My very first visit to Reykjavík fell on Menningarnótt. I landed here without a clue how to pronounce that word correctly, or what it actually meant. But I was immediately drawn to the city. There was so much happening for its size. Every street I turned onto was transformed into a DIY event of some kind — backyard concerts, clothing swaps, barbecues, weird tiny exhibitions and all sorts of pop-ups. The raw, unpretentious charm of Reykjavík turned into one giant block party that day made me instantly feel welcome. The whole thing was topped up with a concert you could watch from what I didn’t know back then was Arnarhóll hill and a fireworks display that illuminated the lingering twilight of the summer sky.
On that night, Reykjavík felt like one of the most vibrant places I’d ever been, even though it also felt new and unknown. First impressions are important, aren’t they?
As you can imagine, it was all downhill from there.
Back then, I didn’t know Menningarnótt happens just once a year. The usual weekends in Reykjavík, while still lively, never quite reach that same level of exuberance. Years passed, and as I settled into Reykjavík life, I began to hear a different perspective from locals — who advised trying to leave the fireworks show early, before it all turns into a mess of teenagers on their first proper night out, their backpacks loaded with cheap alcohol as they stumble through the streets.
Over the years, this reputation has only intensified. It seems that Menningarnótt has become a day for those who “choose wisely, come early,” but a night that many prefer to completely avoid.
The tragic death of a 17-year-old girl this year, stabbed by another teenager on Skúlagata along with two injured peers, has confronted Reykjavík’s residents with a sobering reality: Menningarnótt is no longer about culture. It’s a night that raises questions about safety, about what kind of culture is being celebrated, and whether the event has strayed too far from its original intent.
The clash between cultural expression and mainstream entertainment was starkly illustrated when the second-hand bookstore Bókin, on the corner of Klapparstígur and Hverfisgata, had to cancel its poetry reading due to noise from DJ Margeir’s tent set up right outside its window. This incident sparked a debate about whether the city is adequately balancing the interests of all its residents.
Why wasn’t the schedule negotiated in a way that would allow both the poetry reading and the DJ performance to coexist? This question becomes more complex when considering that DJ Margeir’s Culture Night yoga sessions have been taking place in the same location for years. Does this history make the owners of Bókin responsible for planning their Menningarnótt schedule around external events, rather than the other way around?
While violence and similar incidents can happen in any big city, the aftermath of this year’s Menningarnótt should prompt the organisers to consider what kind of Culture Night they want to create. Is this truly a celebration of Reykjavík’s rich artistic and cultural heritage, or has it devolved into an excuse for a night of reckless, even dangerous, abandon?
Perhaps part of the problem is the concentration of Menningarnótt events within the perimeter of downtown. What if it were spread out to other parts of the city? This could give teenagers from the suburbs a chance to participate without resorting to hiding bottles of alcohol in 101 alleyways to dodge their parents.
As things stand, Menningarnótt has become a rowdy, intimidating street party. But maybe it’s always been this way — and maybe it’s an honest representation of downtown culture after all.
Buy subscriptions, t-shirts and more from our shop right here!
