Reykjavík is unique for many reasons, including the city center. In its heart a flora of the nation’s cultural heritage blossoms with oddly-shaped church buildings, museums, cinemas and theaters, as well as a varied selection of cafés and restaurants suitable for all ages and culinary tastes.

People may crowd the downtown area today, however, at least in my recollection, there was a time when its streets were noticeably empty during the day with the exception of students attending Iceland’s oldest junior college, Menntaskólinn in Reykjavík, and residing locals.

On weekends, residents whose homes line the narrow streets of the city center would enjoy the perks of living downtown, but to see outsiders from areas past Reykjavík 105 hang out in the city center was not common.

But then the recession struck in 2008 and all of a sudden Austurvöllur, the square in front of the parliament, was the place to be.

Granted, only for people who brought their own kitchenware to make noise or containers of expired skyr (an Icelandic dairy product resembling a thick yoghurt) to decorate the walls of the parliament building.

After the formerly hostile tribe of cabinet members finally gave in to the tribe of protestors’ call for their resignation, Austurvöllur expected naught but the previous state of abandonment to return.

It knew all too well that Icelanders were too busy prowling the streets of real cities, like Boston and Copenhagen (popular destinations for Icelandic travelers), to make time for Ms. Reykjavík.

But with funds dried up, Icelanders couldn’t afford to travel overseas anymore, so the only weekend trips to make were to the city of Reykjavík.

And so the city of Reykjavík became a hotspot.

The vibration of human voices enriched the world’s northernmost capital, and even though the economy continued to slide downwards, more and more locals dropped in from the suburbs to visit the city’s attractions.

They went to Kolaportið, the local flea market, the new harbor area where restaurants and cafés have appeared in the past few years, the Harpa concert and conference hall to listen to music (or just enjoy the view of the city’s splendid new landmark), the downtown museums and art shops on Skólasvörðustígur, or just to relax with a good cup of coffee and chat with friends and family members in the company of strangers.

As you may have gathered, I am one of those eager to come up with any excuse to take a walk through the park Hljómskálagarðurinn by the Reykjavík Pond, go to my favorite café, C for Cookie, where I like to read and write, or just to freeze a moment in time with my camera. 

I also love the fact that the largest bookstores, Eymundsson and Mál og menning, are open until 10 pm every night.

But come Friday and Saturday night, I bail from the city center and seek refuge in the privacy of my home. On weekends I prefer a walk to the almost desolate quietude on the shores of Ægisíða in my local Vesturbær, or visiting family and friends.

What goes on in the city center on weekends is bewildering to the eyes of a non-drinker. I jokingly refer to the Reykjavík nightlife as a midnight zoo.

The wild roar of the beastly tribe of night owls breaks the silent night in the illuminated dark city every single weekend of the year.

In the case of most party-goers, the beast within is benign and they dance in celebration of the excessive rush of happiness fueled by invisible fumes of moderate intoxication.

The reserved politeness of the daytime crowd is abolished for roughened Viking ways. A pint of beer, full to the rim, is spilled over random strangers standing in the way and clever one-liners, some more inappropriate than others, are thrown in the face of an unsuspected audience.

The intentions behind this seeming lack of respect are not to cause harm. It is merely the acceptable manners of the night born out of social isolation and momentary state of forgetfulness. An apology is simply not customary.

But the felicitous beast must rest and as daybreak nears, civility gradually returns as one taxi after another travel back and forth to ferry the wild creatures of the night to their “cages” where they will remain until sobriety returns.

However, in the case of beasts blinded by rage, the fumes of intoxication are poisonous. The reckless ones aggressively throw away empty glass bottles, leaving sharp fractures on the city’s streets, potentially causing accidents.

Worst of all is the growing violence born from the erupting anger within.

At the moment, the economic crisis is a contributing factor to the growing violence in Reykjavík at night. Anger, tapped by civility during sobriety, flows to the surface under the influence of intoxication and leads to unnecessary violent outbursts.

Fights break out because of small disputes and the understaffed police assigned to zoo-keeping travel back and forth to contain troublemakers.

In the morning, Reykjavík is at peace again and the secrets of the night a distant memory.

In the light of day, she is picturesque and lovely to behold with visitors and locals roaming the streets, kindly exchanging smiles and delighting in the curious laughter of children, intoxicated by naught but a genuine joie de vivre. 

A sober wallflower or drunk as a duke, young or old, she is a wonderful city to call home.

Júlíana Björnsdóttir – julianabjornsdottir@gmail.com