The entrance is marked by a rusted iron shark. The farm looks like any other with a field of horses and chickens roaming the yard. A jovial grey haired man wearing a flannel shirt and striped suspenders greets us at the door. He is the owner of this place and a producer of hákarl, fermented shark meat. The shark is poisonous and must go through a long fermenting process to make it safe to eat, which includes being buried under ground for 6-12 months and then being hung to dry. He takes our 700 kronor and tells us to have a look around.The place is awesomely weird; part taxidermy store, part fishing museum. In broken English he explains to us that the old showcased boat was his grandfathers and that they have been fisherman for generations. We don't understand half of what he says but I dont care.I love his enthusiasm. I know he tells this same story all day long but doesn't seem tired of it. We eventually get around to doing what we came here for and try a tiny bite of hákarl. The ammonia taste is overwhelming, like we are eating fish that was soaked in cat pee. 

After I recover from the tasting I ask to take his photo and he instantly becomes bashful.  A few moments later he turns the tables on us, taking my camera, putting fishing hats on our head, having us pose with various strange oddities. He laughs the entire time because we look ridiculous. The laughter is contagious and soon we are doing the same. This small, seemingly insignificant, interaction reminds me of why I love to travel; that us humans, despite our obvious differences, are all so simliar and that tourists wearing silly hats, holding taxidermied animals are comical in any culture.

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