European Journey, but first Iceland

I flew into Iceland today, or maybe it was yesterday. Can you tell I’m jetlagged?

First stop Iceland. I had a stressful moment when I first arrived at SeaTac airport. I had booked two seats on Icelandair. The ticket person said they were having trouble with my booking.

Uh oh. Not a good way to start an adventure. But wait, the day before my flight, an eagle had flown into a tree just outside my office window. A good omen, right? Back to the ticket agent, before I go wax poetic about eagles and such.

She calls her supervisor, and after hanging up, the agent prints boarding passes for both seats, hands them to me, and says, “You have to call the airline. and cancel one of the seats.”

Okay, I thought. First, get me through the security checkpoint, and I will talk to the agents on the other side. Security checkout went smoothly. I didn’t have to take off my shoes. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have worn the easy-off pair. I already have too many shoes with me as is. I had snow boots for Iceland, easy-to-slip-on-and-off shoes for security checkpoints, walking shoes, and another pair, but not so good for walking. I’m thinking seriously of shipping some shoes back home. I wonder how much shipping would be?

I get to the other side of security and talk to the boarding agent, and the supervisor is there. I’m looking for a second opinion on what I should do, because I don’t want to cancel my other seat. Supervisor confirms that yes, I have to call the airlines and have them fix the problem.

So I get the airline on the phone. Turns out I booked it wrong. I’m not sure how, but apparently I needed to book that extra seat in another way. Mystery.

The reason I booked another seat? The last time I flew a long flight from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to Phoenix, Arizona, I was crammed in between two people. Uncomfortable and painful to this aging body. I nabbed the window and middle seats and paid for the seats just behind 1st class for the extra legroom. No way, I didn’t want to cancel the seat. The airline fixed it, and I kept the two seats. They also let me know that I had paid too much for my seats and that I would receive a partial refund for the difference. I don’t know what I did wrong, but the agent fixed it.

The wait begins. I sit down to commence with the doom scrolling on my phone. Wait. Why am I sitting? I’m going to do that on the plane for hours. I get up and stroll around the concourse while waiting. I noticed three or four TSA agents going through a gentleman’s backpack, patting him down. I’m wondering how he got through the checkpoint, and why they’re doing this now in front of all his plane mates? Not my business, so I stroll on.

When I return to the scene of the pat-down, some of the agents are still there, but the gentleman is gone. Did they find something and take him away, or did they find nothing and he’s waiting in a seat somewhere, humiliated by the ordeal?

It will be an unanswered question for the rest of my days. However, it could be a good starting point for a future novel. I won’t write it; someone else should.

I board the red-eye flight to Iceland, and when everyone has boarded, I realize there is no one else sitting in the aisle seat. And no one is seated in the row across the aisle. Didn’t need that extra seat after all.

The leg room! The comfort! I remained hopeful of seeing the Northern Lights once darkness fell. Alas, no lights, just a movie, doom-scrolling on my phone, and some naps in between. If any lights appeared, it would have happened while I slept. I am working on a positive attitude, but I still slip into the glass-half-empty mode at times.

As we flew closer to the airport and descended below the clouds, I noticed Iceland’s lava-scape. There’s no escaping the fact that volcanoes rule this land.

We land, disembark, and weave through the maze that leads to customs, then to baggage reclaim, as they put it. We call it baggage claim. I like the reclaim aspect better.

The first thing I did was grab the wrong bag. Oops. Looked like mine, but a bit more traveled and scuffed. Putting it back when mine comes into view, I grab the right luggage from the carousel and continue on my way.

Which way is my way? I follow everyone, as directed, and we wind our way through a store. Genius! Get people to buy right away.

Is this the right way to go? Hoped so, as I passed the point of no return.

Out of nowhere, this woman comes up to me and asks, “Are you going to Reykjavik by bus?”

“Why yes,” I said, noting her accent. Not sure where it originated, yet definitely not Icelandic or British.

She asked if we could go together. She seemed pleasant, and I agreed. Still, I was on my guard. We find the Flybus counter. I said I needed to use the restroom. She offered to watch my suitcases. I decided to wait until later to go. I’m sure it was her being helpful, but I’m wise enough to know better, in case she was something beyond innocent.

We get on the bus and sit in the front with the big windshield view of everything. Chatting along the ride, I learned she was French but lived on the east side of Seattle. I assume she had lived long enough in the States to have a bit of our accent woven into hers. We chatted like old friends. I chatted briefly with the couple behind us. Nice pair from Bristol in England. I know a wee bit about their town, at least how it is located close to Wales, from watching Gavin and Stacy on Britbox.

The stark landscape in the 45-minute ride revealed more lichen-covered volcanic rock, with layers of moss in different shades and hues, that softened the craggy remains of lava flows. The textures and layers in a minimalist landscape revealed its striking beauty as the bus rolled down the highway—such a contrast to Washington, the evergreen state.

We get to the Flybus Terminal, where we transfer to buses that will take us to our final destinations. I am in the green zone. For some reason, when I retrieve my bags, the bus driver decides to help me to my other bus. He grabs the bags and walks away with me scurrying close behind him. He drops them off with the new bus driver and tells me to have a great time.

He hustled over to the other bus so fast I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to my brief, travel companion. She came into my life for a micro moment, and then she was gone. I don’t even know her name, she doesn’t know mine. We never introduced ourselves. I hope to have more encounters like this to mark brief moments in time. But next time, I’ll ask for a first name!

On the new bus, I arrive at my designated stop. It’s raining, not hard, but steady. The driver gets my bags off for me. I look around and see no marquees on any building that says hotel.

I put my hood up, look back at the driver, and ask, “Do you know which building is my hotel?”

He shrugged and pointed at the building next to the stop. “It could be that one, or it could be one over there,” pointing vaguely in the other direction behind me. And with that, he hopped onto his bus, put it in gear and left.

Not one sign of a person in sight, I felt abandoned in the middle of somewhere, not knowing exactly where to go next.

After securing my carry-ons onto my rolling suitcases, I set off towards the closest building the driver pointed out. The cream-white building had a pristine appearance. I couldn’t find a main entrance. At the corner, a curved stairway led to a door. It looked more like apartments, not hotel-like. I walked the length of the building, looking for the entrance. The only street-level entrance led inside to a bakery. I walked back to the corner again.

Remember when I needed to use the bathroom at the airport? Yes, I still needed one. Looking up the hill, lined with many buildings, it wasn’t that steep, but with my gear, it may as well have been a mountain to climb. Oh, good, a hill to walk up with suitcases. Suitcases on wheels became the most important invention of humankind I thought as I gazed up the hill. I turned and headed back to the bakery. Maybe they could tell me where I needed to go? I wrestled my entourage of stuff through the door.

Turns out Bernhöftsbakarí is Iceland’s oldest bakery. There didn’t seem to be a public restroom inside; I didn’t ask. What I did ask was if she knew the hotel location. Thankfully, she knew English; unfortunately, she didn’t know the hotel. I gave her the address, and she thought it might be up the hill. A little less vague then previous directions and a place to start.

I bought a croissant stuffed with ham and cheese, and a marzipan and sparkling water for dinner. When I pulled the water out of the cooler, I hoped it was water; I didn’t know their word for it. The woman tried to tell me something about my selection and offered a cup of water. Her accent made it hard for me to understand. I bought the bottle, not wanting to drink the offered water there when I still needed to go to the restroom. I thanked her for her help and left.

Up the hill, pushing suitcases while huffing and puffing, I saw the hotel sign in a couple of blocks. Breathing a sigh of relief, or just breathing heavily, after another block or two, I made it to the front door. Three steps up. I began wrestling the suitcases up to the landing. As I pulled the last one up, the heavy one suddenly became lighter. I turned, and a gentleman was helping me bring it up. I thanked him for his kindness and went inside.

Inside the lobby of the Center Hotels Klopp, the gentleman behind the desk asked if I needed to sit and rest and if he could get me some water. Did I look haggard? Probably, with all the huffing and puffing and pushing two suitcases up a steep hill. First things first, I asked to use the restroom. Once back to composure, I went to the desk to check in. Thankfully, they let me have the room early, well before their official check-in time.

I settled into my room and realized it had been nearly 9 hours since I last ate. I needed some food, so out came the baked goods. Did that meat-stuffed croissant taste like heaven? Oh yeah, but the marzipan topped it off with a slice of melt-in-your-mouth goodness. The water, the woman tried to explain about? Turned out to be sparkling and tasted good, going down my throat.

Too tired by then to think about going out into the night air for some aurora gazing, I’m glad they canceled for inclement weather.

I wanted to go out and bring something back to eat in case I got hungry before morning. Nope, too tired. By three o’clock in the afternoon, I passed out on the bed. Sleep, take me away!

I woke up around 10-ish at night and wrote this 2000-word essay. I looked out the window onto a courtyard and took some night shots with my cell phone. I thought, not too shabby for a phone camera, and bracing it on the window ledge helped. I was surprised at the pixelated display in front of me. But most intriguing was the bookstore. Chocolate and books, my kind of store. Unfortunately, I never made it to either of them to find out more.

It’s now 4-ish in the morning, and I’m going to take a nap for a few hours. No, it didn’t take that long to write this. I worked on some more adventure bookings for my trip, played a few games, checked in on my gardening groups on Facebook, and checked emails.

Adventure on! Next post will be up tomorrow—Iceland the city, some eats, and whale watching in the harbor. I promise it won’t be as long as this one.