I desperately tap on my phone.
“It’s dead,” I say loudly as someone brushes past me. “Dammit.”
The British equivalent of Aziz Ansari, Shami, grins at me and says, “It doesn’t matter. No one will believe you.”
He starts laughing, near maniacally as he has all night. He disappears into the crowd of young travelers who are crowding up the cozy Icelandic house, drinking tall cans of Heineken and trying to cut down airplane bottles of spirits hanging from the ceiling.
Suddenly, another companion – a very tall, bright eyed guy named Garrett (who I’ve been announcing looks like a young Jon Hamm), announces that the homeowner just cut up freshly caught salmon. We all cheer, and pile it on thick loaves of crusty bread. Erica and I exchange a look of pleasant surprise, not only that we’ve someone ended up at this random house at 3 AM, but that the said salmon is actually delicious.
But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.
When I wrote my last post of 2015, I talked about how I wanted to follow my instincts, to listen. That may have been what encouraged me to scour CouchSurfing.com for local events, and agreeing to meet some fellow travelers at The Big Lebowski themed bar to ring in the New Year. Unbeknownst to Erica and I, as soon as I’d asked – “are you guys from CouchSurfing?”, we’d be thrust into one of the most unpredictable, crazy and serendipitous New Years we’ve ever had.
Fast forward to two hours later, post Lebowski bar and pre-midnight, where I’m being led by foot outside of Reykjavik.
“Hey Kevin…” I call ahead, clutching my floor length silver dress so it doesn’t drag through the snow.
“We were going the wrong way,” he replies. “We’re going the right way now.”
I’m hesitant, but we’ve already been walking for about 30 minutes so I decide to trust him. I continue to talk to Dijon (or at least, that’s what it sounds like he’s saying) about our plans for Paris, with him enchanting me with stories of a neighborhood that’s basically “a Parisian Brooklyn.”
Erica’s trailing me, bonding with Will, who also used to live in Philadelphia and knows how to properly order a cheesesteak. All around us, fireworks are going off in quick succession. Over the city, over the suburbs, bursts of red, green, and gold light up the night sky as we trek through close to 4 miles of road and highway, occasionally moving off the street for cars.
We enter a residential neighborhood – making our way through snow covered cars and residents firing off bottle rockets and such in their front yards. And as the previously mentioned Garrett and I start to joke about the possibility what we’re looking for doesn’t actually exist, there it is.
A gigantic bonfire, surrounded by close to 100 people.
We all breathe out sighs of relief – and congratulate our unintentional leader Kevin, who we have deemed “Best Kevin,” a self-proclaimed nomad who’s also staying at Kex Hostel.
Between getting to this giant fire and returning to the city, we probably walked about six miles through areas of Reykjavik I’d never seen and wasn’t familiar with, while “skating” across frozen over ponds, walking through sleepy neighborhoods, and inevitably losing “Best Kevin.” Eventually getting back to Kex, sipping vodka and Coke, and meeting the effervescent Shami before heading out again for fireworks.
Just when we all thought there couldn’t be anything else that this night had in store, we were humbled by the amazing firework display at Hallgrímskirkja. An elegant, white church on a hilltop overlooking the city, that looks like it could have been made out of snow.
It’ll be a hard New Years to top – waving around sparklers, watching Best Kevin light off firework after firework, snapping group shots with Dijon’s camera. Watching drones fly around with the lovely Sarah from Egypt, and exchanging “is this for real?” looks with Erica and Garrett, almost missing midnight. All while surrounded with what must have been hundreds of fireworks.
And as they went off, snowflakes fell, setting a picturesque yet somewhat post-apocalyptic scene. Flashes of light amongst the darkness, surrounded with people I had only met hours before. Shami is spinning me around, overcome with happiness and probably drunkenness.
My silver, sparkly dress waving in the wind as Garrett calls out that we’ve been invited to someone’s house.
And back to the start of this – a lovely Icelandic couple welcoming 10 of us into their home. Swapping tattoo stories with Sarah, promising her I would stay in touch and come see her in Egypt. Listening to Shami tell us about the time he was mugged for Pokemon cards. Chatting with countless others – Karlin, “Other Kevin,” Katrina, Nancy, and Elin – people from Iceland and all over the world, with just the decision to come to Iceland for New Years in common.
Travel is funny. Travel is weird and challenging. New Years was a reminder of taking intuitive cues, overcoming my natural shy, somewhat cold demeanor. To spend this time away to get as far away, but also as close to myself, as I can.