Hello again from Iceland. Iīm beginning my second week here. Other than the fact that my ATM-card doesnīt work at Icelandic ATMīs and I canīt get any money, things are going well. Remember that Icelandic girl, Soley? Well, less than 24 hours after Iīd met her, I was seeing her in her underwear...Way to go, Justo!
     No, no, no. Donīt get me wrong, I was actually looking at a magazine when I saw Soley in her underwear. It seems sheīs a model, a.k.a. "Hiphopp drottning Islands" (which means "the hip-hop queen of Iceland"). Iīve only run into her briefly (but not in our briefs) since that first night.
     But I have been making friends fast. Icelanders wonīt say hello to you on the street, but once you give them a reason to speak with you, theyīre very friendly. For example, I stole some guyīs chair the other night, and ten minutes later he was inviting me to the Vestmann Islands - which he claims to be the most beautiful place on earth. (Though I donīt know if the invite or the boasting of the islands was just the alcohol speaking...nevertheless, Iīm gonna show up on his doorstep in a week with my things packed and ready to go!)
     Actually, I think in my case I have mostly pity friends. Everybody wonders why Iīm in Iceland, by myself, with no job or place to stay, and very little money. I donīt blame them for wondering that. But, they all want to help me out. Considering the countryīs population and the wads of phone numbers Iīve amassed, I must have half of the country looking for housing and jobs for me.
     When I look for jobs on my own, itīs tough because Iīm trying to decipher these 15-letter words that donīt exist according to my translating dictionary. Iīm still working on the language, and Iīm finding the best teachers are dubbed cartoon shows. Let me tell you, watching the Muppet Babies in a foreign language is a TRIP! But I donīt care what language theyīre speaking...english, icelandic, swahili - when you see Beeker look in the mirror and get scared at his own disguise, youīre gonna crack up!
     The Icelandic women are quite pretty. Mostly blonde, thin, and with high cheek-bones. And their biggest fan is this 28-year old, David. He and I were with two other Americans last night, and David was so amusing to watch. He was throwing back the beers, starting converstions with every girl that would look at him. But the conversations would never last long, and heīd always come back with the same story: "Oh, man, guys, you shouldīve SEEN the girl I was talking with. She was an absolute KNOCKOUT! And, boy, I talked with her for a little while and it turns out sheīs married! Can yaī believe that?" At first, we agreed with his idea of a knockout, but by the end his taste in girls had become shameless. When he left the bar empty-handed, my friend Pete tried to comfort him: "Geese, David, you sure have an incredible knack for finding the married women."
     I must say, I canīt hang with the Icelanders when it comes to partying. I went to bed last night at four, while hundreds of people were still lined up to get into clubs. Itīs so cool, though, to have complete light at four a.m. The Arctic sun really gives these people energy.
     One thing the Icelanders canīt do is dance. I know, I know what youīre thinking: "But, Justin, YOU canīt dance!" Thatīs true, I havenīt forgotten. But, these people just jump around erratically, waving their arms in the air like infants. Someone needs to teach this country how to dance!
     ...not me, though, of course.

later, Justin