Up till a month ago, mentioning Iceland would make me think of two things only. First, about this avant-garde Artiste who is so eager to show she has conserved her inner child by acting, singing and looking like Baby Jane on speed, i.e., Bjeurk. Secondly, about an anecdote a French girl (who, curiously enough, looked a bit like Bjeurk) once told me about Iceland. She had lived there, and according to her, on friday and saturday night´s out, all the girls wear skirts and no knickers. This, according to her, is their way to pick up boys (in northern european countries, girls pick up boys and not the other way around) by, at the appropriate time, showing their private parts to the guy (or girl, possibly) of choice. Truth be told, none of the other people I have known that have visited Iceland has ever confirmed this odd example of Icelandic folklore.
But now, there are volcanoes.
Continue reading “I’m the bleeding volcano”