My Dinner with Edouard
Or, How John Almost Lost His Fookin´ Glasses
Fook. That´s how the Icelanders pronounce the F word. Fook.
As an addendum to my last entry, the restaurants opened after 5 on Good Friday, and most of the clubs were open. The club I was really interested in going to, NASA, was closed, however. Maybe tonight.
The evening began with a nice laid-back meal at a local restaurant...with Edouard! The bus that was supposed to have taken him to the north wasn´t running on Good Friday, so he went to the Golden Circle instead, and left today (Saturday).
Because NASA was closed I went instead to a nearby place that came recommended by Kristina, the hotel attendant. I asked if she was coming after work and she said "No, I´m going home," so I figured I would be spending the evening alone (Edouard had to get up at 8 the next morning). I left the hotel at about a quarter till 12 and bumped into who I believe is the owner of my hotel, who said, "Come over here. Electronic music can wait.
Come see the Northern Lights." I´m thinking, what? This far south? In the city? Apparently I had just missed them, but at one point I saw a faint green glimmer. Before I leave for the clubs tonight I´ll go out at about 11:30 and, if the sky is clear, maybe I´ll be able to see something.
When I got to the club at midnight it was dead. No one there. I thought maybe everyone stayed home for the holiday. So I left and wandered around for a while, came back, and sat alone in a chair waiting for the band to start, looking like (pardon the expression) "a spare prick at a wedding."
The band was obnoxiously loud, especially for the space. The only weird thing about them was the electric organ. The singer sounded like David Coverdale. They were a disappointment.
I can see plenty of lame rock bands in Baltimore, or anywhere in America.
Maybe I was expecting too much, but I was hoping Icelandic bands would take more chances. I guess it´s only the Icelandic acts that are signed (Bjork, Mum, Sigur Ros, AMPOP) who are willing to be weird. So I went back upstairs to the ´pub area´ which consisted of a bar, lounge area, pool tables, and a tiny but very popular dance area. By now the place was starting to get very crowded, so I made my way over to a chair by the window, and became acquainted with a middle-aged and very drunk Icelandic woman. We chatted, as well as possible, about Iceland vs. America, etc. Then she spilt wine on my pants and boots.
After cleaning off in the bathroom, I wandered about some more, eventually making my way back downstairs to the club side. I was determined to stay as long as possible, since the cover charge was the equivalent of $25.
By now it occurred to me that the Icelanders party on a much more serious level than Americans. Everyone dances--men and women--and they seem like a very tight community. I telegraphed that I was foreign, basically because I wasn´t drunk out of my fookin´gourd. The Icelanders like their booze.
The whole night was like one big mosh pit. You couldn´t help but slam into people. No one cares. It´s a matter of course. The audience for the band was rowdy and raving. The whole night was like a drunken carnival ride.
These kids are among the wealthiest in the world, and they likes to par-tay.
Eventually the old drunk lady emerged and began seriously slamming to the band. Then she grabbed me around the neck, screamed something in my ear, and in my attempt to extricate myself, somehow caused my glasses to go shooting across the floor.
All I can remember about the next couple of minutes is fishing blindly about the floor of the club, pushing people´s legs aside, and yelling "Shit!
Shit!" Someone kindly offered me their cell phone to use as a flashlight, but it didn´t help. I stood up helplessly, forgetting of course the spare pair I had back at the hotel. Then a guy comes over and hands them to me.
They were in one piece. They weren´t even scratched.
At dawn (which here is around 4 AM) I wandered around the streets, which were now teeming. Downtown Reykjavik is not terribly different from Fells Point or Georgetown. The Icelanders, though, make good party. There is no doubt about that. And they all seem to know each other. A tight little country.
As I was wandering about, I encountered some American servicemen, one of whom was making an asshole out of himself. They were all being shipped back to America soon. The U.S. pulled out of its defense agreement with Iceland.
As it got brighter, I walked down to the water to get a picture of the mountains and the bay at sunrise, but with a disposable camera, it´s hard to say if it will come out. Then I went home, and surprisingly, slept like a fookin´ baby.
They is some crazy-ass Viking mutha-fookaz!
Tonight (Saturday): Club Odal, Pravda, and, maybe, NASA
John
Fook. That´s how the Icelanders pronounce the F word. Fook.
As an addendum to my last entry, the restaurants opened after 5 on Good Friday, and most of the clubs were open. The club I was really interested in going to, NASA, was closed, however. Maybe tonight.
The evening began with a nice laid-back meal at a local restaurant...with Edouard! The bus that was supposed to have taken him to the north wasn´t running on Good Friday, so he went to the Golden Circle instead, and left today (Saturday).
Because NASA was closed I went instead to a nearby place that came recommended by Kristina, the hotel attendant. I asked if she was coming after work and she said "No, I´m going home," so I figured I would be spending the evening alone (Edouard had to get up at 8 the next morning). I left the hotel at about a quarter till 12 and bumped into who I believe is the owner of my hotel, who said, "Come over here. Electronic music can wait.
Come see the Northern Lights." I´m thinking, what? This far south? In the city? Apparently I had just missed them, but at one point I saw a faint green glimmer. Before I leave for the clubs tonight I´ll go out at about 11:30 and, if the sky is clear, maybe I´ll be able to see something.
When I got to the club at midnight it was dead. No one there. I thought maybe everyone stayed home for the holiday. So I left and wandered around for a while, came back, and sat alone in a chair waiting for the band to start, looking like (pardon the expression) "a spare prick at a wedding."
The band was obnoxiously loud, especially for the space. The only weird thing about them was the electric organ. The singer sounded like David Coverdale. They were a disappointment.
I can see plenty of lame rock bands in Baltimore, or anywhere in America.
Maybe I was expecting too much, but I was hoping Icelandic bands would take more chances. I guess it´s only the Icelandic acts that are signed (Bjork, Mum, Sigur Ros, AMPOP) who are willing to be weird. So I went back upstairs to the ´pub area´ which consisted of a bar, lounge area, pool tables, and a tiny but very popular dance area. By now the place was starting to get very crowded, so I made my way over to a chair by the window, and became acquainted with a middle-aged and very drunk Icelandic woman. We chatted, as well as possible, about Iceland vs. America, etc. Then she spilt wine on my pants and boots.
After cleaning off in the bathroom, I wandered about some more, eventually making my way back downstairs to the club side. I was determined to stay as long as possible, since the cover charge was the equivalent of $25.
By now it occurred to me that the Icelanders party on a much more serious level than Americans. Everyone dances--men and women--and they seem like a very tight community. I telegraphed that I was foreign, basically because I wasn´t drunk out of my fookin´gourd. The Icelanders like their booze.
The whole night was like one big mosh pit. You couldn´t help but slam into people. No one cares. It´s a matter of course. The audience for the band was rowdy and raving. The whole night was like a drunken carnival ride.
These kids are among the wealthiest in the world, and they likes to par-tay.
Eventually the old drunk lady emerged and began seriously slamming to the band. Then she grabbed me around the neck, screamed something in my ear, and in my attempt to extricate myself, somehow caused my glasses to go shooting across the floor.
All I can remember about the next couple of minutes is fishing blindly about the floor of the club, pushing people´s legs aside, and yelling "Shit!
Shit!" Someone kindly offered me their cell phone to use as a flashlight, but it didn´t help. I stood up helplessly, forgetting of course the spare pair I had back at the hotel. Then a guy comes over and hands them to me.
They were in one piece. They weren´t even scratched.
At dawn (which here is around 4 AM) I wandered around the streets, which were now teeming. Downtown Reykjavik is not terribly different from Fells Point or Georgetown. The Icelanders, though, make good party. There is no doubt about that. And they all seem to know each other. A tight little country.
As I was wandering about, I encountered some American servicemen, one of whom was making an asshole out of himself. They were all being shipped back to America soon. The U.S. pulled out of its defense agreement with Iceland.
As it got brighter, I walked down to the water to get a picture of the mountains and the bay at sunrise, but with a disposable camera, it´s hard to say if it will come out. Then I went home, and surprisingly, slept like a fookin´ baby.
They is some crazy-ass Viking mutha-fookaz!
Tonight (Saturday): Club Odal, Pravda, and, maybe, NASA
John
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