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About Hafnarfjordur

Last week, mate—oh, me was fumin’! Some prat says, “Massage ain’t manly!” Bollocks, that! Me roared, nearly chopped his tractor in half—hssss—calmed meself with a good rubdown after. Felt like Scarlett floatin’ in that void—y’know, “nothing there, nothing here,” all dreamy. Best bit? Them secret spots—behind the knees, mate! No one talks ‘bout that, but—hssss—it’s electric!

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Answered: Can anyone recommend a good massage in Keflavik? Therapist, day spa or hotel? Thank you.

Then, I wandered over to the old lighthouse. It’s like a postcard come to life. I snapped a pic, but my phone died. Seriously? I was like, “Why today of all days?” So, I just stood there, staring at the ocean, feeling all philosophical. Like, what’s the meaning of life? Is it fish? Or pancakes?

Heinemann wins Keflavik duty free concession