Tales of Monobrows and Hitler

Soooo me and the sister were just casually chilling in Café Babalú   ( for those of you who don't know, it's Reykjavík's epic bright orange veggie café full of Fred Flinstone-themed awesomeness ) when a WALKING MONO-BROW just dandered right on in, complete with her dodgy-fringe daughter. I kid you not, it was like a living creature on this woman's face, a giant black caterpillar ChaCha-ing across her forehead. Zomg and no-one bothered to tell poor old Monobrow that a patent red fur-coat and gold sunglasses COULDN'T DISGUISE THE INSANE FURRY CREATURE LIVING ON HER FACE. It was bizarre.

Reykjavík looking pretty
 in the DAYLIGHT

So, when our pesto-panninis were finished ( I pretty much unhinged my jaw and swallowed, thanks to good old 'hangover-hunger' ), we decided to leave Monobrow to her skinny latté and dodgy-fringe daughter, when guess who ambled in? None other than a Hitler look-alike who was, wait for it, MONOBROW'S HUSBAND. It was the weirdest thing ever -- how did these two people BREED?! Hitler man had these little shark eyes and crisp suit and weirdly neat spirally-scarf ( not sure what was going on there ) and he was all starey and clinical. He actually reminded me of the freaky sado - dude from 'Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'. It was SO traumatic, especially when you still have a belly full of free Opal shots ( weird Icelandic alcohol that tastes like cough syrup ) and Aldi's basic vodka ( thanks, mum, for a taste of Britain ), the last thing we wanted to see was Hitler and Monny getting all cozy.

So we decided, to run away very quickly and purchase epic ice-cream dipped in melted chocolate, which is then rolled in crushed Smarties *just before* it solidifies. It is special ice-cream made in the old-fashioned way ( called 'gamli ísinn' ) which I think ( and Icelanders, please correct me if I am wrong? ) is made out of milk. Icelanders have a weird obsession with their ice cream ( it IS incredibly nommy ) and will be queuing outside the door of their local Ísbúðin ( ice cream shop ) at all hours. So Emily and I joined the ranks ( I wanted her to taste a little bit of Iceland, and make up for the awful Monobrow incident ) and nommed to our hearts content. Of course, the giant rat that greeted us on the stairs to my apartment negated any of the ice-cream goodness coursing through our veins. Trying to throw a shoe at a giant rat is surprisingly difficult. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that our little rodent friend was actually a projection of Monobrow's giant face-monster, like a dæmon sent forward to mock us tauntingly with its beady eyes spaghetti tail. Emily's rather wistful comment: ' all we need is a big man with strong boots to come and stomp on it ', funnily enough transpired when, lo and behold, a  random Icelandic dude with big boots and leather gloves came dandering around the corner, and squished the rat in his magnificent-sized hands.

It was all very traumatic.

I'm not quite sure what my sister made of her Icelandic experience, but I hope she plucks her eyebrows and eats more Ice-cream when she gets back home to England.

'well helloooo'
Emily (my sister) relaxing after various Icelandic
adventures

Stay tuned for more Reykjavík adventures!