Let me hazard a definition of what this kind of bookshop should be like. It must be run by a person of humour, learning, and curiosity, to whom nothing in book form is alien. It should be kept in a permanent state of apparent chaos-always too many books for the shelf space, always piles and boxes of new bought lots awaiting inspection. Above all, it must be catholic in its offerings, because its prime function for your writers is to help them realize their tastes.
- John Fowles
One wonders if John Fowles was inspired by the infinitely fascinating and eccentric Bókin (The Book), Reykjavik's small-scale version of the Strand Bookstore - or if the bookstore modeled itself on these words, which appear on the door of the shop. Either way, Bókin is both hyper-stimulating and deliciously peaceful - it's easy to lose yourself in the chaos. Reading amidst these toppling piles and narrow aisles, Bobby Fischer, the reclusive genius of the chess world, spent the remainder of his days. A picture of him hangs in the store, along with old photographs of notable literary and artistic figures from Iceland and abroad. The happy jumble of treasures makes this bookstore a delightful place to while away the time.
Which is exactly what we felt like doing when we found ourselves back in Reykjavik. Wandering around, drinking beer in cafes, eating gorgeous Icelandic yogurt and pastries, and exploring the dozen wonderfully curated vintage shops felt like a luxury.
"Curated" is a bit of stretch for Frida Frænka, an antique and vintage store that is stuffed to the gills with the weird and wonderful. I saw the most achingly beautiful Danish teacups there but had to restrain myself, as cupboard space is limited in New York kitchens.
The vintage clothing stores take on a slightly more restrained approach, though no one is walking away with any steals. I did, however, find a breathtakingly beautiful vintage coat with a sable collar - alas, too big for me (an anomaly when it comes to vintage shopping, I assure you).
(Apologies for the fuzzy pictures - I'm still trying to figure out how to get crisp indoor photographs without a flash...)
P.S. Reykjavik seems to be crawling with douchey tourists looking for a quick weekend lay. We were standing by the reception desk at our hotel checking in late one night when a oily bastard strolled up to the concierge and said (right in front of us), "This may not be an issue, but if I meet someone tonight, can I bring her back to the hotel? I have a double room, after all." With a pitying look and the utmost dignity the concierge replied, "Of course."
Doucherocket was back within fifteen minutes flat and ready for bed...alone. I can only imagine the requests these poor receptionists get - "I'm going to be bringing back a fivesome...so I'll need some super absorbant towels, a bottle of Windex, a few deboned puffins, and, if you have it, some rubber tubing. Just wanted to check to see if that's okay."
