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We arrived in Iceland this morning, incredibly grateful to be met with a gust of the impossibly clean and fresh arctic air and to finally have the chance to stretch the kinks out of our necks and cramps out of our legs after hours of foiled attempts at stealing a few seconds of sleep while we crossed the Atlantic in the world's most uncomfortable seat assignments. Given the series of unexpected events that had unfolded in the 10 or so hours prior to us landing in Iceland, it was hard to believe that we had managed to arrive at all. A flight cancellation due to inclement weather had spun our well laid plans into a jumbled mess of hoping we'd have time to get to where we needed to be.
What ensued was a series of crossing our fingers and making mad dashes down the moving sidewalks of two New York airports, speeding down the NY freeway in a black unmarked Lincoln driven by a man who might have been named Barabas, Juan Carlos Santiago Gimenez IV, or Mr. A. Chopra-fan, (all three names were listed on various licenses placed throughout the vehicle), and running from one baggage
claim to the next trying to track down whether our poor lopsided and awkward backpacks were still stuck in Boston, already ahead of us on their way to Iceland, in the back of another Lincoln not driven by the man with many names. Our frantic amazing race from one airport to the next was spurred onward by the fact that if we didn't make our Iceland flight, we'd have to wait a full 24 hours for another one, and the knowledge that any lodging we need to find in the interim period, would not be reimbursed by Delta. We were making surprisingly good time until we hit security at JFK, and Brian got pulled aside for a random full-body pat down by a very nervous still-in-training security guard who had not quite yet gotten the hang of his new, very intimate arrangement with total strangers, but who, in spite of the awkwardness, was determined to do a most thorough job.
The miracle of us making a flight that the Delta customer service ladies felt sure we couldn't get to in time, added to the fact that upon arriving in the Keflavik airport , we found our beloved backpacks
lovingly huddled together, alone in a random corner by the duty-free shop, separated from Brian's sleeping bag which had rolled further down the hallway, but somehow, safe and sound, and in Iceland.....the fact that the universe managed to make this happen for us, was simply amazing.
After leaving the airport (imagine IKEA situated amongst scattered lava rock in a treeless tundra on Mars and you'll probably have the Keflavik airport imagined to a T), we headed into the country's capital city, which is so quirky and endearing and easy to navigate that we had a hard time believing this was as big and chaotic as Iceland gets. There seems to be few 'main' roads with shops and restaurants, but the traffic through these streets are less hairy than the four way in Carrollton's square. For lunch we found an odd but interesting little vegetarian cafe, whose first floor door sent you up a winding few floors of step into a small restaurant serving who-knows-what but dang did it taste good after airplane peanuts and pretzels twists. It was a little after noon and we were the only customer save a lone guy slurping down some soup in the
corner, and I first I was thinking that perhaps Icelanders ate later in the day, but then I realized it probably was more related to the Iceland's love affair with seafood, which left little room for a such a sparsely populated Island to scarf down vegetarian fare with equal enthusiasm and gusto.
Our KEX hostel is amazing. The whole place is decked out in retro-Iceland everything. There are stacks of board games from the 60's and mid-century Encyclopedia Brittanica's lining the lobby's bookshelves, and the bathroom stall are wallpapered with old Icelandic newspaper clippings-- while a vintage intercom plays Nixon and MLK speeches overhead. Mom, this place is truly a Feather's and Twigs dream! The hostel was an old biscuit (Kex) factory, and it is situated right across the street from the bay, making our window views from the hostel impossible to beat. The afternoon air is just cold enough to be invigorating and refreshing, but stops short of inciting any shoulder shivers or goosebumps, making it perfect for meandering along the bike path that snakes around the coastline and lying side by side in the park in the sun-- still flabbergasted by the fact that we're actually
in Iceland.
Later in the evening, when the temperature dropped a bit, we caught a ride to the Blue Lagoon, an incredible series of geothermal saltwater pools surrounded on all sides by heaps of moss covered lava rocks. We painted our faces white with the lagoon's silica rich mud, stood underneath massaging waterfalls of warm water, floated about sipping on a strawberry Skyr Boozt (yogurt smoothie), tested our willpower to stay put in a roasting sweat lodge, and spotted bodies and bathing suits in every shape and size imaginable.
Now it is after one am here in Iceland, and while Brian is asleep beneath my bunk and one other traveler is snoring softly on a top bunk to my right, the other half dozen or so beds in our room are still empty, and the laughter and hipster music from the lobby only quieted down around midnight. Outside our window, it looks as though it is dusk, and the sun has still yet to set. The windows are tilted open, and as I write this last paragraph, I hear a girl in high heels walking heavily down the street, but otherwise, the streets of this city
seem impossibly quiet. Such a strange and wonderful land of contradictions Iceland has proven to be so far.......
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Susan
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Hi Jessie and Brian!
The driver was a Deepak Chopra-fan--I know because I am too (ha ha)----So glad you and your bags made it intact and all-together --It's so misty and breathtakingly beautiful there- your blog is just like being there---thanks....