One Long Night

Reykjavik is intimate: last night, we saw Jónsi Birgisson, lead singer of Sigur Rós, at Kaffibarinn and then Megas, the "Bob Dylan of Iceland," at Olstofa later. No, no, we have not run into Björk, although a friend of ours pointed out where Björk lives. Oh, and on Tuesday night, Jeramy and an old friend were lamenting the closure (and imminent demolition) of Sirkus one of the most amazing bars in Reykjavik (Sirkus will eventually be a shopping mall, if construction ever resumes after the kreppa and its resultant architectural slump); while reminiscing about his times at Sirkus, Svein revealed that one of his friends had been thrown up on, on two separate occasions--both times at Sirkus, both times by Björk.

Tonight, because Jeramy was studying and I was stir crazy, I decided to head down the block to Kaffi Zimsen, not necessarily a hotspot for celebrities (unless you count their ads featuring a young Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson), but they offer cheap beer on Thursdays. The place was empty at 8:30 except for a table of Icelanders and the British bartender. While I was drinking my beer and reading, I overheard an English conversation between them--the bartender was talking about the northern lights, spectacular in this part of the world. His opinion offered a striking contrast to that of Canadian filmmaker Peter Mettler, whose meditative _Picture of LIght_ Jeramy and I watched the other day:


Mettler: We live in a time where things do not seem to exist if they are not captured as an image. But if you look into darkness you may see the lights of your own retina -- not unlike the Northern Lights, not unlike the movements of thought. Like a shapeless accumulation of everything we have ever seen. Before science explained, the Northern Lights were interpreted as visions, prophecies, spirits -- a trigger for the imagination -- images provided by nature framed by no less than the universe itself....aurora borealis...the lights with no bodies, pouring colours from the sky.... images from nature, images more special than any special effect.

Bartender: During the winter, you always feel drunk. It doesn't matter if it's a weeknight and you haven't had much to drink and the bar closes early--you look up at the sky and think "god, I'm completely tossed."

The Icelanders went on to tell a story of American treeplanters who, when asked how late they wanted to work their first day on the job, answered, "we'll work until dark."

In Iceland, the land of Vikings, huldufólk, and Verne's entrance to the centre of the earth, perhaps it makes sense to have an epic lightcycle as well. The bartender's answer to their story: "Imagine the summer is one long working day, and in the winter you come home to sleep for one long night."