Wednesday, July 21, 2004
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What grim and violent ancestors these nice Icelandic natives must have had! The landscape is littered with statues recounting their forbidding exploits. It’s quite a contrast from the cheerful and friendly locals I’ve encountered so far, but maybe I’ll meet a dragon-slaying, mad-eyed marauder at some point. Probably in a bar.

I’ll tell you one thing about these guys, though. They must have instilled their progeny with a doctrine of cleanliness that’s been passed down through generations. This is the cleanest place I’ve ever been. The vehicle below is a spray-truck that circles the pond, its only mission to eradicate the omnipresent piles of goose-shit with a high-pressure water stream.

I spend the day writing scripts and shooting movies of my amused co-workers. This really helps me remember their names. I study the pronunciation every night, but certain sounds I’ll never master.

I’m glad these people are all so nice. It makes the separation from all of my friends and loved ones a little more bearable. I’ve only been gone a week and I miss everybody.

Ken Pontac,
Crying in my beer,
Iceland