Veuve and rockets

New years in Iceland remains one of the most exuberant places to start things off with a bang. S and I returned from Germany in time to do it right, landing in the midst of the preliminary experimental explosions that are part of the dark days between Christmas and the 6th of January.

But first, I had to sing in the gamlárskvöld mass in the church, an enthusiastic and relaxed service that ended with a flurry of kisses and hugs. Then we all assembled to drink a champagne toast, to sing the beautiful Icelandic national anthem (for the uninitiated, it's a four-part hymn that's sung infrequently, not at all like the American anthem that opens every baseball game), and then to explode a few fireworks while we all stood outside and sang some more.

We then went to a party of people that have been meeting every few months for parties that are always excellent- good food, interesting people, lots of conversation, and a perfect location just below Hallgrimskirkja. At midnight we all went out into the street while S and G took on the duties of firemasters. We exploded cakes, we exploded rockets, popped confetti bottles, lit whizzing pinwheels, waved sparklers, and generally created the experience of the American Revolution by clogging the street in a haze of gunpowder. All around us, the fizz of launching rockets exploded overhead as we worked through the boxes.

And then, when we all got cold enough, back inside for more food, more champagne, and more conviviality. Iceland hasn't lost the spirit at all, and with an arrival like that, I can't help but feel like good things are still to come.