Kringlan

It's not cool to like malls, I know. They supposedly represent everything my ideological peer group would reject: materialism, snobbery, conformity and suburban living. The ambient lighting dulls the senses, air conditioning systems deplete oxygen and a constant auditory drone turns even the sprightly into tensed up zombies. All these things are true to one extent or another, but some malls I enjoy anyway. I liked Vallco, back in Cupertino, where I held my first customer service job as a bakery counter girl at Grain D'or (with the best épi's in town!) and I like our local Kringlan here in Reykjavik. Call me a rebel (or just a closet suburbanite), but something about the contained system of a clean well-lighted shopping center makes me feel part of a greater whole.

I like people watching, and that about sums up the lure of Kringlan for me. Since we live literally only yards away from the main outdoor shopping area in Reykjavik, I'm supposed to be a purist, a loyalist, shunning the capitalist box of shops and services that comprise the indoor mall. I should only buy what's available within walking distance of my front door and haughtily scoff at parents who stroll and tug their bleary eyed kids from franchise to franchise on weekends. But as much as I love living right in the heart of downtown with its unique collection of cafes and boutiques, I still go to Kringlan with Valentína and Óðinn once a month or so, hook us up with ice cream and watch the parade of fellow countrymen and women trundle and glide by. Honestly, what better way to discover life in Reykjavik outside of our little mid-town cultural bubble? So, once a month, with good ice cream, a strict budget and a specific time limit and I go home to the heart of the city satisfied.

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