DAY 1 - OFF WE GO

DAY 1 - OFF WE GO

We headed over to our son’s place in Tampa at 3pm.  His mother-in-law, kindly drove us to the airport.  We got to t

he airport at about 4pm – in plenty of time for a 7pm flight.  We don’t like to rush.  There were 6 people ahead of us at the Iceland Air counter, but then there was the Homeland Security pat down.  There were four people ahead of us in that line.  This was getting very tiresome.  I did not have to take off my shoes because my beard was so white.  However, my child bride did.  We got our last taste or good old Amurcan food at gate E74.

There were a bevy of blond cabin attendants (why else do you fly Iceland Air).  I had the window; Francie had the aisle, and thankfully the middle seat was vacant.  The 6-hour flight to Reykjavik, Iceland was not bad.  It was enough time for me to figure out how to set my digital watch and get some sleep.

You know how, sometimes, as the plane is gliding in for a landing, and you can hardly feel the wheels touch, and you think… damn.  Well that’s not how Iceland Air does it. They get to about 10 feet – sorry 3 meters – off the ground and say. “We’re good, drop it Otto.”  I thought we blew a tire. Departing the plane, we walked down many stairs to a dark, windy rain and a standing room only bus and were whisked away to the terminal.

So, it’s 6am.  We’re in Keflavik, Reykjavik’s airport with an hour and a half to kill.  Let’s have some breakfast.  Francie guarded the luggage against marauding Vikings.  I went off in search of bagels and English Breakfast tea. I did get tea and coffee.  I found a (chocolate) croissant, and I got a hamburger. I guess it was a Breakfast Hamburger – because it was breakfast time.

I found Francie with my culinary offerings and said, “I just saw two people with four beers in front of them – at 6:15 in the morning!”  She said, “Look around.”  Almost everybody had a beer in front of them.  As Yakov Smirnoff would say – “What a country!”

Now we, about 150 of us, queued up at a door labeled Gate A2.  After 20 minutes, the door opened and we filed through to wait on the stairs for another 10-15 minutes until our bus arrived.  This time it was even colder and windier. We drove out to the plane and waited a couple minutes.  Oops, wrong plane.  Drive, drive, drive, there she is.  It is raining harder; the wind has picked up a lot to maybe 25 miles per hour and was really pushing on us. It was cold.  The stairs up to the plane were not covered, and there was a line.  We were quite wet when we reached our seats.

There was probably a bevy of blond cabin attendants on this flight too, but I didn’t notice.  The 2-hour flight to Oslo was also not bad.  This time the pilot must have thought that 3 meters was unnecessarily close; 5 would be just fine.

During what seemed an interminable wait at the luggage carousel, I got talking with an American, now living in Sweden. He said the current weather was very nice – 50℉ and no rain – a funny way to put it.  He said the price of milk and gasoline was the same here – 12 $/gallon.  Norweegers don’t drive much.

We finally found the train station (located in the air terminal) with only needing to pester a couple Osolians.  The train was packed.  We did get a seat, but between suitcase and standers, floor space was at a premium. We got off at the correct station – Yea.

The hotel was supposed to be an easy walk from the train station.  Yeah, right.  Well, actually, it was in the train station.  The guide book could have said that.

The hotel “receptionist” was a tall blonde young lady apparently on her way to a spinning class.  She stood behind an open computer desk with the candy and drinks she was selling.  She checked us in.  Just her for a four floor hotel.  Did we want our room cleaned tomorrow? If not they make a donation the LDCF (Lutefisk Deprived Children’s Fund).  We declined cleaning; it would be more homey.  We went up the mini-elevator to the floor that services the 300 and 400 (?) rooms.  We walked down a looong corridor that was a little uneven or I was more exhausted that I thought.  We approached a flurry of signs that explained it the remaining 300’s were down and 400’S were up.  We selected the elevator and rode it down 4 feet.  Francie’s comment was, “How do we get back?”

The room was small, quite small.

It had strange murals above the bed…

And in the bathroom.  If that was Baby Jesus, as suspected, he had blue toe nails.

We dropped off our stuff, took care of business and headed out to pick up our “Nutshell” tickets.  With mission accomplished, we set off for the Opera House, which Francie really wanted to see.

The outside is sort of a sloping block surface that you can walk up.  A turn of the corner and you are on some portion of it’s roof.  Gaps in the block channel water so that you don’t find yourself ankle deep in a raging torrent if you walk it in a light rain.

The inside of the Opera House was quite cool.

This is one of several "window" built into the floor of a walk way and ceiling of a bar.  You can see the bald head of a guy that came early to get the best seat.
What A Country!