I spent New Years eve with my younger uncle and Svava, his girlfriend. They invited me, Svava's grandmother and my grandfather to an intimate dinner. The dinner was a culinary piece of art. And uncle looked dashing in his pink shirt.
We managed to tick all the boxes. Listened with one ear to the Presidents annual speech, laughed (or not) at the annual new years comedic review (one of Icelnand's great New Years traditions), plunged ourselves into drunken tupor together with some friends of Svava and then headed out to a fancy New Years party downtown.
But the highlight must have been the 12.00 fireworks. In Iceland, there is no central firework display. Instead, every man and his dog (or cat) competes with their neighbor who has the most expensive, loud, brash display. It makes for an hour of light and thunder that made Reykjavik look like a war scene off CNN. In a nice way.
I have a good feeling about 2007
