoss and Þingvellir,  we engaged in our usual people watching (outside of NYC, I’m thinking Reykjavik is the best for us public voyeurs).

There was the tall 30-ish woman in even taller heels. She had Annie Lennox white hair in a ragged windblown pageboy. She was walking hand in hand with her young, presumably, son who sported the same hair color and style.  It was SO damn sweet!

There was the curvaceous yet rail thin young mother helping her toddler up and down the pub steps. I was starting to feel a toothache coming on.

The young man wearing gloriously colorful, intricately patterned knit leggings. Jen stopped me from going over to chat him up. After our tiring day, with her helping me walk in the gale force wind and then picking me up off the ground after my I’m-an-adult-now! independence attempts, she wasn’t up for the ‘terp dance (english to ASL) but I wanted to know where he got them!

All of the film crew out at the Strokkur Geysir were stunning. Even in their Michelin Man coats and heavy boots it was clear they’d all been blessed by Adonis and Aphrodite. Good thing they had that going for them as they were
the most obnoxious and officious bunch. Ares had def touched their little souls too.  Utterly full of themselves, the lot of them.

One of them barked (barked!!!) at Jen for ALMOST entering their shot (nothing was roped off and there were no signs). I wondered aloud, loudly I imagine *sniff*, if the crew understood that they weren’t Errol Morris or Ken Burns and this wasn’t New York. *sniff*

Jen and I had lapsed into a comfortable silence over our adult bevs. And then, and then out of nowhere Jen says to me:

‘You know Obama is our first black president?’
I replied, thinking ‘where the fuck she goin’ here ‘Yes Jen, this is true.’

Jen: So I think it’s time for a black pope.

Me: A black, female pope... pause... a black lesbian pope.

Jen: With one arm

Me: this could only be a positive for the church.

We paid our tab then and stumbled back to the warm, cozy charms of Room With a View, our Reykjavik home.