Nov 4th. Tuesday - þriðjudag

Homeward Bound:  But first, Penis Museum

OK, so normally, a departure day would have minimal drama or worthwhile sights, but this was not to be normal.

Some of the famous Icelandic horses whose breed is protected. This is a glam shot in Iceland.

They like their sweets. All of them unpronounceable. The favorite is a fried kind of, well, poop-shaped dough that comes plain or chocolate covered.

Thanks to the suggestion of a friend of a friend (and not the car rental guy) we found our way through Rekjavik to the Phallological Museum which is devoted entirely to the male members of the male members of the animal kingdom.  OK, first of all you’d think this has to be kind of creepy, but you’d be wrong.  First rate penis museum!  Better than the one they had down by the Moulin Rouge which I don’t even think was a museum, just an unfortunate decision to use the bathroom. 

A real live curiosity shop.

But, this is comprehensive in the seriousness of the subject, the displays of both real and mythical penises as well as the fact that this was also very funny.  The personal project of “our founder and original curator, Sigurður Hjartarson” who has amassed and curated quite the collection.  Prepare to be intimidated by the whales and reassured by the arctic fox. 

Not sure where Orlando Bloom goes.

The humans are well represented and their plaster cast members well hung, or at least well displayed. We spent a solid hour or more wandering the displays, which includes jars of all sizes containing a variety of sizes and shapes sure to make Mom blush and the kids to giggle.  They’ll even let you wander around with a glass of wine.

From Notre Dame to 'Nother Dong, it's been quite the journey.

After adding to our souvenir purchases there, we wandered to a passably good pizza place and suddenly realized we were going to be a little later to the airport than we thought.  Also, we had checked the prepaid gas option on the rental car so of course I wanted to see just how close to empty I could return the car.  I had noticed we had 66 km left in the tank and exactly 49 to go to the drop off.

After an hour of tension, driving through the wilds of Iceland between Rekjavik and Keflavik, refill icon flashing in a panic, I swung the Mitsubishi four wheeler into the parking lot and handed over the keys. We got our money's worth, though lost several years of life in anxiety.

We’re used to the kind of ad hoc loading that goes on at KEF and we got in — checked baggage, got some reimbursement for taxes paid during shopping (some kind of tax money deal that we never understood) — and loaded up for a flight to Nashville.  A two hour layover there set us up at Ole Red, a Blake Shelton theme restaurant with an actual live country music guitar singer named Johnny Cochran (not the Black attorney, a white guy with a name that only a Boomer could wonder at), where we spent our tax refund on tips for some decent grub and songery.

Now, we are home.  The baggage took an extra day and some phone calls to locate and reclaim (apparently we were supposed to collect our bags in Nashville and recheck them but no one ever told us) (and yes, we had Airtags in both which was a huge help once we realized that we were supposed to pick up and recheck the bags in Nashville but no one told us so we didn't and whatever) and we found a happy, happy dog sitting in the dark where it is always good to be home.

See you all on the next adventure.