Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.07.2013, Qupperneq 37

37
THE HOUSE AT EYRARBAKKI

Árnessýsla folk museum is located in Húsið, the House, historical home
of the Danish merchants built in 1765.
Húsið is one of the oldest houses in Iceland and a beautiful monument
of Eyrarbakki´s time as the biggest trading place on the south coast.
Today one can enjoy
exhibitions about the story
and culture of the region,
famous piano, shawl made
out of human hair and the
kings pot, are among items.
Húsið prides itself with warm
and homelike atmosphere.
The Maritime museum is
close by where the beautiful
twelve-rower Farsæll is the
largest item.
A glimpse of the past lives of
Eyrarbakki´s villagers is what
meets the eye of the guests.
Opening hours: May 15th - September 15th daily 11.00-18.00 or by an agreement
Tel: +354 483 1504 & +354 483 1082 | husid@husid.com | www.husid.com
The House at Eyrarbakki
Drinking
Bar Etiquette
And Beer Ignorance
By CodWars
Dramatis Personæ:
SIGGI: Generic twenty-something Icelandic male. SIGGI
has never lived outside Iceland.
ASSISTANT: Nondescript shop assistant. ASSISTANT
has never worked in a store in a real country.
AMERICAN TOURIST: Generic American citizen, visiting
Iceland.
Scene:
City-centre music store, walls lined with CDs and DVDs
Act One:
SIGGI enters stage right.
SIGGI: "Hey you! Give me a CD!"
ASSISTANT reaches behind the counter, scans a CD,
presents it to SIGGI.
ASSISTANT: "Two thousand krónur"
SIGGI hands over his credit card, whilst looking over
his shoulder at a tall blonde that has just walked in. He
makes no eye contact with ASSISTANT.
SIGGI pockets the CD and walks off, wordlessly, in the
rough direction of the blonde.
AMERICAN TOURIST approaches the counter.
AMERICAN TOURIST: "Hi, I'm looking for the latest B-
york album, do you have it?"
Fade to grey...
Sounds strange? Of course it does. It's the sort of behav-
iour you wouldn't expect from anyone in a music store,
except maybe the eyeing-up-the-blonde part. You'd ex-
pect people to know what they want, at least within broad
genres, and to ask for it, or at least ask for some guidance.
So why is it that this is the norm for bar life in Iceland?
Why does Siggi seem to assume that all beer is equal and
that he has no choice? Because, to be frank, the beer-
drinking habits of Icelanders have yet to catch up with the
reality of what's on offer. People simply haven't learnt
that they have a choice and that not all beer looks like
a carbonated urine sample and tastes just as bad. They
have yet to experience the joys of beer that is opaque or
beer that actually has more character than elevator mu-
zak.
Dear Siggi, do the following:
- Pretend you're in a record shop when you're in a bar.
Pretend you need to impress a bunch of cute blondes
with your sophisticated taste and worldly experience
(that means outside of Kópavogur). Check what's on of-
fer, look behind the bar, ask the bar staff: What beers do
you have?
Develop your taste. Now I'm afraid there's only one
way to do this. Go to all the decent bars in downtown
RVK and try at least one small glass of all their beers. Get
a taste for dark versus light, sweet versus bitter, wheat
beers, etc. Life's a bitch when you need to have a pub-
crawl in the name of cultural education.
Engage the bar staff in eye contact. Ask to try some
of the beers, if the music isn't so loud that you're in post-
midnight sign language mode. Most decent pubs in the
UK will happily offer a wee taste of their beers if you ask.
Imagine the novelty of drinking a beer of which you like
the taste, rather than gambling on whether you'll be able
to stomach enough glasses of tepid chlamydia-test sam-
ple to be drunk enough to make a credible pass on the
blonde you just eyed.
Whether or not we like it as expats, and whether or not
the Icelanders care to admit it, there is massive Danish
influence here. It pervades everything from the language
we use, to the pylsa we eat to the thermostats on our do-
mestic radiators. So why not take it one step further? The
Danes may well come from a two-dimensional country
reeking of pig fat and speak like they are about to vomit,
but they certainly respect their beers. They know a good
brew and they're not afraid to ask for it, so copy your Dan-
ish cousins (yet) again and learn their beer habits.
Cheers!
"CodWars" is the codename for our secretive UK expat correspondent. He daren't
give his real name out of fear of being beaten by savage Icelanders.
Axel Sigurðarson