Last night Reykjavik erupted. I’m not talking about a volcanic event, but equally fiery and explosive protests outside parliament. I watched this demonstration while dining on lobster, lamb, and chocolate cake with Iceland’s “wealthiest self-made man,” according to the man himself. The experience felt utterly surreal as we pursued history, philosophy, and technology while thronging crowds broke the windows of parliament, ignited fires throughout the city’s center, launched fireworks at government buildings, clashed with riot gear clad police, and never once stopped beating their oil drums – the drum beat of revolutionary impulses.
Rewind to Saturday. I walked into one of the theaters hosting films from the Reykjavik International Film Festival. I bought my ticket for Oil Rock: The Story of Stalin’s Floating Caspian Oil City, and noticed a 50-something year old man, or more specifically, I noticed his bomber jacket. Exquisite. An American eagle patch screamed across the worn leather breast, other flags and patches adorned the arms, and a fluffy wool collar lay casually on the shoulders. Where can I get one? I started the conversation: “Great jacket.”
I left with the man’s number and a promise for dinner. Three days later he picked me up in his white BMW. “Before we eat, I want to show you something.” He drove me past various embassies in Reykjavik, then we doubled back towards a looming black building. “That’s the Chinese embassy. It is four times larger than the next largest embassy – the American embassy. What does China need such a large embassy for? Remember, there are only 300,000 Icelanders. What is China doing here?”
He explained his theories about global wars fought through markets and resources instead of armies, and about China’s investments in the aluminum smelters here (which consume 80% of Iceland’s energy). He told me about “buying friends,” and how he fears that Iceland will become a bargaining chip in the market/resource wars ahead. He pointed out Canada and America's similar interests in Icelandic smelters and geothermal resources. He seemed to know much more about these subject than the layperson might. His pattern of unusual insights – suspicion arousing insights - only strengthened through the night.
Over dinner I continually probed my new friend to discover his past, but he revealed very little. His family, business, and political positions remains shrouded. When I tried to turn our conversation towards my own projects, goals, and ideas he seemed equally uninterested. Instead, he steered me into the realm of understanding man. “You are here to learn something about energy and to make some decisions about your future and career, no? You say you want to avoid the mid-life realization that your efforts have been misguided, meaningless, or even destructive to this world. To make these decisions well – to really be effective – you must first understand man thoroughly." He demanded that I see my contemporaries clearly, that I see their darkness as well as their good.
We discussed falcon breeding and the historical implications of that industry. We explored the beauty and horrors of Thailand. We reviewed psychopathy, and how many psychopaths build high-powered careers. “People on a mission are sometimes the most dangerous type. They are the ones who think they must accomplish something, and they will stop at nothing to get what they want. You seem to be on that kind of mission. Keep it in control. Know why you are doing what you are doing.”
My friend ate his lobster by hand. He dug his fingers into the buttery meat, but managed to do so with a completely dignified and sophisticated aura. It seemed totally appropriate that a pile of translucent napkins should mount on the table’s surface. He ordered apple juice and told me that he has never once had a sip of alcohol. Outside I saw crowds overrun a police barricade and shatter the windows of parliament. The trapped politicians escaped through a secret tunnel instead of face the financial collapse-fueled mob.
At one point the man unexpectedly asked me to state my IQ score, and later he wanted very specific details about my athletic abilities, particularly in swimming and running. He extended numerous offers of connections along with an offer for more meetings before I leave Iceland for China. “Perhaps you can meet the Governor here,” he added. I felt increasingly bewildered by the whole experience.
I left the restaurant and stepped out into the middle of the protest's central barricaded area (we literally dined overlooking parliament). I found myself among police in full riot gear. “Icelandic Jibberish?!” “Sorry, I only speak English.” “How did you get behind the barricade?!” “I entered the restaurant before the protests started. Don’t worry, I’m a disinterested American, and I'm not really into the whole 'violent protest' thing anyway. I’ll go now.”
The police escorted me to the perimeter of the safe-zone. I stepped over the riot wall, ran past some flames, a man waving a skull and crossed bones pirate flag, and people firing flares at parliament, and dashed into my guesthouse.
Next morning: charred lawn and broken windows at Iceland's "Alping" parliament
No comments:
Post a Comment