Blue Lagoon Edition – Chicago Tribune
So one of the things you are supposed to do while in Iceland is drive about an hour south of Reykjavik to a natural hot spring called the Blue Lagoon. An enterprising Icelandic has built a geothermal spa around this natural bathwater pool and artfully charges tourists double the price in summer (around $ 44) for admission. Although we scrimped as much as we could – we had a very public rock, paper, scissors competition to see who should eat the last hard-boiled egg – Trinetti, Bojo and I decided it was just something you what to do if you visit Iceland, tourist trap or not.
Now watch out: the way it works is for Blue Lagoon attendants to give you a wristband at the door with some sort of supercomputer inside. This bracelet allows you to open and close a locker of your choice and to buy drinks at the outdoor bar on the hot spring side. What it doesn’t let you do is mash Polar Bear beers in the bathroom stall, which is more of an invention of Steve Markley (and actually superior to a supercomputer), Polar Bear. being in a way the blue Pabst ribbon of Iceland. Once we passed the changing room signs requiring that we shower naked before entering the pool, we dipped our first toe into the Blue Lagoon. Here are a few things I observed:
1) The air temperature is not hot, while the water is bath water to really hot bath water. It fell right into my vector to be uncomfortably hot or cold depending on whether I was standing or wading up to my neck, so already I wasn’t getting the allure.
2) They have this bullshit thing called “silica mud mask”, which are these jars of semen colored mud that everyone is supposed to swim into and rub their face immediately without an FDA exam or even a checkup. basis for carcinogens. As I voiced these objections – “Icelanders are probably sitting laughing with each other about all kinds of crazy, sperm-like goops that they can make Americans put on their faces” – Trinetti was already putting on his silica mud mask in handfuls. .
“So refreshing,” he said, looking like a pale imitation of one of those African tribes on NatGeo.
“Oh yeah, what does it do?” I challenged.
“I don’t know, exfoliate or invigorate or something. Just put it on, Steve.”
So there we floated for the next ten minutes, just three cool American guys in their white faced silica mud masks.
3) After removing our mud masks via a waterfall, I had to remove a towel and go back upstairs to slam another polar bear beer (wouldn’t a better name be “polar beer”? ). The architects of the Blue Lagoon didn’t take into consideration how difficult it would be for Ohio kids on a budget to avoid paying for overpriced beer when they designed the place. I would prefer the Blue Lagoon to be more like the community pool in Mount Vernon, Ohio, where the kids stand right behind the nearest tree and then throw the foil into the bushes. God bless America.
4) We watched the lifegaurd – one of the only black guys we’ve seen in the country, with a physique like Adonis who got a little carried away with the abs workout (what? So I noticed, so what?) – pierce future rescuers by tying people to these orange stretchers and carrying them out of the water to bring them to safety. It became our entertainment for the next half hour, as we waited for the transport rides to return to the blonde intern. For some reason, however, there were some older people involved in this training as well, some of whom had fleshly sag dimensions that made them not only bad orange stretcher bearers, but also a little aesthetically disturbing in because of the way hot water acts on the skin. . Bojo seemed to like it, however, and couldn’t stand for the full half hour.
5) We tried the sauna despite my objections. If I wanted to have super uncomfortable heat, I would watch a chiseled black lifeguard pull falsely injured people out of the water like a normal person. Obviously saunas attract all kinds of sick, and by the time we sat down we were basically making room for a flirtatious contingent of 75-year-old German perverts flirting. Trinetti stayed for about an hour.
6) Back in the geothermal pool, I realized that hot springs were even worse than hot tubs. It was like we were moving through molasses, and Trin and I commented on how good it would be to fall asleep. Instead, this happened:
7) I had noticed that this young girl noticed me, who noticed me afterwards, but it was not a situation where I particularly wanted to make conversation, since I felt that the hot water had transformed my drunkard in a sort of native American stoning of the spirit. However, she was followed by older, balder, tattooed gentlemen, so I felt a certain obligation to allow her to escape by starting the conversation. She looked to be around 18.2 years old and had what looked like a tattoo or some very waterproof henna thing in the center of her forehead – a big dot surrounded by four small dots. I never asked any questions about it. What I asked was where she was from, which turned out to be Kansas City. Apparently this young lady was a Wiccan Girl Scout – and by that I mean she was a practicing Wiccan who also happened to be a Girl Scout, not that there is a separate branch of Girl Scouts that deals with the Wiccans. She was in Reykjavik on an ambassadorial mission for the Boy Scouts, but was more interested in fucking. Lest you think I’m exaggerating the audacity of this Wiccan Girl Scout’s conversational tactics, Trinetti and Bojo quickly appeared in the pool behind me, and I sort of crawled drunk on the berm that separated us, thinking i could just call my friends and escape, at which point the Wiccan Girl Scout just walked over to the side where she started telling us we were the sexiest guys in the pool and she and his troop of Girl Scout ambassadors had laughed at us before. Said troop then waded very opportunistically and waved to them and called them and explained to them that they were afraid of everyone. “We’re not like Girl Scouts,” she explained, what I can only assume was my obvious growing discomfort and almost hallucinatory buzz. “I mean, we are, but we’re older. I’m in nursing school.”
“A Wiccan Girl Scout nursing school,” I said. “Of course. Just like my last five girlfriends.”
8) Shortly after, we looked at our fingers, which looked like baked white raisins, and decided that the Blue Lagoon on a Wednesday afternoon was the equivalent of a Bingo night at a nursing home during the day. of your sexually precocious granddaughter. We went to shower naked with each other.
9) The Blue Lagoon fallout, just to warn you, includes your skin as if it’s covered in ash, finding silica mud mask flakes still clinging to earlobes and stray crevices on your face as you walk away. ask how many teenage employees at Blue Lagoon manage to masturbate in the concoction before it reaches the poolside, and if you drink even the moderate amount I drank, the feeling your soul has left your body and straddles six feet above you, looking down, shaking your head and mumbling darkly.
Oh, and I had my interview with the mayor of Reykjavik that morning. Guess I should have led with that.