Yrsa Sigurdardottir

The café was heaving and the only place she’d been able to find a seat was right at the back. As she was squeezing her way out between the tables she couldn’t help noticing that all the other customers were foreign tourists. Maps or brochures were spread on every table, backpacks hung from the chairs and everyone was better equipped for the great outdoors than your average Icelander. She moved faster for fear of being asked what country she was from or if she’d mind taking a photo or, God forbid, performing the Viking football chant.