I spent the morning writing up journal entries. At 10 am I went out and went east on Laugavegur, and reached the Icelandic Penis Museum (Hið Íslenzka Reðasafn). The entry was 1250 kr, or 8 euros.
On the way to the penis museum though, I found another pun plate. It was covered with a spray paint, but fortunately, I had a ballpoint pen, so I graffitized the graffiti in order to rereadablize (make it readable again) the pun plate.
What is written on the plate:
Hvað er í grænmetisskúffunni hans Bjúgnakrækis? Bulsur.
What does Sausage Swiper keep in his crisper drawer? Bulsur (Sausage with no meat).
Translation of the Icelandic part:
What is in the vegetable drawer (a drawer in fridge for storing vegetables) of Bjúgnakrækir? Bulsur.
Bjúgnakrækir is a Yule Lad who steals sausages. Bulsur is an Icelandic vegetarian/vegan sausage.
Back to the penis museum.
It was slightly underwhelming, actually. It had about 200 penises and some bizarre artworks full of phallic symbols. My favorite is a French official’s stick made from bovine penis. I almost fell asleep in the book room (which has a phone with a receiver in the shape of a human penis) because I was so tired after walking so much the previous day.
Then I walked west to buy the two books in the national museum bookstore that I had chosen yesterday.
On the way to the bookstore, I saw burning red candles on the street outside of some shop doors, probably a Yule tradition. I also sneaked in a travel agency and ate their free cookies.
the freeness made the cookies tastier
Fun fact: in Icelandic, “kaka” both means “cookie” and “cake”.
After buying the books, it was almost 3 pm, and it’s getting dark. I went across the Tjörn again, to the Raðhús because I needed to use the little filly’s room. As I walked across the north shore of Tjörn, I realized that the ground was covered with green bird poop. Unsurprising, really, since all the birds were playing there during the day. I guess someone must be in charge of cleaning that part at night, since that ground was clean every morning.
As I was exiting the Raðhús I realized that I had lost my left glove. Despite vigorous searching, I could not find it. That loss cast a shadow over my heart, and thus I went to a bakery called The Cake Company (Köku Kompaníið) and engaged in compensation eating — I bought a klenät, the Icelandic donut. It cost 220 kr… and tasted exactly like American fried donut. It seriously is just diamond-shaped fried donut.
I also bought a cube of Icelandic rye bread (Rúgbrauð). It tasted exactly like German rye bread (pumpernickel), which I had eaten plenty in America.
I was planning to buy a chunk of Icelandic Yule cake (Jólakaka) too, but then I read the nutrition label and realized it was literally made of 1/3 sugar and 1/4 oil. I guess it’s ok, compared to a bag of fried onion I found in the supermarket… that has 55 grams of fat in every 100 grams.
How does “lol” translate into Icelandic? ¿h0w ð0e5 1ce1and¡c 13375p33k w0rk anyway?