Ruminations upon Monday July 29, 2024 in Reykjavík, Iceland
We had been in Iceland for maybe an hour, and still at the airport, when I spotted one of my former colleagues waiting in line. I was particularly excited because I could finally show my journal to another educator who would completely understand my goals, not to mention an educator who has a very real chance of being Amichai's teacher next year. The disappointment was real when we realized we were on different buses and had to part ways.
My family settled onto our bus to Reykjavik with ease as we were the only passengers. The views along the road were stunning. It was the first time I could understand how people long ago could think magical creatures such as trolls, mountain giants, and elves could exist. The volcanic fields looked and felt magical. The young moss (about 1000-2000 years old) that covered the fields resembled a bunch of troll heads, and the rocks were mountain giants. We thought we could see one of the many volcanoes in the distance. After forty minutes we arrived at the Reykjavik Bus Hostel. At this time, we were waiting for a final confirmation from our Airbnb hosts as to whether or not we could check-in early. Lugging all of our many packs around town was not feasible so we opted to store our luggage in the very convenient luggage lockers at the hostel. All set, we walked about fifteen minutes into town.
It was cold, windy, and rainy. I was grateful that I had the foresight to insist that the boys wear their long underwear and warm clothing on the plane. They complained about being really hot and “dying” of heat while on the plane, but I knew the time would come when they would acknowledge it wasn’t a crazy idea after all. Of course, I completely forgot to take the handwarmers and ponchos that I had thoughtfully packed for this very occasion. No matter. The boys were brilliant troopers heading into town with hands stuffed in pockets and finding creative ways to stay warm. We walked until we found the Sandlot where we stopped for a warm cup of hot chocolate and a bite to eat. The hot chocolate was perfection. Warm and delicious.
Reinvigorated we headed to the Penis Museum, sort of. We had a lot of time to kill before the museum would open because we had made it to Reykjavik three hours before the museum even opened. So, we did what tourists do when it's cold outside and they have nowhere to be and nowhere to go. Slowly we walked through the center of town until we came upon a tourist info shop. We hung out there for as long as possible before overstaying our welcome. The boys got a kick out of sitting on a snowmobile being advertised in the shop and enjoyed petting the cat that hung out there all day.
Fifteen minutes down. One hundred minutes still to go. We did the next natural thing tourists do. We walked into every souvenir shop possible to check out the merch and again left right before we overstayed our welcome. This was a bit risky since our boys’ energy was amping up again. Taking them into stores with fragile objects was not the best idea so we quit that and headed to Rainbow Street. Earlier this year, Matanel’s teacher showed him a picture of her on Rainbow Street. He was ecstatic that we found it and recreated the photo. I promised him I would send her the picture, which I still need to do. After meandering the streets like this for a long time we finally arrived at the museum.
The Icelandic Phalloligical Museum (Warning: Matureish Content)
Oh my goodness we were at the museum. The long-awaited museum. The museum our kiddos Would Not. Stop. Talking About. Every cell in my body was cringing just standing outside the doors. With bated breath, Chaim and I ushered our children into the museum. Then, we all freaked out. Penises were everywhere. In jars filled with solution, as decorations on the walls, towering above, jutting out from the floors and walls, and raunchy posters and merchandise were EVERYWHERE. The boys were incredulous. They could not stop laughing, finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. I imagine they were wondering just how they were able to dupe us into saying yes to this experience. Zooming from item to item and exhibit to exhibit, they could not stop pointing and calling out all of the different penises and to which animals they belonged. Admittedly, some animals had genitalia that I expected in terms of size proportion for that animal. Many did not. These made for very interesting points of discussion that lasted about a 10 seconds before the boys zoomed off again to see something else. The fact that the shapes differed depending on animal was of interest to the boys. I did not share with them that recent research suggests that male genitalia have evolved in response to the evolution of female genitalia. If you don’t know about the ducks with corkscrew genitalia and the evolution behind the shape, look them up! It's fascinating.
About ten minutes into the museum, I stopped to sit and watch a documentary titled, “The Final Member.” I am not exaggerating when I say that I watched this documentary with my jaw agape the entire time. It was mindboggling and sufficed to say that I am still processing what I saw. This documentary focuses on an American man whose nationality was so important to him that he tattooed his member with the American flag. How do I know about the tattoo? Because the documentary shows his female doctor taking a look at his genitalia and saying something like, "Hm. There's a flag on your penis." Anyway, the man was eager to be the first human to donate his member to the museum. To ensure his primary status, this gentleman decided to remove his genitals before he died just to beat out the 90 year old Icelandic man who had agreed to donate his belongings to the museum after he died. What?!?! Uncomprehending, I sat glued to my seat wondering, “Who would do such a thing”, simultaneously thinking, “Of course an American had to be that guy.”
Amichai brought me back to reality and suggested that the documentary was not appropriate for his brothers, whom I had unwittingly beckoned to sit and watch with me. They were riveted, and he was right. With some cajoling, we started moving through the museum again. About two minutes later Amichai asked me if we could leave because the written and artistic information presented was inappropriate for his brothers. I wonder if that was a cover for how he was feeling, but this is what he maintains. All said and done, we left after only twenty minutes. I was relieved to be out. Chaim was disappointed, he was far behind us the whole time and wished he’d had more time to peruse. He described the museum as "surprisingly scientific and [undoubtedly] irreverent."
