Creamy Roasted Red Bell Pepper Soup / Iceland With Gary Glorious Part 3

 After the fateful bus trip in which, I very kindly let the Glorious one survive, we got back to enjoying Iceland. I did continue my morning routine of pastries and coffee with Gary - you try getting Robin up on vacation. It’s about as easy as trying get a toddler to be reasonable. I guess I could be seen as Benedict Arnold but y’all, when I tell you these pastries are worth hearing a uptight man bitch and moan while wearing overly snug pants. I mean it. That is how good they are. How come that never came up in my research? Iceland: where the smell of pastries wafts through the air. Every calorie you burn from walking the city is replaced by 4 as soon as you walk  by the flaky buttery products on every corner. I love Robin but I also love chocolate croissants and they are easier to find than her.

It became a strange game of mornings with Gary and nights out with Robin ( at the Irish pub of course). Slowly but surely I grew tired of placating Gary. I could feel my ability to keep my mouth shut quickly fading so I reverted to my usual mode - lone traveler. I usually travel well because I go off on my own. Robin likes to sleep in and take her time and I like to explore by myself as much as possible. Ole Gary had also made the fatal mistake of confusing my placating with actual concern for his feelings. I just wanted him to shut up so I could visit the punk rock museum located at the bottom of a  suspicious stairwell ( it is worth it, go see it). I knew Gary and I were not meant to be when he said he had to get his signature Icelandic scent. I thought he meant like foraging for volcanic ash or  something moderately interesting. No, just a perfume that smells like all the other overpriced perfumes. 

I managed to find daytime adventures and nighttime antics. How do I even start with the nighttime ridiculousness?  Just know if you put Louisiana girls with Irish and Scottish guys, things are bound to go awry sooner or later. Those Irish boys can get you in trouble even when they aren’t trying. Most nights were spent at The Drunk Rabbit. It felt exactly how you would expect a pub to feel. Other than that, drinks cost more on average in Iceland and the drunk offshore divers made me wonder for a second if I had left Louisiana. It was one of my favorite spots. We did leave once to visit a bar around the corner. “The Smokin Puffin” ( yes you are noticing a theme with these names). Big explorers this group. A whole walk around the block. All was fine till out of nowhere a bald gangly apish man came barreling through and grabs Robins friend Rick by the neck and slams him to the ground. One minute Rick was talking to us calmly and the next this man had him in a chokehold and punching him over and over. It was obviously personal by the way he used force that was not warranted. Of course my instant reaction is to jump up and head toward the ruckus but luckily my New Orleans bartender instincts came alive and I knew this will only end one way and I started grabbing me and the other ladies’ belongings while patiently waiting for what will soon be our forced exit. All was going the way of a normal bar extraction (in case you haven’t guessed, in my younger days I had quite a knack for being not so politely removed from drinking establishments). Since this bouncer was a Polish prick who was taking excessive force to an new level it is no surprise that Rick’s friends started to yell at him to just stop and let him be. Then this dude did something I will never forget. He leaned over and directly at Robin yells, “ Shut up you Black Monkey!” When I heard that I could feel my blood start to boil and those tears that only rage could bring swell up in my eyes. What is sad is the calm one was Robin. Through my anger It made me think. What has happened in her life that this was let go so fast as if it was “another day another fucking racist asshat”. Since physical violence isn’t the answer this is what I will do. Do Not Go to “THE SMOKIN PUFFIN!” The owner was told of this incident. He was told that a man was attacked because of something he had done years before, physically assaulted and removed from his establishment without one word or warning, and lets not forget the racial slurs he yelled at a woman that done absolutely nothing to him and was leaving without a fight. Nothing was done and no apology given. So I repeat - always pick a drunk rabbit over a smoking puffin. 

I mean, The Drunk Rabbit looked the other way when I walked in the bar looking like I had a murdered rabbit in my purse. See, as you will soon learn, when I travel I make it a mission to do it as cheapest as I possibly can. If any of you haters or lovers wonder how I can raise three kids, work multiple jobs  and travel, one of my tricks is massive budgeting. I have to admit, I am smuggler. I was trained by the best. My Tante would smuggle whole popcorn balls into the movies for multiple kids. The balls were bigger than our heads, she had one of those “Mary Poppins Purses” that seemed to produce a never ending supply of homemade treats. I have one of those families that had no problem smuggling food in or out of locations. I know I am not the only one who had a full dinner with a drink when we went to the movies. As mentioned before the drinks in Iceland are pretty expensive compared to good ole Louisiana prices. My cheapness goes to such lengths that at one point I had bought a drink for a very absent minded Irish man and he kept leaving his pint. I just a assumed he had forgotten about it. He was drinking that awful Belgian White style beer. I am sorry but I cannot get myself to like this stuff. Me, with my half a pint of lager and his half a pint of awful, I made an executive decision to combine the two and hopefully water down the awful enough that I could drink it. I would be damned if I was throwing away $12.00 worth of beer. What am I ? The Queen of England? As I slowly sip away at my nasty concoction, not enjoying it in the least bit, I notice the quiet one in the group, Frank watching me. “ Yes?” “ I ask him. In his much more attractive Scottish accent he asks, “Did you just mix those?” . “ Yes, I am not throwing away perfectly good beer and I am ready to go home?” He snickers and says, “It is only $12.00.” “Look sir, I don’t live in Iceland so I don’t make Icelandic money. I live in the South and where we come from if you buy $24.00 of shitty beer you drink $24.00 of shitty beer, there is no quitting when it comes to finishing a drink.” He seemed confused but slightly amused by the insane Cajun lady grimacing every time she took a sip of her shit lager. Well, it seems I got off track telling you how I cheap I can be by telling you how cheap I can be. Back to my murder purse. 

Before I left I had done my research and knew things cost more there. As always I packed snacks and mini boxes of wine in my bag. Doing the math I knew bringing one of my mini boxes would save me almost $40.00 a night. Feeling like a genius I open my tiny Bota Box and take a few sips for the walk and gingerly place it in my literal vintage carpet bag. Excited by my skills as a smuggler and money saver I decide to take the nice walk to the pub. As I get there I find my new friends and head to their table. The bartender comes over to clear the glasses and looks at me, looks down and looks at me again then points his eyes downward. I look down and there on my shiny white Addidas are red splashes. It looked like some sort of close up  in a 90’s rap murder mystery. Knowing that Gary was still alive, I knew that there had to be  another explanation. I look behind me and sure enough there is a trail of red liquid behind me - through the door and out onto the sidewalk ( and as I learned later the entire distance from my Air BnB to the bar). I reach into my now purse/pool for whinos and moisture starts to creep up my fingers. I head to the restroom. Damage control time.  As if the drizzle of offensive liquid following me wasn’t enough my dumb ass proceeds to dump my whole purse in the sink. So now I have actually created a life like murder scene. Red liquid splashed all over the walls, the sink looks like a human heart is resting in it ( otherwise known as my receipt filled wallet,) its all over  the floor and of course me. I look in the mirror and all of sudden I know how I would look like as a serial killer. Not that bad really. The grumpy, judgey resting face seems to work in this situation. After millions of useless paper towels, dozens of knocks on the bathroom door and some contortion skills I manage to clean me, my purse and the bathroom up. No one was the wiser. Well except for anybody who decided to see where that musty wine smell was coming from and the bartender. 

Wino Purse

Wino Purse

*Gary was still around but because he was not so glorious he isn’t in this episode much. These were the fun and exciting parts and we all know now how he feels about that. These were the times he chose to sit at the AirBnB and think of all the things to complain about the next day.

Creamy Roasted Red Bell Pepper Soup (1)
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