101 Reykjavík

In a trip loaded with highlights, the final evening produced yet another enlightening experience. It started at Björn's apartment, just down the street. Björn is an Icelandic-Alaska, and vice versa, who shares a common connection in Denver. He cordially invited us over to his top-level harbor view flat for a BBQ. We met a couple of Björn's roommates, including Nathan, a gregarious young Frenchman working seasonal employment as a lagoon tour guide. Nathan spoke English through his French accent, with a lisp, and a touch of Icelandic. We feasted on a proper and contemporary Icelandic BBQ: a platter of hot dogs, potato chips, then a platter of pork chops, some bleu cheese stuffed mushrooms, and baked potatoes, with stout coffee and Hraun (Lava) bars for dessert (at 11:00 PM). Dialogue was a cross between humorous and insightful, with Björn and Nathan engaging in a sweeping cross-cultural observation of Iceland. Ground covered included: a heated debate about the merits of abstract artwork, the cult of binge drinking in Iceland, the six declinations of Icelandic nouns along with the proper pronunciation of "ll" (ktllh), the Icelandic rescue squad, the cult of the hamburger, the fleeting nature of late night romantic flings in Reykjavík, the skiing near Akuyeri, the high cost of goods, and a vote on the acceptability of Nathan's lounging/granny pants. Across the bay, the sun continued on a slow shallow arc behind brooding charcoal and slate clouds.

Around midnight, Björn and Nathan took us on a guided tour of the famed runtur, or drunken weekend wanderings of the Icelanders. We started with Hjálmar, a local reggae band playing at a cool club, Faktory. Nathan took us right up front and we soon found ourselves surrounded by a forest of Scandinavian giants, 6'6" clean cut blond guys wearing odd hats and sunglasses. Björn occasionally translated some of the lyrics, but we spent most of the night singing along to the choruses in an ad hoc gibberish: yao, yao, yao..yao, yao! At the intermission, one inebriate stumbled and took a header at our feet. "That was a little early," explained Nathan. "It is only 1:00 AM. About 3:00, many people start tipping over. At 4:00, things peak. That is when people start smashing their glasses in the street!" At the end of the set, the stoic lead Viking of Hjálmar assumed the power stance, pumped his fist in the air, and belted a screeching falsetto, "Taaaakkkkk fyriiirrrr!" (Thank you.) Awesome.

We poured into the street around 2:15 AM, and it was kind of, sort of dark, more so gray. Björn then escorted us to the trendy/art/gay bar Bakkus. We stood in the queue for awhile and Björn introduced us to a Scandinavian giant from the search and rescue squad - he seemed like an affable guy. About 15 minutes later we made it into the club and headed for the packed dance floor, where a drunken mob gyrated to thumping Euro-electronica. There were these tall skinny model types all around wearing these odd, chic clothes that I thought people only wore on the runway. But don't get the wrong impression; these twiggy individuals danced with a fury. In fact, in the mix, I felt like a pebble bouncing down a glacial river, getting pummeled and shoved from all directions. It was quite a blast, like being part of a spasmodic amoeba.

After the long day, Jenean turned in for some sleep and to rest her ankle. In turn, I set out to capture some photos. An awesome cloudscape - like a fantastical painting - took on the colors and shadows of the rising sun (around 3:00 AM). I sat by the Viking ship for awhile and took in the grandeur of the sky and sea.

Now things really started to get strange. For one, random people started asking me things in Icelandic, and when I would reply in English, they would keep talking to me in Icelandic as if I understood. I am still not sure what they were telling me. With the sun on the climb, the streets of the city started to feel the calm and beginning of a new day. At the same time, we ascended toward the apex of the runtur. Long lines queued at the hot dog stands. Pairs of people stumbled around in an interdependent effort to hold each other upright. Others sat in the nooks and crannies of the street, somewhere between passed out and resting. Large oblivious groups seemed to surreptitiously merge together from different pedestrian currents. Coming to realize the happenstance of a group now in their path, high fives and big man hugs were administered with gusto. I am not sure if they were friend or stranger, but I doubt it mattered.

With a short night of sleep ahead, I wandered back to the hostel, content to be part of such a strange wonderful world. 

3 AM Sunrise 

Outside the club, 4 AM