LH Franz Today we planned a bus tour to Snæfellsnes Peninsula. After yesterday’s embarrassing splat at Thingvellir I was leery about spending several hours walking around rough and tumble pathways through the national park. Ticket cancellations needed to be made up to 24 hours before the trip to get a refund. We had missed that deadline. So we talked. I didn’t want to go, and I made it clear I didn’t want Daughter to feel bad about losing the money we’d spent for my ticket. Daughter made it clear she didn’t want it to seem as though she was insulting me by implying I would not be able to keep up on the trip. I assured her I was not insulted. She assured me she didn’t feel bad about the unused ticket. We reached the logical conclusion that she should go on this trip while I stayed in town. She left early in the morning to catch the tour bus.
My first task was to take a small load to a laundry service nearby. I had tried to wash my clothes in the bathroom sink, but ran into problems. The clothes didn’t dry overnight as I thought they would. In order for my plan to work, I needed them to air dry in a day. I also was spending more time than I wanted scrubbing and rinsing. It wasn’t fun, and the clothes weren’t coming out as clean as I wanted. (Note to self: Be more mindful of the kind of fabric used for travel clothes. Make sure it can dry quickly.) So I decided to take two day’s worth of clothing to a laundry service and pick it up the next morning.
The Google Map app guided me through my walk to the Úðafoss Laundry Service. Clothes dropped off, I let Google guide me to my next destination using public transportation. This was the Reykjavik Maritime Museum. The app brought me to the bus stop, told me how many stops I had to go, alerted me when my stop was coming up, and walked me from the bus stop the museum entrance. It was all so magical, compared to carrying a paper city map, constantly consulting it and stopping to check street names, often asking for confirmation from human beings walking by. Now I can do it all on my own with only a little smartphone to keep me company. Is that better or worse?
The maritime museum is all about education. Indeed, there was a group of nine or ten year olds on a class trip while I was visiting. Exhibits are in both Icelandic and English. And audio for all the educational films give the option of listening in Icelandic or English. There is lots of hands-on stuff as well as traditional display-and-read types of exhibits.
When you first enter the museum after the admission desk, you walk through a hallway leading to the main exhibit, the wall covered with pictures of life-sized fish. A spiral stairway leads to the exhibit hall, wrapping around a clear plastic column in which are suspended models of various fish. So… Yeah. Fish.
Interactive stations are everywhere. For some reason, I was particularly taken by one that displays a pageful of different fish. If you tap on one, the display brings up a larger picture of that fish with a detailed story about it. There was a video game where you control a fish avatar. I tried my hand at it, but failed miserably. I’m sure one of the ten year olds would have figured it out right away.
There were lots of displays about boating technology, from primitive to modern, including one showing all the parts of a large sailing vessel which l figured would be useful next time I read Moby Dick.
Lunch was a yummy falafel-on-toast with a glass of chardoway at The Coocoo’s Nest across the street from the museum. Then it was back to the hotel for a bio-break and a walk over to see some art at the Culture House, part of the National Gallery of Iceland.
The lady at the admissions desk said the best way to visit was to start on the top floor, and work your way down.
Now, before describing artworks that caught my eye here, I must apologize ahead of time for neglecting to note the names of the artists, except Svavar Guðnason who painted “Song of Iceland, ” featured in the first post about my Icelandic visit. I thoroughly enjoyed everything I saw, and regret not being able to credit the artists here.
Top floors were devoted to traditional oil paintings and sculpture. Most of these depict harbor scenes and natural features.
I liked the room full of pictures of cakes and tarts and what looked like yummy chocolate mousse pie.
In another room, a bit of whimsy, a tureen with what looks like flowers sticking out from under the lid, but upon closer inspection, are really forks wound in thread, the spools of thread dangling from the tines of the forks out over the edge of the tureen. 
While Betsy was on her way back, I dined at an Italian restaurant around the corner. It was pretty good! (Which is a compliment coming from a New Jerseyan who has at least five decent Italian restaurants within ten minutes of home.) I decided to bring Betsy there the next day. The waitress told me the place has been there for decades. Her mother was a waitress there, and now she is too. When I told her I might return the next day, she noticed I had come early for dinner and therefore had no problem being seated. It would be more crowded if I arrived at a normal dinner time and it would be best if I made a reservation, which I did.
Betsy returned to the apartment happy and tired and had a lot to say about the trip. She describes it all in the next post.
