We arrived in Iceland bright and early Tuesday morning, at the newly-expanded Keflavik airport. After a bit of shopping in the terminal, we caught the bus into Reykjavik. There was one Icelander on the bus; otherwise everyone was American, including a talkative GW alumnus across the aisle who was stopping off en route to Paris. We were dumped off at the bus terminal near the tiny Reykjavik airport, and followed one of the many bike paths into town, then followed signs toward a tourism bureau.
After much discussion, we elected to backtrack most of our steps to get to the National Museum, where we arrived early and I was shat upon by a bird while waiting to get in. The museum’s main exhibit, “The Making of a Nation,” was entirely bilingual, and had thousands of artifacts from the “Settlement Age” to today. About halfway through, we stopped for lunch in the museum’s café, where I had a fantastic sandwich: hummus and fig, with cucumber and carrot.
We went through the rest of the exhibit (we’d stopped somewhere around the change from Viking mythology to Christianity), then followed bike paths back to the bus station, where I finally sacked out good and proper. Back at the airport, we had a little excitement when the only other people in front of us on an escalator tripped at the bottom, and we had to turn around and walk up endless steps until they could regroup and get out of the way. The excitement was compounded by Greg’s low blood sugar, but that did mean we got to buy Icelandic snacks; I picked out some kind of vanilla yogurt and a packet of “cool American” flavor Doritos.
The in-flight meal was a nice chicken breast with rice (and a very smooth milk chocolate bar), and the in-flight movie was the 1986 coming-of-age classic “Stand By Me,” which I don’t think I’d ever seen in its entirety. When we arrived, our luggage had preceded us; Greg spotted the larger bag corralled at baggage services, and I found the smaller one just sitting alongside a random carousel. The walk to Heathrow’s central bus terminal was so convoluted, I expected to find a piece of cheese and a man in a lab coat at the end. Once there, we stood in a motionless line for some time before getting the tickets, then waited another half hour for the bus.
I think we both slept the whole way to Victoria Coach Station, then reclaimed our bags and started dragging them in what we hoped was the direction of the hotel. I second-guessed my directions a dozen or so times, but we got to the hotel about five minutes before the desk clerk left for the night. We went to our tiny room just opposite the desk, Greg returned to the desk for the elaborate explanation of why he needs to have THIS frozen and THIS refrigerated, we watched an episode of Big Brother (as one does when one is in England), and collapsed into bed.
Pedometer count: 12,476
After much discussion, we elected to backtrack most of our steps to get to the National Museum, where we arrived early and I was shat upon by a bird while waiting to get in. The museum’s main exhibit, “The Making of a Nation,” was entirely bilingual, and had thousands of artifacts from the “Settlement Age” to today. About halfway through, we stopped for lunch in the museum’s café, where I had a fantastic sandwich: hummus and fig, with cucumber and carrot.
We went through the rest of the exhibit (we’d stopped somewhere around the change from Viking mythology to Christianity), then followed bike paths back to the bus station, where I finally sacked out good and proper. Back at the airport, we had a little excitement when the only other people in front of us on an escalator tripped at the bottom, and we had to turn around and walk up endless steps until they could regroup and get out of the way. The excitement was compounded by Greg’s low blood sugar, but that did mean we got to buy Icelandic snacks; I picked out some kind of vanilla yogurt and a packet of “cool American” flavor Doritos.
The in-flight meal was a nice chicken breast with rice (and a very smooth milk chocolate bar), and the in-flight movie was the 1986 coming-of-age classic “Stand By Me,” which I don’t think I’d ever seen in its entirety. When we arrived, our luggage had preceded us; Greg spotted the larger bag corralled at baggage services, and I found the smaller one just sitting alongside a random carousel. The walk to Heathrow’s central bus terminal was so convoluted, I expected to find a piece of cheese and a man in a lab coat at the end. Once there, we stood in a motionless line for some time before getting the tickets, then waited another half hour for the bus.
I think we both slept the whole way to Victoria Coach Station, then reclaimed our bags and started dragging them in what we hoped was the direction of the hotel. I second-guessed my directions a dozen or so times, but we got to the hotel about five minutes before the desk clerk left for the night. We went to our tiny room just opposite the desk, Greg returned to the desk for the elaborate explanation of why he needs to have THIS frozen and THIS refrigerated, we watched an episode of Big Brother (as one does when one is in England), and collapsed into bed.
Pedometer count: 12,476
Labels: honeymoon
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