Singer and producer Dadykewl’s signature is that of positivity and good vibes. Serving up everything from introspective trap to feel-good party bangers, his most recent album, ‘Klámstjarna,’ was a favourite among Reykjavík hip-hop heads this year.
The perfect day in Reykjavík almost doesn’t exist. Why I say “almost” is because the weather changes every five minutes, summer comes only two weeks a year, and the general vibe of Icelandic people is obnoxious and stressful. That being said, I’m going to tell you about the one perfect day I had in Reykjavík, which happened on July 21st, 2018.
On the morning of that specific day, the planets were aligned. It was sunny and I had fresh milk in the fridge, which gave me a reason to be happy, for once. Happiness is a rarity in Iceland, just ask around. It was time to go nuts.
I live in Mosfellsbær, a town with green grasses, white fences, Range Rovers and fragile marriages. But it’s also a town with a hidden culture bomb—the beautiful waterfall Álafoss. A factory next to a fucking waterfall? These are aesthetics you can’t buy, and I went there to hang out for a bit, just to get another reason to live.
For lunch, I left the oasis of Mosfellsbær and headed downtown to Núðluskálin. They have super spicy noodles that make my anus bleed. Spicy food, and particularly Núðluskálin, has no mercy.
After noodles, I met up with a friend of mine at Skúli Craft Bar and sat in the square drinking crazy expensive beer in the sun. I don’t do a lot of day drinking, but a lot of my friends joined up, and to my surprise, they seemed to have no problem doing it, which comforted me. Sitting in the sun, a friend of a friend offered me a Gucci belt and Xanax for being a “fucking legend,” so the day had a chill vibe to it. For the record, I refused.
When we had enough of this obscurity, we headed to Prikið. The smoking area at Prikið is the perfect place to get cancer and mingle with the locals. We went there, partied our asses off, and heard life-changing advice from people with loose ties, puke on their shirts, and beers with cigarette butts in them. I don’t remember names but they will never be forgotten, mainly for falling down the stairs of our beloved Prikið. Not that I’ve ever done that.
In the heat of the night
But what made that day utterly perfect, the cherry on top, is that I got a free ride home to Mosfellsbær instead of selling my liver to a grumpy taxi driver.
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