Reykjavik Rooftop

I´m standing on a Reykjavik rooftop watching the aurora gracefully stride through a sky freckled with stars. My wonderful new friend´s arm is around my shoulder, the buzz of the party coming softly through the open door and up the stairwell.

My disguise is good. No-one seems to suspect I´m young, and have never been to a house party before, nor drunk fruit punch with vodka from the plastic 2 liter bottle we brought. I don´t think they´d care anyway, but I wonder if there´d be pressure if they had been my peers, or whether it´s simply the free thinking caused by long periods away from home in this stunning dark, snowy country.

Downstairs a large, white-blonde Icelandic man in a full suit and bow tie introduces me to a Dutchie. I try to say ´hoi´, and ´waar kom je vandaan?´, but the words leave my mouth muddled up and we quickly switch back to English. His German friend smiles thankfully. It´s surprising she hasn´t found any fellow countrymen yet, I´ve met more Germans than I can remember since I got here.

I wash away the tortilla chips with pesto dip with the last of my water and get up. The Oxford boy I´d been talking to has followed his friends to Prikið. Most other guests are starting to relocate to bars and clubs as well, and part of the way home I am accompanied by suitman and his companions. In his thirties, he nonchalantly puts his arm around my waist,  Maybe I wasn´t in disguise to begin with.