Reykjavík, I Love You

It’s true, Reykjavík. I love you. You’re not even bringing me down or anything. I just love you. Thanks for being all you are.
You know, I think you’re awesome for all sorts of reasons, and even though we often have our differences, I suspect my feelings for you will never really change. And what couple doesn’t quarrel from time to time?
You are rainy, and you are constantly windy. You keep my feet in a constant state of wet, soggy awfulness. You are an ugly, sprawling town, and you are often mean and unforgiving. And I think you are beautiful, and love you with all my heart.
I love your people and your wet streets, the way you smell of trees sometimes and walking around you at night, exploring weird neighbourhoods I never even knew existed.
I love your music. Your musicians and your bands; your concerts and your clubs. I love that I can go out every single night of the week and catch performances from totally different, totally awesome acts on all of them. Some of your music is of course pretty horrible, but most of it seems honest anyway. I love that.
I love your food, even the awful stuff. I love that it’s there. You have some really nice restaurants, you know. Furthermore, those of your inhabitants that I’ve gotten to know in the eight or nine years since I moved here from Ísafjörður (a town I love equally, if not more) are all very skilled chefs – and they love to throw dinner parties. These people are a credit to you, Reykjavík, as they would be to any town.
I love your overpriced, under-supplied grocery stores. Whenever I grocery shop abroad all that variety freaks me out and I have no idea what to buy so I just end up getting beer (yes, Reykjavík, other cities have beer in their grocery stores. You should maybe look into doing that).
I love your tiny airport. It’s cute, and it connects you to the rest of the island, and it makes sure the ocean view from downtown isn’t blocked off by any of those tall and ugly that have been sprouting all over you like so many pus-filled pimples.
I love your art, and your artists. Some of the art is really, really good – and most of the artists are excellent company, smart and thoughtful people.
I love your vagrants, your punkers and your fancy rich people that think that class may be purchased.
I love your immigrants. I am one my self. We all try and come together and do our best to enrich you with our different outlooks and cultures. I know you don’t want to be a drab monoculture anyway, right? I know you love your immigrants, Reykjavík. They love you right back.
There’s so much more. But I’ve gotta go.
I love you, Reykjavík.
One last thing: We really shouldn’t be selling off (or giving, really) our natural resources to folks that very blatantly lie to our faces, and have been caught doing that repeatedly. It seems so obvious.