We’re leaving Iceland in a few hours, and my only regret is that we didn’t get a chance to see the Icelandic Phallological Museum (not to be confused with the philological museum). At this fabled site the proprietor has gathered together samples of you-know-what from every phallus-bearing species that has walked Iceland’s shores, with the exception of a human you-know-what, although it is reported that an Icelandic farmer has volunteered to donate his upon his demise; we can only hope he hurries up. The only problem is that, apparently, the whole museum has picked up shop and moved five hours to the north. Why the owner got it in his head to, ah, remove Iceland’s most monumental attraction defies all logic. There is definitely something lacking in a Reykjavik without a museum dedicated to all matters phallological.