By the time I got to the fireworks, things were better. But I struggled during those first hours in Reykjavík.
The plane touched down in Keflavík right around 4:00 am, Iceland time, as the whimsically branded WOW airline had predicted—a little over eight hours spent sitting next to a young French woman who spent pretty much the whole time asleep with her neck pillow, eye shades, and headphones.
A passport check, a stroll through customs, a quick cup of coffee, and a SIM card later, I had retrieved my checked baggage and was waiting for the Cheap Jeep Rental Car guy to pick me up.
An hour or so after that, I was sliding across the ice on Cheap Jeep’s lot, cursing at the unexpected (though retrospectively obvious) manual transmission.
It was good that the airport was 45 minutes or so from Reykjavík. By the time I maneuvered the series of roundabouts and occasional slippery spots of snow, I had adjusted to driving stick—though it would take a couple days before I remembered to push in the clutch while turning the engine on or off. I was sure that every time my car lurched at some telephone pole, everyone would start muttering about the damn foreigner.
The first few hours in Reykjavík were a little disorienting. The guesthouse check-in wasn’t for another six or seven hours, so I didn’t have a specific destination. And almost nothing was open. I drove aimlessly, with a growing sense of unease and hunger.
I finally remembered that tool that so many young people use nowadays and fired up Google to see where I might get some breakfast. There were three places open in the entire city, according to Google, though the fact that it was the morning of New Year’s Eve meant that even a couple of those had different hours.
I ended up at the apparently famous Bergsson Mathús, where I got some bread and cheese and, blessedly, coffee. It’s not a very big place, and it was full enough (mostly tourists—apparently Icelanders tend to eat breakfast at home with family) that I wasn’t comfortable tying up a table for too long. Probably a good thing, as it encouraged me to get out and walk around.
There was a moment of near panic when the key to my rental car wouldn’t unlock the driver’s door… or the back door…. It did open the passenger door, though, so for much of the trip I reached in and across—at least until I stopped being so Los Angeles and just left the car unlocked, as everyone in Iceland does.
The area around the cafe was populated with beautiful buildings, cobblestone streets, and blazing Christmas lights. A row of bars—The American Bar, The English Bar, and The French Bar—ran along one side of a square-block park with Christmas trees and a statue of Jón Sigurðsson, “Leader of Iceland’s independence movement.”
I was a little surprised at how difficult the next few hours were. The longer the sun stayed down—at 8:30 a.m., it was still as dark as midnight—the more disoriented I felt. And despite some beautiful vistas, I felt kind of lost. I don’t know why—I’m sure a lack of sleep contributed—but I felt genuine anxiety. I was nervous that I was going to experience ten days of this.
Around 10:30, it felt like sunrise was immanent. By noon, though, I hadn’t seen the sun yet. As I would learn later, while the sun does rise, it doesn’t get very high over the horizon. If the sun had been up, it must have been behind the city’s buildings.
I stumbled across the most famous church in Iceland, Hallgrímskirkja. It’s big! And, of course, it’s a tourist attraction. So whether because of the stolid architecture or the gaggle of tourists, I started to feel a little better—more connected to the world, less adrift.
That feeling of well-being increased as the morning went on. I found the guesthouse, even though I was still a couple hours early. For some reason, having a place to park the car put my mind at ease.
I set out for a hike around the area and found another beautiful church, as well as a huge graveyard—about four square blocks—that could have come from the imagination of Neil Gaiman.
The guesthouse was a touch late with my room, thanks to confusion around the 24-hour clock—I said I’d be there at 2:00, and the guy thought I meant 0200, the next morning. Apparently guests often turn up in the dead of night. Nonetheless, he had the room ready in less than half an hour. It was tiny—two single beds, a small table/desk, a very hard wooden chair, and a shelf unit for clothes—but it served.
A few hours later—well napped, if not well fed—I hit the streets to experience the city’s New Year’s Eve. I missed the neighborhood bonfires (partly because I was sleeping after being awake 26+ hours, partly because I didn’t know where one would be, and partly because I’m a chicken introvert), but I got myself back to Hallgrímskirkja, where I had heard that the fireworks would be amazing.
Around 10:30, the crowds lightened a bit while the Icelanders—pretty much the whole nation, as I understand it—went inside to watch their annual, hour-long comical TV show, a satirical look at the past year’s news.
At 11:30, the streets filled up. And though there had been sporadic fireworks for the entire day—I’d even seen some across the water in the darkness of the morning—they really started in earnest. According to the Cheap Jeep guy, most of the fireworks are sold as a fund-raiser for ICE-SAR, the nation’s volunteer search and rescue team, which the Icelanders (rightfully) take great pride in. Apparently they raise enough money selling fireworks and Christmas lights to fund their extensive operation for the entire year.
I believed what the Cheap Jeep guy told me, and I’d even seen pictures of fireworks over Iceland cities. But I didn’t really understand…. At 11:35, the fireworks began, and they continued unabated until after 1:00 in the morning.
And when I say that the fireworks began… well, understand: these are not put on by cities or fire departments, as they are in most of America. And they aren’t the individual “ooh” and “aah” single-shot fireworks that build to a finale. It seems like everyone in Iceland sets off fireworks—from every park, or frozen lake, or sidewalk, or even rooftops—and the whole thing is one non-stop finale.
Check out the end of the video in this post, and then imagine that for a full hour and a half….
This is one in a series of six posts about a 10-day trip I made to Iceland in early 2018. The first four describe the actual trip; the last two reflect on my experiences:
- Iceland: New Year’s in Reykjavik
- Iceland: South and back
- Iceland: A Taste of the north
- Iceland: The last leg of the journey
- Reflections on my Iceland trip, part 1: Some good choices
- Reflections on my Iceland trip, part 2: Some room for improvement