It was the most insane night of my life. We went out at 11 p.m., as suggested by the staff, and walked around amongst a mix of different types of people and clubs.

There was literally a club or bar every 15 feet, and we went towards the first one we read was decent in a guide I picked up earlier in the day. We looked around at the crowd standing outside and it was obvious we stuck out. But my brother needed a light, and I needed a beer.  

Kane approached one of the four people standing outside. They were dressed in leather and old band t-shirts, with chains, piercings and confused looks as to why two Americans in faded blue jeans and dress shirts were headed their way.

We looked around at the crowd standing outside and it was obvious we stuck out. But my brother needed a light, and I needed a beer. My brother asked one for a lighter and they asked us plainly, "what are you doing in Iceland?" I cocked back, said something sarcastic and an hour and a half later, we were in the bar that was reserved for a 21st birthday party.

We were buying shots of "Icelandic Jager," called Opal and learning about our new surroundings from locals our age. Then things went sour.

A guy stuck his hand out towards me, and I grabbed it, thinking he wanted to say hello. He said something in Icelandic, I leaned in to hear what he had to say and I was thrown across the room as hard as he could push.

The guys that had invited us in slammed him on the ground before I could move, shoved my brother and I in a corner and stood in front of us as they picked the him up and threw him out of the bar.

We had no idea what was going on, so we went back to the bar and ordered more shots. One of our hosts, Oliah, decided it was time to leave and as we were still dazed, we left.

As we stepped out, expecting to find the troublemaker waiting, we were happy to find that he was gone and in this new estactic state we started screaming.

Oliah suggested we go see his bike before we went to the next bar. He whistled to his Polish friend and off my brother ran with our new friend, leaving me even more confused with thoughts of the movie "Hostel" bouncing around in my head.
    
We literally walked three or four miles across Reykjavik, until the lights disappeared and things got shady. My brother, drunk as he could be, ran faster with Oliah running ahead of him and the Pole walking slowly behind me.

They turned corner after corner until all I could think about was our safety and where we were headed. The Pole, not saying much, didn't help the growing feeling of uncertainty and danger, as he walked just slow enough to stay five steps behind me.

We rounded another corner and another, until we stood in front of a large, white metal gate, behind which was another corner. Oliah opened the gate and Kane ran in, leaving me on the other side, with time blurring as I gripped my keys between my fingers, preparing to swing as hard as I could.

I heard the Pole behind me as Oliah motioned for me to walk through the gate. I swallowed, not drunk enough to lose my grip on the fact that I was about to walk through a gate with no place to run, in a country I'd didn't know, with two guys twice my size and the only person that could help me was so drunk, he barely made sense.

I stepped through the gate, only because my brother was on the other side and I heard the clink of the gate shutting behind us as we rounded the corner.

There, sitting 20 feet from us, was the most beautiful motorcycle I have ever seen. Oliah waved his hands towards it, said something I couldn't catch and opened the gate again, motioning us to leave a little more than 30 seconds after we had arrived.

The next six or so hours were a blur of clubs we weren't supposed to know about, covers we were supposed to pay but didn't, drinks we would come to find out were four times as expensive as we had thought and people we would never forget.

We literally got in places that foreigners weren't supposed to get into, and that fact made it even cooler when we strolled past lines 200 people long with no cover and no questions asked. We felt like rock stars.

After it was all over, we ate the customary Icelandic hot dog with everything on it, something they always do at 4 a.m. when they are headed home. When I say that it was one of the most amazing things I have ever eaten, I would be doing it a disservice.

We ended by exchanging e-mail addresses, said good-bye to the Pole and walked back, laughing and each telling our version of what happened that night.