Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.06.2009, Blaðsíða 12

Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.06.2009, Blaðsíða 12
12 The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 8 — 2009 Welcome to Iceland, folks! Did you enjoy some tasty Skyr and watch FRIENDS re-runs on the plane? God, that Joey’s a funny cat. Anyway, you must be gagging for a drink by now. Thus, we have dedicated this space to explaining the ins, outs and upside downs of the madness that is purchasing alcoholic beverages in Iceland. First off, the cheapest booze can be found at Keflavík’s spacious duty free wonderland. Expect a six-pack of Víking for the modest sum of 1.079 ISK and a big bottle of the hard stuff from 2–3.000 ISK. Note that, according to Icelandic law, you are allowed to bring in the following combinations: 1 bottle of booze + 2 six- packs OR 2 bottles of wine + 2 six-packs OR 4 bottles of wine. Use it wisely, and use it all. It’s all down hill from there. The Vínbúð According to PSN Communications, 62% of Icelanders are still opposed to selling hard alcohol in grocery stories. Who are these people? Trolls? Of course, there is the argument that easy availability will increase health problems and serious crimes. Naturally the powers that be are more concerned with statistics as opposed to having a blast. With that in mind, Iceland’s sole vendor of alcohol is the state run Vínbúðin (indeed, “the wine shop”), boasting forty-five locations, conveniently dotted around the whole of Iceland for your drinking pleasure. Each Vínbúð is aesthetically magnificent and spacious, resembling a certain Scandinavian design warehouse. It makes a change from the typically grimy establishments you find in, say, the UK. Apart from its elegance, they seem incredibly interested in making your purchasing experience as painful and inconvenient as possible. Planning ahead Always be sure to plan your boozing in a timely fashion, as most Vínbúð are only open from 11:00 to 18:00 Mondays through Thursdays and Saturdays, 11:00 to 19:00 on Friday and it is completely shut on a Sunday. Stores located at Skeifan and Skútuvogur are open until 20:00 on weekdays. A complete list and opening hours is available at www. vinbudin.is Vínbúð’s lack of in store coolers at Austurstræti mean that on a blistering summer’s day (sometimes it happens) your beer will be warmer than your arm pits. Apparently this is a remnant of city officials’ unsuccessful attempts to cut down on street drinking. We'll let you judge the results. Extremely high taxes on alcohol provide a knock on effect to the in-store prices. Did you know that these tax rates are not relevant to the price but more to the percentage of alcohol content? Well now you know kids. This also means that fine wine is often less expensive here than in neighbouring countries. The prices, the prices. Oh my Thor. For those of you adventurous types, chug some Brennivín after sampling some putrefied shark meat. Also known as ‘Black Death’, Brennivín is the country’s signature alcoholic beverage, made from fermented potato pulp and f lavoured with caraway seeds. At 2.715 ISK per 500 ml, it makes for one hell of a night! If you’re after something slightly stronger, guzzle down some Reyka, stating to be the first green vodka to be bottled in Iceland. Using glacial water and distilled using clean sustainable energy from geothermal heat, it claims to be one of the cleanest vodkas in the world. 4.560 ISK for a surprisingly spicy taste with undertones of warm citrus, apparently. It gets you fucked up, anyway. Beer sold in convenience stores is known as Pilsner or light beer. Sporting a low, low 2.25% alcohol level, it is strictly for those of you who don’t fancy getting drunk. You’re surely out there. Strong beer, like all booze, can be found at Vínbúð with a varied selection of mainly European brands. Popular Icelandic beers, Víking, Egils and Thule are found sold in single cans, six-packs or ten- packs. Single cans are normally priced at around 230 ISK and a ten-pack averages for 2.100 ISK. Keep in mind... Just a few suggestions, tips and a heads- up. The drinking age in Iceland is pegged at twenty. So if you’re 18 and expect to get sozzled, then you’re fucked over here – unless you can find some character of ill repute to do your shopping. Mind you, that’s illegal. Planning a mad one? Always buy alcohol early before you go out. It works out way cheaper and no one goes out before midnight anyway, giving you plenty of liver debauchery time. Sometimes certain hotels won’t allow you to leave the premises with beer in hand however. That’s just the way it goes. -JONATHAN BAkER ESq. Now, Miklabraut is a an eight lane thoroughfare cloven in twain by a wide divider adorned with a six foot grid iron fence, hence going the wrong way is either a feat of insanity or the by-product of a British driver’s license. Under the oppressive dome of a starless deep winter’s night, I am suddenly reminded why head lights and break lights differ in colour, as the yellow beams emanating from the S.U.V ahead of me rapidly increase their intensity to the tune of our combined 200 kph. Terror strikes for a fleeting fearful second but before instinct kicks in the accidental game of chicken is cut short when the nut-job, or perhaps limey, turns an on-ramp into an off-ramp and a particular hazard to merely a general one. On an early late spring morning speeding down Sæbraut there’s some inordinate swerving going down just ahead. There’s no overtaking to be done as the perpetrator defiles both lanes equally in between brief, intermittent forays up the curb and onto the adjacent lawn. His pace is however a meandering one and as I finally spot an opening and poach a passing, a caved in hood alerts me to the probability that his may not simply be a drunken excursion but a full-blown Odyssey of inebriation. And the goddamn hits keep coming. Along the off-ramp leading to Pizza Hut Sprengisandur, a teenaged three piece collectively crawls out of an upturned hatchback and proceeds in a wailing stumble towards a presumably dead windscreen ejectee. Along Kalkofnsvegur there is a hairpin turn shielded by a railing and culminating in a stoplight. Between the railing and the stoplight lies a mediocre burger joint in the shape of a teardrop. Presumably the railing serves the dual purpose of protecting pedestrians from careening traffic and careening traffic from the concrete wedge constituting the business end of the teardrop. Turns out the sheer 80 kph (as per police estimates) momentum of stray vehicles bent on wanton collateral damage is far greater then the halting force of safety measures secured by a handful of approx. 20 kg concrete slabs grounded in a mere foot of gravel. Your average household concrete wall will however effectively truncate anything less than a semi truck within the shadow of a heartbeat. The result is a convergence of the three pronged forces of 112 (or 911, where applicable); paramedics, Morphine laced syringe in one hand and defibrillating pads in the other, 5-0 securing the premises and firemen wielding the jaws-of-life. For a perhaps anticlimactic finale, there is the aesthetically pleasing spectacle at the surprisingly accident prone intersection of Sundlaugarvegur and Kringlumýrarbraut, laid out like a piece of performance art frozen in time at its apex: a traffic light pole is bent at 33 degree angle (in my experience, for the umpteenth time) and for the time being directs traffic in the skies; a grey Subaru Legacy reclines, engine stubbornly idling, against the cater corner traffic light post, nursing a left headlight bashed so far down the engine block the incessant idling puzzles one to wonder as to how an engine ever needs work done. The piecé de resistance, however, is a red Yaris somehow supporting the tail end of a sedan barely teetering on its front wheels, positioned in such a way that the Yaris’ driver, stumped for entertainment during emergency response time, needs only gaze out his windscreen in order to fully appreciate the Volkswagen’s undercarriage design. There being no one hurt despite the vast vehicular carnage, not taking into account the bitter post scriptum, I am leaving you on a high note. All in all, this is the kinda shit that makes me curb the road rage at the raving idiots begging for a rapidly horn honking spell of tailgating for the comparative misdemeanour of respecting the speed limit while in the left hand lane, or the joint idiot venture of keeping perpendicular pace on a double wide stretch so as to continuously clog a whole fucking artery of infrastructure. -“TRAVIS BICkLE” Grapevine’s taxi driver | Accidents have happened Tales from the Cab Side Nightlife | Alcohol prices in Iceland ain't no joke Fancy a Beer? Your guide to buying alcohol in Iceland

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