The day was grey but I forced myself around some of my guide book's recommended hot spots. The Alþingishúsið, Iceland's National Parliament, housed in a depressingly empty 19th century building as the government is on a summer break. The National Cathedral, by no means as impressive as the Hallgrímskirkja to the east but rather more cosy inside with its delicious blue light from a central stained glass window. The Tjörnin lake, filled with ducks and seagulls and looking more like Barnes pond under the depressing weather. I do love that every road you turn down in the old quarter is so close to the coast that waves and mountains peak out from behind the stream of cyclists and pedestrians. (If only it was a bit sunnier.)
I hung around outside the penis museum wondering whether I could stomach the extortionate entrance fee (and the contents), before deciding to wend a scenic route back to Kex for a coffee. I remarked on some new window dressings on the way, including a glass dog pooping, some ornamental brasswear, and a stuffed animal of unidentifiable and presumably disturbing provenance. A weirdly lifelike pair of ogres grace the main shopping street, and someone had charmingly draped a wreath of dandelions on the head of the female.