They’ve no word for ‘please’ in Iceland

Inspired by the gazillion spam posts I’ve gotten on my blog over the weekend, I’ve decided I’d better blog again. I know I said this the last time, but… Well, I’ve no excuse really.

Iceland is awesome, and I’ve warned to go pretty much since I first heard this. Despite the fact it’s now repeatedly butchered by the X Factor, it’s still a great song. All I know of Iceland comes from Sigur Rós videos. But not once did hopping in puddles or getting bloody noses come up so I was lucky they spoke English.


  • Keeping my lunch down on landing, Iceland is seriously windy.
  • Keflavik Airport has a problem with people camping and cooking in the airport, so much so that they’ve a sign expressly forbidding it.
  • They’ve also a steel sculpture of what looks to be a sperm outside.
  • I smoked a Cuban cigar, like a boss.
  • But at the same time was drinking a can outside, like a hobo.
  • Icelandic women have the most beautiful snatches I’ve ever seen. (This is funny because snatch can mean an Olympic lift or a vagina.)

What follows below is a nice photo blog.

One of the training halls in CFStodin, which is awesome.


Cool t-shirt. Good reminder of why you’re doing what you’re doing.

On the other hand, you could just drink this stuff instead of working out.

The Icelandic sunset. It took us three days til we saw the mountains surrounding Reykjavik. Pi we didn’t get to see more, I’d definitely go back.

More coaching.

T practicing wall facing kipping handstand push ups in a sports bar so Rudy could send on cues to an athlete competing back in the States.

English Pub. Advertising Guinness and Kilkenny outside. Hmmmm.

Icelandic beer. Pretty daycent stuff. Vodka and Red Bull still tastes the same as it does in Ireland.

Another camp photo.

And finally, my boarding sticker from WOWair. Up yours Gandalf.

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