I'd promised myself some Icelandic cinema before I left, and on the way I detoured along the coastline to catch my last glimpse of some of the sculptures that line the seashore east of the harbour. The wind direction today meant that the smell of the ocean assaulted the nostrils in waves, something that always takes me back to childhood holidays at the beach. Old men were perched on the rocks by the sun-craft getting in some late-afternoon Sunday fishing, and the whip and whistle of their lines filled the air (along with the smell of their buckets full of bloody and gasping mackerel - if only murder wasn't so gosh darn tasty.) Sunday evenings mean happy hour at the cinema, so I headed into the screening of the Year 2000 classic 101 Reykjavik with two bottles of beer in hand and very few expectations of Icelandic cinema in mind. And I was not to be disappointed, as the film itself is fantastic. Touching and hilarious - sort of like a cross between Submarine and Bridget Jones's Diary with an Icelandic thirty-something protagonist and an enormously 90s vibe. I was very pleasantly surprised, and the best part was that the film takes place across all the churches, streets and bars that I've explored in this city, which makes one want to clap at the screen with delight and feel simultaneously very smug. I'm fairly sure that some of the nuns that appear in a church scene are the very same whose prayers I interrupted on my first day.
Sarah and I headed to a noodle place on the hill for delicious chop suey with a view of the Hallgrímskirkja bathed in evening light. We couldn't resist our now-favourite ice-cream shop on the way back to the hostel, so packed for the evening that we had to take ticket numbers and wait to be served. I've now sampled kiwi, white chocolate and bubblegum, but green apple has to be the fave.