I left Kex to join some friends out and about at the perfect moment to catch the late night sunset. The houses down the Hverfisgata all blushed a deep pink, and their windows bounced the glow of fading sunlight back out over the street below as fairy lights snapped on in the upper storeys. I caught the last minutes of a fab local band's set on the patio of trendy Bar 11 (they're called Kaleo, check em out), and we sipped Tuborgs surrounded by a selection of the city. Pale gothic teenagers and stubbly sk8er bois rocked alongside a group of middle-aged women in grey trouser suits and rainbow ties moshing harder than anyone. Love pride.
We moved with the crowd downtown to settle in the upstairs of a whiskey bar promising live music and local beers. Their attic room filled up with heavy blues from another local group, and I couldn't help but think how perfect the scene would be in the dark and freezing winter months; the softly lit panelled interior of sloping ceilings and shelves of booze, a tumbler of liquor and a pane of glass away from the snow and stars on the street. But it was pretty nice in August too. In the queue for the loos at the next bar an Icelandic woman asked me if I thought there was "hanky panky" happening in a particularly slow cubicle - where on earth did she pick up that phrase? What textbooks do they use for language learning in this country?
We ended our night at a queer club full of shadowy corners and Whitney Houston, followed by chicken wings at the Chuck Norris restaurant downstairs. Very authentic.