Living the Dream

BACK STORY 

In early 2010, well before any volcanic eruptions from Iceland began changing the flight plans of air transportation, I began dreaming of going to Iceland. This is a place to which I have no known connection, ancestry, or even a conscious interest. Sometimes in my dreams I would be navigating an airport, trying to make a flight, or on the plane (with Iceland natives using Americans as the butt of jokes). As I kept dreaming of Iceland, sometimes I even arrived to the country in my dreams (driving around in a Smart Car in one dream, or crusing around on a boat for a Eutopian tour of Iceland in another dream). Other odd - or perhaps unusually coincidental - things began happening: A promotional DVD for Iceland Tourism showed up next to my bag at a friend's house who knew nothing about my interest in this topic. A flier to run the first annual (local) Icelandic Seafood 8K was stuck on my windshield. Iceland started coming up in coversations with people who knew nothing of my dreams or my new interest in this place. Sure, it could be a series of coincidences and me being unconsciously aware of references to Iceland once I began dreaming about it, but it was something I couldn't seem to shake. In August 2010, my husband said, "I think we are supposed to go to Iceland," and in June 2011, we did. Maybe it was a tremendous leap of faith, maybe I was being "called" by unknown forces, or maybe it was just a very convenient excuse to get a vacation and see something new. I believe in time I will know what it is I am supposed to "take away" from this trip (other than taking away from our bank accounts!), but for now, I will relish the great memories.

I kept a journal and we took pictures all along the way. I seem to become inarticulate when someone asks me about our trip, so I thought I'd put it out there for all to see and read, and maybe to answer some questions you never knew you had. Feel free to travel vicariously!

DAY 1

The plane ride to Iceland took about 6 hours on a red-eye flight out of JFK. There was little if any sleep for me in spite of multiple airplane pillows, blankets, and impulse-purchase inflatable neck pillows. I had to face it: I just don't sleep on planes. My head bobs as I nod off, and then I am awake. Maybe for my next long flight, I should check out sleepy pills.

Delta's 757's are tricked out with individual tv, music stations, movies on demand, etc. So, really, there were no tears shed over not flying Jet Blue or Virgin Airlines, as I thought there might be. Another perk of international flying is that meals are still provided as part of the cost of your ticket. In this case, dinner and breakfast were served two hours apart. Also, beer and wine were on the house (plane?)! No wonder there was no chance of me sleeping on the plane!

We flew into the international airport in Keflavik, about 45 minutes away from Reykjavik. Prior to the trip, we booked a self-guided driving tour, and included with that was someone to drive us to our hotel when we arrived. Our driver stood amongst other drivers, only he was holding a sign with *our* name on it. (Yeah, that's right. We have a driver. We are important. Or so we'd like to pretend.) We nerdily took photos through the window of, well, not much. But it was new to us, so... On either side of the road, it was pretty much an ailen-looking dark grey terrain with these pretty purple flowers that were everywhere in Iceland (as we would learn). We also saw the Blue Lagoon's power station, or plumes of steam rising from it in the distance. Just as I was thinking to myself how calm and composed I was in spite of the excitement of the trip and the fatigue of no sleep, I had a panic attack and nearly threw up on the ride there. I managed to hold it off. Phew.

We checked in to our guesthouse, Hotel Floki. What should we see when we entered the foyer, but a massive, framed picture of Bjork in the hallway. No joke. Sadly for my weary mind and body, our room wasn't ready yet and we were early for check-in, seeing how it was noon and all. So we fought fatigue, stored our luggage, and went to walk around the city with our new maps.

Massive church of which I speak/write.

The ladies at the hotel front desk had pointed us to a popular (albeit tourist-oriented) downtown shopping area near the water. Greg and I walked up a hill to a massive church that we saw from miles away on the drive into the city. It was a short walk from where we were staying, as dumb luck (as in, blindly booking a hotel) would have it. We took lots of pictures, practicing with our new camera and its lenses. Greg became a photographic enthusiast at that very moment while I ate a smooshed muffin that I hoarded from the flight, since I had not been hungry for breakfast after having just had dinner.

Our journey continued on through the downtown shopping district. I bought some postcards. We checked out a small grocery store and confirmed that they carried skyr, something popular in Iceland that I had heard is something between yogurt and cheese. This was something that I had some interest in trying, unlike the other Icelandic delicacies of putrified shark or lamb's head.

Grafitti art.

There was also no shortage of what appeared to be "condoned graffiti" in the city streets and parks. Also, I spotted condoms and sexual pleasure items in the impulse isle at a grocery store. Then, we spied the Laundromat Cafe, a bar-staurant that posted a sign on a sandwich board outside, encouraging patrons to breastfeed if they so wish. (I am assuming they are encouraging mothers of babies to breastfeed, not everyone else.) WOW. How un-repressed! I want to live in a place that is unrepressed!

The Laundromat Cafe...So, so much to love there.

Greg and I finally checked in to our room once check-in time rolled around. I got a cat nap, and Greg read through brochures. We ventured out a little more into the shopping areas of the city. After souvenir shopping, window shopping, checking out restaurant options, learning that krap in Iceland translates to "slurpee" based on the sign in the store, we picked a gastropub for dinner. I spent most of the time being envious of Icelandic women's beauty. (All of the waitstaff and Icelandic folks in general are ridiculously beautiful, it seems. Sigh... What's that saying? "The hair is always fairer on the other side of the ocean?" Or something.)

This is krap! Really!

There was a store of some sort across the street from our lodging looked like a 7-11 from the outside, especially since it was next to a petrol station. Upon closer inspection, it was actually a fro-yo place like our hometown's Sweetfrog. We caught some dessert there and booked it back over to our guesthouse to meet Greg's friend's friend, Vithar, who is from Iceland and agreed to show us around.


Even Icelanders cannot resist the allure of self-serve frozen yogurt and toppings.


Vithar was a character, and apparently a socially progressive one, even by Icelandic standards. One of his time constraints, he explained, was that he had to drive his 16-year-old daughter to spend the night at her 16-year-old boyfriend's house. Also, he was happy to show us around, but he needed to stop into a grocery store because his wife called and reported a toilet paper emergency at their home. Oh, and he had to pick up a toothbrush (and "a good one,"as per his daughter's request), so that his daughter could take it to her boyfriend's place.

Vithar was certainly kind to take us on a car tour of the area. We rewarded him by inadvertently nodding off in the car...both of us, in fact. (Cringe.) I vaguely remember through the haze of heavy eyelids seeing the suburbs of Reykjavik and what Vithar described as the the closest thing they have to slums. These structures looked like regular apartments by comparison to our country's slums. In all, everyone in the Reykjavik area seemed to live in apartment or duplex-like homes, or at least in multiple-storied structures. We ended our driving tour by hanging out in the coffee shop of a bookstore and chatting a bit more. Vithar dropped us off at the guest house around 10:30 pm, and still looked like what we consider about 7:30 pm in terms of outside light. I was sure to make Greg take photos to prove it.

Yep. 11:00 p.m., and it's still light out.

Our mod/euro-style guesthouse room suited with bunk beds (I suspected Ikea-brand). Greg slept well, dropping off immediately. I had to shake him awake to have him roll over and stop snoring, since he didn't hear me calling his name. I woke up a couple of times and was confused at what time it was, given the amount of light outside. The time was 1:00 am. Unreal!

Our little room at Hotel Floki. I'm still captivated by that light fixture.