Restroom Ratings » Iceland

Kaffi Duus

Jon — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 06:17:38 +0000

The friendly restaurant/coffeeshop Duus is nestled in the harbor at Grof in Kevlavik, home to Iceland’s International Airport and host to a Naval Air Station which supports NATO operations. In true U.S. fashion of course, the base does not operate under a Status-of-Force agreement and has been illegally occupying the space since shortly after World War II. On any given day at Duus, you will probably see any number of servicemen or women from the base enjoying a relaxing cup of coffee and some bouillabaisse.

The restrooms are accessible from the harbor-side of the building leading me to think I would be able to watch the dingy’s docking as I drained my wang. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky. The restroom was basicly a small windowless closet. The walls were adorned in a fake marble plastic sheeting which I found quite common in Iceland and a small thin radiator was mounted on the wall. Drying of your hands may be accomplished using the Vortice automatic handdryer (or seche-mains handretrockner asciugamani if you will).

Reykjavik City Hostel

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Marked by an obscure sign labeled WC and featuring strangely sexual silhouettes of a man and woman which looked like they would be more likely to appear on Planned Parenthood collateral than a restroom door, I initially entered this restroom with caution. Granted it is a unisex restroom so it would seem reasonable to have a picture of a man and a woman on the door. My complaint is more about the nature of the illustration. The man is set behind the woman giving the feeling that he is lovingly holding her shoulders as a sign of support. The woman has unnaturally wide hips – perhaps a subtle way of emphasizing her fertility or feminity. Really, stick with the simple stick figures we all know and love.

The highlight of this restroom is the corner of adjoining mirrors making it possible to get a glimpse of infinity while checking on just exactly what the back of your own head looks like. The room is relatively large, but all of the fixtures are lumped on one side of the restroom (the side with the mirrors). Because of the tile located above the extra-wide sink, the soap dispenser, toilet paper and paper towel dispensers were all rather clumsily located causing problems at every stage of the alleviating process and may explain some of the small messes on the floor.

Outside, there are rather large facilities available to those staying in the campgrounds. They feature multitudes of sinks and are lined wall to wall with stalled toilets and several shower stalls with piping hot water which smells of hydrogen-sulfide (I should mention this is literally right next door to the Laugardalslaug geothermally heated swimming pool).

Hafsulan Whale Watching Boat

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

During a particularly effervescent whale-watching adventure I had the opportunity to visit this tiny restroom located below the deck in the comfortable dining area of the Hafsulan Whale Watching Boat. Unfortunately, due to the amount of turbulance we were experiencing, with every crashing wave and churning swell, the toilet coughed out what water remained in it, like a giant minke whale coming to the surface to clear his blowhole. As I washed my hands, we hit a rather large wave, throwing my body into the corner while the toilet simultaneously belched an eruption of water onto my leg. Later on in our journey, I witnessed two different people vomiting over the edge of the boat and many more awkwardly running toward the restroom to sacrifice their dignity – before it came spewing from their mouth in the form of a partially digested dinner. Let’s hope they can flush quickly before the toilet erupts again. The floor was covered in water and chunks of toilet paper (but thankfully no other chunks), remnants from the vengeful blowhole of a toilet. Men brave enough to sit down on their journey may find they’ll have to jimmy-rig the toilet seat back on, which rested behind the toilet, rocking back and forth with the boat – broadcasting an audible clatter through the whole cabin. In calmer waters you may be fine, but expect a powerful spray on your behind in anything more than a bluster.

Hornid

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

This charming Italian cafe in the heart of Reykjavik houses two quaint little restrooms tucked just out of reach from it’s main dining area. Following the generously proportioned RESTROOMS signs leads you to the appropriate men or womens counterpart. The small size of the facilities coupled with the fact that they were festooned with stained wood trim and white plastic paneling reminded me more of the accomodations onboard a vintage luxury yacht than a restaurant serving kaffi and pizza. I chalked it up to the city’s affinity for their harbor and perhaps a tribute to their reliance on the fishing industry. Toilet paper was dispensed from a large thin roll mounted near the wood-seat toilet. Most toilets in Iceland prominently feature a centered button on the top of the flush tank. Newer sleeker models require a simple push, but this older Gustavsberg (the predominant brand in Iceland featuring it’s characteristic anchor logo) model required a upward short tug – raising the lever 5-6 inches. While we’re dropping restroom fixture brands, I might as well mention the Franke Airtronic® A200 hand-dryer (which was underpowered) and the Reykstrarvorur™ Leverline soap dispenser.

Cafe Thing

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

The Althing, an open-air government assembly, was established in Iceland in 930 and met continuously until 1798 – making it the longest standing parliament ever. The beautiful natural site where they once met is now preserved as one of Iceland’s four national parks and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Just down from the jagged canyon alongside the meandering river sits a lone hotel and the Cafe Thing. Serving up pylsa (hot dogs), ice cream, and sandwiches, the cafe also houses a large restroom able to indulge even the crowded tourbuses that may come through. On a particularly windy and rainy day when I visited, I had the entire restroom to myself. All five urinals were at my disposal. I was not governed by the laws of the men’s room establishing rank, order and odor. Just as the governing bodies which existed on this site for centuries have since been moved to Reykjavik, the bodies which govern restroom behavior were now non-existent. It was restroom anarchy. I chose the middle urinal and opted to stand slightly further away it than usual. For anyone who’s tried this, it makes the experience much more titillating – often tempting you to step back further, perhaps sway a little. It’s all quite fun, provided there is no mess involved of course.

Kirkjubaer II Camp Site

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

In 1783, Kirkjubaejarklaustur experienced one of Europe’s most devastating volcanic eruptions. As the 2,684 ft. Mount Laki spewed out an ever-encroaching lava flow toward the precarious village, all of it’s inhabitants sat in church listening to the Reverend Jon Steingrimsson give his now famous Fire Sermon.

"This said week, and the two prior to it, more poison fell from the sky than words can describe: ash, volcanic hairs, rain full of sulfur and salt peter, all of it mixed with sand. The snouts, nostrils, and feet of livestock grazing or walking on the grass turned bright yellow and raw. All water went tepid and light blue in color and gravel slides turned gray. All the earth’s plants burned, withered and turned gray, one after the another, as the fire increased and neared the settlements."

Many claimed this is what stopped the lava flow from destroying their village as it came to a stop just at the edge of town. A miracle. Lord have mercy! The Kirkjubaer Camp Site now sits just feet from what is the largest lava flow ever witnessed. Their restrooms sport the usual sinks, toilets and urinals in both men and women flavors. Additionally, there are showers available for 500 kronurs (just over $7. Yikes!). The egg-like Sphinx brand urinals looked like they may belong to a Bond villain. A sign near the sinks read VINSAMLEGST NOTITH VASKANA ATHEINS TIL ATH PVO HENDUR OG ANDLIT or PLEASE USE THIS BASIN ONLY FOR WASHING HANDS AND FACE. This is a very clever way to write a sign. Rather than listing everything you CAN’T do. This sign lists the only 2 things you can do – thus saving time and space. No need to write NO DISHWASHING. DO NOT DO YOUR LAUNDRY IN HERE. DO NOT DRINK THIS WATER. DO NOT COOK WITH THIS WATER. DO NOT MAKE INSTANT BEVERAGES. DO NOT FILL YOUR SQUIRT GUNS HERE. DO NOT WASH YOUR ARMS, LEGS OR GENITALIA IN THE SINK. DO NOT PEE IN THE SINK. DO NOT POOP IN THE SINK. etc. etc. I could go on for days.

Skogar Campsite

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

The Skogar Campsite restroom sits just a short distance from the famous 204 foot Skogafoss waterfall – assuring you that if you become psychosomaticly inclinded towards wetting yourself at the sight and sound of millions of gallons of freefalling water, relief is nearby. Outside, the women’s restroom features a presumably unsanctioned stick-figure illustration of a woman. The men’s restroom features stylish enveloping urinals which, despite a lack of divider wall, provide substantial privacy for a shoulder-to-shoulder urination session. The wood paneling, traditionally an indicator of tack, actually works – due perhaps to the fact that it was in such great shape. The walls between the men’s and women’s room didn’t go all the way to the ceiling, which may aid in ventilation with the small side-effect of allowing patrons to overhear conversations from – gasp – the opposite sex. How tawdry.

Hotel Blafell

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Admittedly, I didn’t spend too much time in Breithdalsvik. Running low on petrol, our stomachs rumbling, we found respite a few kilometers off the Ring Road (the lone highway circling Iceland) in the relatively remote East Fjords. I would have been reluctant to seek out food at a place named Hotel Blafell but our trusty guidebook suggested elsewise, and minutes later we were enjoying our tasty paninis.

The two unisex restrooms are easily accessible right at the foyer to the restaurant though both were occupied when I first tried my approach. After a cranky-looking older gentleman exited, I entered the small room. Tiled floor to wall and adorned with shiny curvy fixtures, I was initially impressed. A large window allowed plenty of sunlight in (well, in the summer at least) while the venetian blinds afforded a easily alterable amount of privacy. A fat red powder-coated towel rack sat towel-less. But no worries his cousin, the paper towel dispenser, sat pleasurefully waiting to spit out drying tissues. Everything’s going great so far. Okay, so it’s a little cramped, probably impossible to manuever in a wheelchair. But the real problem came when I tried to wash my hands. No soap. I’m definitely not what you would call a germaphobe, but I do love the soap. Sure you can go through the motions of running your hands under the water but it’s never quite as satisfying if you can’t get a good lather going when you wash your hands. It’s that certain squish squish that really makes the whole process worthwhile and being robbed of that feeling is discomforting.

Hafaldan Hostelling International Hostel

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

Perched on the harbor of the beautiful east fjord village of Seythisfjorthur is a cozy little hostel. Outside the pink tin building looks like it may house flamboyant trailer trash or perhaps a poorly performing Mary Kay salesperson. But the interior is increbibly warm and welcoming. Visitors must take their shoes off upon entering, a step which has saved many a mud-packed Montrail from infesting these floors. The restroom is located right near the entrance and it may be tempting to leave your shoes on, but the cleanliness inside assures you that, no, shoes are not really necessary. Okay maybe slippers.

The restroom is a strange conbobulation of sinks, toilets, wood paneling and mirrors. The larger stall had it’s own sink and a crazy mirror with Lady and the Tramp graphics on it straight out of the 1988 county fair. On one visit there was no toilet paper in this stall, but the unnaturally soft paper towels make a suitable substitute and may actually be softer than the gritty thin tissue in the other stall.. which houses a spectacular view of a trickling waterfall not more than 100 yards away. Yellow and natural wood were the colors of choice. If you’re squirmish about restroom noises or sharing a restroom with the opposite sex, you may feel a bit uncomfortable in here as the restroom is quite small and you may see any number of men or women coming in during your visit.

Vogafjos Cowshed

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

There’s nothing that makes my tastebuds water more than watching cows getting milked. Really. It just makes me so hungry watching those nice juicy udders being lubed up and attached to large industrial machines to extract their mammary liquids. How incredibly delightful is it then that this cowshed decided to open a cafe in the same building as their cow barn – separated only by a glass partition. So, provided it is a regularly scheduled milking time, you can sit down to your Thule and smoked salmon on geothermally baked bread and enjoy the serene setting of an Icelandic cow barn. They did run a pretty clean operation here – as the cow barn, immediately after a milking, was spotless and more importantly manure-free. The same can be said for their restroom, cheerily marked by a hand-sketched sign proclaiming itself as a water closet and featuring a cow and a barn. Inside was the standard Gustavsberg push-button flush toilet, non-perforated scratchy toilet paper and tissue-like hand towels. The sterile newness of the room was surprisingly offset by a solitary wicker trash basket, nearly full, which brought an amiable warmth to the surroundings. The hot water was instantly scalding hot as found in most restrooms in Iceland.

Hotel Barbro

Jon — Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000

It is said that the first occupants of Iceland were Irish monks seeking spiritual refuge. No archaeological evidence has been found to support this yet but that doesn’t keep this small town on the west coast of Iceland from celebrating it’s annual Irish Festival. Driving into town, we were initially very alarmed to be greeted by several teenagers dressed as strange clown leprechauns giving out candy. Perhaps even stranger was going to an Italian restaurant on their main street festooned with Irish flags and various banners and decorations sporting orange, green and white. Inside sat several ruddy obese families in hotel ballroom chairs on ragged plush carpeting – chowing down on their pizza buffet. I know Iceland has an obsession with pizza and burgers, but these people were large even by American standards.

Located down a hall from the cashier, the restroom doors were differentiated by amateur but charming oil paintings depicting a deformed red-faced man and woman. If not for the characteristically Scandanavian bangs and slightly aloof expression on the gentlemen, I may have mistaken him for the devil.

Inside were three small urinals located dangerously close to the sinks. Patchy maroonish-pink paint covered the walls and an open window to the street allowed the sounds of pedestrians and traffic to pour in – along with a chilly 8 degree (Celsius of course; we are in Europe after all) breeze.