Not Freezing to Death (Reykjavik)

Reykjavik: 20 November 2012
(This post was originally written on the day in question, hence the tenses.)

I must preface this by saying that I don't think I've loved my accordion more than I do tonight.  There's nothing like getting "the boss" out of a jam (although I think Wee Red is the boss).

It was my final day in Rekjavik, and the first thing on the agenda was to buy my mother an Icelandic hand-knitted sweater.  But my card was declined.  I texted my brother to look up my bank balance, and it was not quite the number I was hoping for.  I know it's personal and stuff to talk about money, but since spending all one's money on travel isn't really a shock, I'll reveal the sum: $4.63.  Insert swear of choice.  I had been traveling quite frugally, but I got back into tourist mode in Iceland, paying for accommodation for a change, paying for tours, etc.  The plan had been to buy a bunch of gifts, pay for one more night at the hostel in a dorm, pay extra on top of my airport bus ticket to get to the Blue Lagoon spa before my flight the next day, and pay the hefty admission fee there.

With $4, I could beg someone at the hostel to let me use their computer to post an SOS on CouchSurfing and try to find a place to sleep, skip the gifts, skip the Blue Lagoon, and just hang out in Reykjavik until it was time to take my pre-purchased bus to the airport.  I thought hard about how to obtain funds immediately.  The solution dawned on me far later than it should have: go busk, you half-lighthouse!*  (*The Icelandic word for "half-lighthouse" means "idiot.")  I didn't know for sure if I would make money, since there were not a lot of people milling about.  It was also incredibly cold and windy.

I asked some Italians in the hostel to translate the instructions on my foot-warmers that I bought in Germany, put on my extra leggings and socks, and headed out.  At this point my trolley was functional only because of a slab of wood attached to the remains with duct tape and gorilla glue, so it was a sight.  One of Flaca's pulley/eyelets had snapped off as well, so a paperclip glued onto the box had to suffice for this day.

"Town" was indeed desolate.  Reykjavik is tiny, and adorable, with two main shopping streets that lead "downtown."  I found my ideal location at the intersection of those two streets, but the ground was steeply slanted which would not work for Flaca.  I considered just playing, sans puppet, but decided I needed my full artillery for such a situation.  Also, this was the grand finale of the trip, so I wanted her to participate.  My eyes settled on this strange thing, like a big metal box.  I suppose it functions as a bench in the warmer seasons, but it would be a perfect stage due to its levelness.  And the height would attract extra attention, and people would be able to see Flaca.  It was across the street from a Viking-themed gift shop that had its door open, but I thought I would try my luck.  I set up, catching the falling pieces and borrowing duct tape from the trolley to try to make everything last until I got home.  I reluctantly shed my bulky coat, and stuck the foot-warmers on the back of my hands.

What ensued was the best outing of the trip.  People were not actually as scarce as I had expected, and they certainly did tip.  Locals, tourists, young and old, men and women.  Some naughty-looking hooligans who shouldn't be interested in accordions nor puppets lingered, watched, and tipped.  A highly-fashionable, made-up, artificial blonde in heels with a sour facial expression (my smallest demographic of tippers), even dropped me something.  There were bundled up toddlers, old ladies with either fur hats or furry hair, obvious American baby boomers for whom I played "Paint it Black."  And....

1. One girl about my age stopped during "The Final Countdown."  She had blue and green hair, many piercings, and wore an eclectic outfit.  She came forward to tip, said "Sorry, I don't have anything smaller," and handed me a 5.000ISK bill.  What does she mean by"sorry?"  That's about £25.  Definitely the biggest tip I've gotten in a while.  She introduced herself as Sina or something, short for Sinøgåbjork.  She came back later, and I played my newest song, "Stayin' Alive," which no one had recognized thus far.  "I love the Bee Gees!" she proclaimed through applause after.  I asked if she had any requests, and she said Marvin Gaye.  Sorry!  Bill Withers?  Ain't No Sunshine?  Excellent, that's a song I know very well through singing it a capella for four years.  I attempted it, but bombed.  Another older man was listening at that point, so I bailed and struck up something I know.  Sina or whatever bade me farewell.  What a kind and generous person!

2.  The old man asked, "You're begging for money?"  "I'm playing for it, trying to earn it."  We discussed my home location, intentions, and temperature.  He seemed to accept the act well enough.

3.  A mother and daughter (12?) from Colorado stopped by.  They are super nice, and we talked about my travels and stuff.  They tipped, and the daughter said, "Good luck not freezing to death!"  I'll need it!

4. These two little girls walked by, seemingly on their own  One reached into her box and deposited a little pink candy.  Delicious!

5.  The Italians from my hostel came by, including one with an inexplicable eye patch.  I played Funiculi Funicula for them, but they didn't seem to notice.  They did, however, invite me to have pasta with them in the hostel later that night.  That made me look really cool in front of the other passersby.

6.  Two college-aged girls stopped by, and one said "I wish I had more" as she dropped coins in.  Nonsense!  Later, they came back and handed me a hot drink.  So nice!  But probably coffee, right?  No!  Hot chocolate!  Cue heart swelling.

7.  A girl about my age asked where I was staying, then said she was going to invite me over for a cup of tea or something to eat  how nice!  Turns out she's Baha'i, and lives with a bunch of Baha'is.  She emphasized that they are creative people and would like me.  She gave me her number and said to call her any time if I needed anything at all.  Iris.  So nice.

8.  Some older Icelandic women walked by and asked, "Kåld?" or something.  I looked puzzled, so someone translated: "Cold?"  Ah!  I thought of something semi-clever that I hadn't used before: "I'm okay, but Flaca's cold.  She's got bare legs!"  They liked it.

9.  A young British guy walked by a couple times, and used his fancy old-fashioned camera to take photos.  In his last passing he expressed his surprise that I was still out, and offered to give me his gloves.  He actually wasn't the first to make such an offer.  I had gloves, but I was juuust warm enough to not want them.

10.  An American man asked how long I'd be out, saying he had to return to his hotel room for money but he wanted to help me out.  I had been about to pack up, but I said "Maybe 20 minutes."  he was not back in that time and I wanted to pack up.  Oh well.  But as I was closing down, I heard a voice, "I said I'd be back!"  There he was!  Gave me a US fiver.  Score.

11.  Two ladies working nearby came outside a few times to smoke, and they danced along.

12.  An old man walked by while I had a bit of a crowd, and he loudly and enthusiastically clapped along to Funiculi Funicula.  Like, rhythmically.  It was awesome.  So I skipped the fermata at the end.

13.  One baby watched from its pram, then was taken out  I mentioned something about dancing, and started the Beer Barrel Polka, which is very hard with frozen fingers!  The kid didn't dance, so I started to bob a little while playing.  Another man watching got the hint and started bobbing too, btu the kid wasn't keen.  Ah, well.

14.  People in cars rolled down windows, acknowledge me, etc.  One guy on a bike tipped in transit.

I was cold, but it wasn't the coldest I'd ever been.  The wind was significantly less than what it had been for the bulk of my visit to Iceland, and my new act keeps me much more active than my old act.  For these reasons, I was okay in 2.5 sweaters and no gloves.  It was a good reminder of what I have coming.

Anyway, I was walking on air as I stiffly and coldly retreated back to the hostel.  The kindness, concern, and generosity of the Icelandic people had truly moved me.  I had hoped to earn the equivalent of €20, to pay for the hostel, and expected to freeze and get moved on.  Instead, I received a five-digit sum (in ISK, that is) and all the aforementioned goodies and incidents of kindness AND no one gave me any trouble.  I felt the strongest surge of love and gratitude to my accordion.  I truly felt like this one was her doing.  I loved the people of Iceland, of Scandinavia, of Europe, of Earth.  Mostly, I loved busking.  I was just so proud to be a busker, an identity that is often rocky.  Mostly, I was filthy rich!  What a wonderful way to end my Big Europe Adventure.  I could now go home, after paying for my hostel in coins, of course.  Catch you next time, Europe.