Reykjavík

“Well this is nice,” Sindri says over loud techno, arm slung around Inga’s shoulders and a lazy sort of smile on his face. “There’s a certain flavor here that regular bars don’t really have…”

“Maybe all of the ‘gay?’” Inga asks, a funny defeated expression on her face, and I stifle a laugh.

“Yeah, that might have something to do with it!” Here his smile turns into a grin, and Inga rolls her eyes. “I need a good dose of gay every once in awhile… Of course, there’s no keeping up with Jónsi, but…”

At this, we all involuntarily look over to the dance floor, where Jónsi has already found a partner and is dancing wildly. By the flailing way he’s moving, it’s easy to tell that he’s somewhere past simply drunk, and the boy in his arms looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, you can’t even compete. Just stick with Inga,” I tell him, knowing he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, faking disappointment. “I guess you’re right.”

Inga merely rolls her eyes again and takes a swig of her beer.

We’re here in a gay nightclub called Barbara, the crazier, pinker version of Café Trúnó, which is just downstairs. The two are the crown jewels of the gay venues here in Reykjavík, although it’s not uncommon to have straight people hanging around; the opposite is true in “normal” bars as well.

Reykjavík after midnight is something crazy, that’s for sure. During the daytime, there’s a different mood entirely – in fact, I’ve heard more than one tourist call the city cute. I guess I can see where they were coming from. The colored buildings, the little coffee shops, and all of us Icelanders running around in our sweaters could maybe count, and the fact that parents often leave their babies outside in their prams for fresh air while they shop might have something to do with it as well. The people, too, are different in daytime. We’re more quiet and reserved, especially with people we don’t know.

At around midnight, however, something about the city changes. It becomes wild and electric as people leave their homes to party with friends. In wintertime, they wade through snow and pitch-blackness, and in summertime, they walk through the streets in near daylight. True, the mood is a bit dampened in winter (as everything is), but even then it’s still there. A little alcohol goes a long way in making people a little friendlier, and politely keeping to oneself ceases to exist in many cases. Pick-up lines are taken out and dusted off, but after a certain point in the night, even they are tossed away in favor of crude promises involving body parts. Such is the way of many an Icelandic extrovert (but also the occasional introvert).

“You’re looking a little too deep in thought over there,” Sindri says, then crosses his eyes.

I crack a smile, and fight the urge to call him a fool. “Yeah, well at least I’ve got a brain to think with.”

Inga laughs and claps. “That’s so much more right than you know, Lára.”

“Oh hush,” he tells her, and I smile at the couple – they’re a bit too cute. “I’m your favorite singer.”

“What if Jónsi is?” she asks. “He’s my brother, after all.”

We turn our attention to the dancing Jónsi just in time to see him misstep and fall flat on his bum.

“Not my favorite dancer though,” she murmurs, grinning, and Sindri laughs.