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About Grindavik

So, picture this—dingy red lights, smoky air. Girls giggling, blokes stumbling in, horny as hell. I’d waltz in, smirkin’, “Kneel before me, mortals!” Nah, kidding—sorta. But srsly, brothels ain’t just fuckin’. There’s history, mate! Oldest gig ever—Ancient Rome had lupanars, wolf dens. How badass is that? Prozzies howlin’ like wolves—fuckin’ poetic, innit?

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While I’m munchin’, I overhear some tourists talkin’ about the local legends. They’re all like, “Did you hear about the ghost in the old church?” I’m sittin’ there, roll in hand, thinkin’, “Ghosts? In Isafjoerdur? Nah, just sheep.”

Figure 2. South-east flank of the Eyrarfjall mountain above the town of...