Iceland: Vikings, Hot Dogs and Algae [DAY 1]

I hope that title got your attention.

I am not suggesting that I ate algae-covered hot dogs served by Vikings but, they all played a part in an excellent little trip I just took with my good pal, Glyn.

Before the whale hunt. Glyn was more excited but that's because
he hasn't readMoby Dick.

Wally thought that looking down and closing his eyes would mean we couldn't
actually find him.

Our trip gave us its first indication of "We Plan To Disrupt Your Plan! Fuckers!" when our flight departure was four hours delayed. We were told it was due to strong winds in Iceland, given a £5 voucher for any of the fine establishments in the airport, and told to get on with it. We did, at Frankie and Benny's. Top marks to the waiter who very magnanimously said "Let's seat you by the window so you get the view!" and as we sat down, as we looked over miles of runways, cars and ventilation tubing... we laughed. Together. A nice moment.

Fast forward 7 hours. The descent into Reykjavik had begun, and we had been told that weather was 'Stormy and Snowy'. We later learned that this was an understatement. I am sure Canadians and Scandinavians will both scoff at me for saying this, but landing in a blizzard is fucking extreme! The plane was literally being buffeted in all directions by swirling whiteness, and it felt like we were slowing down way too quickly and dropping way too fast. People were holding onto their seats, crying out, but I was just thinking; "This is fucking awesome." Gotta embrace the riiiiide, dudes.

I was imagining what it would be like for the plane to hit the ground too fast, nose first, and have it snap into two pieces like a walking stick you lean on too hard. With my seat right at the tail end, I felt confident that if the plane folded in two about the middle and my seat was to come loose, I would probably be cushioned by the people and chairs that would pile up in front of me. It's funny where the brain goes in a (quasi)-crisis. Its sense of invulnerability is seldom tested and when it is, the denial and rationalisation that happens is fascinating. I don't think the landing was much worse than winter landings often are but it was a new experience for me. The overriding sensation was my letting-go-of-things-I-can't-control instinct; I can either die scared or die smiling, and the only difference is the tenderness of the meat, post-mortem.

But we landed. We went into taxi, we stopped, and everyone start getting ready to take cases down from the overheads. The lovely Icelandic girl (Brita) we were sitting next to, however, remarked; "We're nowhere near the terminal."

Hmm.

Then we were told that actually, that wind we felt shaking the plane from side to side was going at >100km/h. The snow we saw covering the airport was deep; very deep. All of the roads in and out of the airport were closed, and the airport was full of trapped people. We therefore had to sit our kiesters back down and wait. 

Armed with my camera and with cabin fever setting in, here are some of the things that happened.

By the time we got into the terminal (3 hours later) we needed to start drinking. We bought a six-pack of Viking Beer in the off-duty part of the airport and drank our way into the evening and all the way though the coach journey to our hotel. We met an Icelandic girl on this bus who lived in Brighton, and who insisted that we go out with her later that week in Reykjavik. I wasn't gonna complain, and her part in the story will be told later.....

Stay tuned for Day 2!