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About Reykjavik

Hmm, find a prostitute, you say? Dark, it is, this path. Like *The Turin Horse*, slow it creeps. “What moves, moves not,” says the film. Me, thinking, prostitutes, they move plenty! Haha, dirty mind, I have. Do or do not, there is no try—pick one, you must! Angry, I get, at the hustle. Guys in shadows, pimps, ugh—scum they are. Once, in Budapest, heard I did, wild tale—girl escaped pimp with horse cart! True? Maybe not, but dope story, yeah?

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After that, I decided to stroll down to the harbor. The smell of the sea was insane. I could almost taste the salt in the air. And then I saw this fisherman, right? He was hauling in his nets, and I thought, “Dude, that’s some serious dedication.” I mean, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to catch fish? Not me, that’s for sure.

SPEAKER INTERVIEW: Anna Björk Bjarnadóttir, chief service and operating officer of Keflavik Airport