After being accused of looking like a terrorist by an Icelandair desk agent, I have no choice but to purchase a second full priced ticket to Iceland.  Felix, KY, Charlie and Sexy get on the Wednesday flight, I’ll spend the night in Boston and meet them in Reykjavik on Thursday.  I call Desire in Chicago, he breaks into my apartment, gets my passport and overnight’s it to me in Boston.

Shockingly, my passport arrives on time and I catch the Thursday flight.  I meet the boys in our hotel, which is a small bed and breakfast run my an old Icelandic couple.  We browse their book collection and find out they are actual WWII Nazi supporters!  These people couldn’t be more bizarre, however, not in a fun way where you might pry for comedy.  More so in a way of, “If you ask me anything I am going to slit your throat while you sleep.”  If Hostel had come out before this trip, I would have had a shit fit.

A special “thank you” to the Lonely Planet writers for their tongue in cheek review of this place.

We decide to head to the  crown jewel of Iceland, the Blue Lagoon.  The Blue Lagoon is a geothermal spa, heated by the nearby volcanic lava fields.

As we are making plans to get there, Felix says something about “Let’s go back to the hotel and get our bathing suits.”  Bathing suits?  Who brings a bathing suit to Iceland in February?  Apparently everyone except Chip.  The two things no one reminded me to bring #1. Passport #2. Bathing suit.  They’ve got to sell bathing suits at this spa, I’ll just buy one when I get there.

When we get to this place the sales guy is behind a thick glass window, like a ticket seller in movie theater. I ask:
“Do you sell bathing suits?”
“No, but we have suits for rent.”
“Rent? A bathing suit? Really? How much?”
“100 Kroner.” (About $10)

I slide the money through and this guy slides back through what I can most closely compare to a bar napkin.  It is easily the smallest Speedo I have ever seen.  I decide screw it, what else am I going to do and head into the spa.

When we get to the locker room, everyone has their own changing room, a small 4’x4′ closet with a full length mirror.  I pull the Speedo on and just stare at myself in the mirror for about thirty seconds.

“Can I seriously walk out  in this thing? ……………….. Well……. When in Rome I guess?”

I swing open the changing room door and Felix is there to capture the moment.

At this time in my life I did not have the long Speedo background that I have today.  I was not aware of the unwritten rules of wearing one of these wonderful suits.  Apparently you are to arrange yourself East/West and NOT North/South.

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