Right, so I’m really behind. Also, I had a really funny thing written out before, and then my internet was an asshole and deleted it for me. So now my fingers are lazy and I will attempt to recap everything in one post. My goal is to spend the summer with a pitcher of tequila spiked lemonade and my laptop, so maybe I’ll become a real bloggy blogger for a few months. Or something.
Named for what it does to your feet. The beaches are rocky, to say the least, and the bottoms of my feet look like a latticed cherry pie. They slice you open. I left a pair of The German’s sandals in the form of a biohazard, and I’ve immortalized myself on a rock somewhere with a nice, rust colored footprint. Also, Croatia is cheap. Cheaper than we ever realized. I think our hostel owner was in a permanent state of that 30 minute period between drunk and hungover. We found Brits on Tour, and spent most of our time with them at the beach eating pizza and quoting Dane Cook. Most people got tan, I turned into frecklemania. And got tan. Cliff jumping happened. Life was good.
Mistake number one in life: going from Southeastern Europe to Sweden. HOLY EXPENSIVE. Life was good. Partied at the Patricia, this conversation ensued.
Peter: Darling, let’s go dancing.
Me: No, we can’t yet, it’s not dark out.
Oh, it was 12:30 AM. The sun hadn’t set yet. Or more accurately, the sun was setting and rising at the SAME TIME. HOW???
It turns out that Sweden was a good stepping point, because the sun in Iceland literally never set. Like, it was still bright and sunny out at 11:30 PM. Also, Icelandic sounds a bit like a cat purring, sunscreen is a must, and I highly do NOT recommend having dried fish when hungover.
In other news:
I am back home, finally! I have been showering three times daily, I get sweaty from sitting still, and I have been sustaining myself largely on salads and cold beers. Also, The German is in town and I am happy to report that he has been charging through red lights like a champion. He might not be allowed back in the country.