Ever since my ex-husband went to see David Bowie (may he rest in peace) in concert, in Reykjavik in 1997, I’ve been fascinated by the Nordic island country.
So when my parents planned a family vacation to Iceland a couple of years ago, I thought, yea us! I was terribly, terribly excited.
Unfortunately only a few months shy of lift off, plans had to be scratched due to my dad’s pesky double bypass surgery. Whatever.
Truth be told, I had doubts about traveling with my family. We’re just not that family that takes holiday vacations together; renting cabins on lakes in the summer, or grazing buffets on cruise ships. The fact that we meet up at Thanksgiving every year is a Christmas miracle.
I wasn’t mad at my dad for having a bum heart (although no one made him smoke two packs a day for 20 years) but I was disappointed. I really wanted to go to Iceland. I had my electric heated gloves already packed.
Cut to: My ex-boyfriend went to Iceland. Oh, no he di-int, (I said like a preacher in church on Sunday morning). Funny how the time seemed just right to get those gloves down from the shelf.
And then I wondered, if I go to Iceland now, everyone’s (not sure who everyone was, or why they’d care) going to think that I was following my ex and that Iceland was his idea. Please refer to paragraph one for the facts.
It took two and a half hours to go from my apartment in mid-town Manhattan to JFK. I’m convinced that my cab driver was driving legally blind. At the very least he had cataracts. He had zero idea where he was going, and clueless about short cuts to bypass the standstill rush hour traffic. He even had the balls to blame me for not suggesting that we take the bridge. What bridge? WTF?!
When we got to JFK, two of my credit cards didn’t work, so I paid cash, which was fine, but ‘blind man river’ never moved from the front seat.
“So, you’re not going to help me with my bag?” He looked at me, mumbled something under his breath, which sounded a lot like, “no, I don’t…” and he trailed off. He popped the trunk and picked up his cell phone. I grabbed my suitcase and slammed the trunk shut.
I walked onto the plane, only to find my aisle seat actually in the aisle. Literally. Look at the picture. It was the bulk head but for whatever dumbass reason, the dumbass engineers shifted it out into the aisle. I begged for sleep.
Despite the early hassles, that often come with travel, I fell in love with Iceland. And because I’m not a travel writer by trade, I will only regale you with a story, not how to eat for under ten dollars a day.
One day I joined a tour that was headed to the Langjokull glacier. Skarpi, a sexy, and adorable man in his 30’s was our driver and guide. He was funny, a former professional basketball player (now personal trainer). We laughed and flirted the entire ride. I definitely saw a future with this man, had it not been for his wife and 3 kids, (and the one on the way).
Skarpi casually mentioned that his family lived near the President of Iceland, as well as the singer, Bjork. “Oh, I love ‘Human Behavior,’ I shamelessly tried to impress.
He then told us this adorable tale.
“My kids were collecting bottles and cans in the neighborhood to raise money for a project one day and when they got to the President’s house, he and his wife, who’s Jewish….” Whoa, hold up their Sharpie marker. What does being Jewish have anything to do with rit? I thought, please don’t make any racist remarks like, Jews don’t drink carbonated beverages… except for seltzer, ba-dum tss.) He continued.
“The President answered the door and told my kids that he didn’t have any because…” I held my breath. “…neither me or my wife drink soda.” I exhaled.
It was a story with no pay off, but Sharpie marker’s accent was heaven, so, keep em’ coming.
Many internationally famous locations were pointed out to us like where Justin Bieber shot his music video, “I’ll Show You” and where Tom Cruise’s tour de force, “Oblivion,” was filmed. I know, who cares, right? Just keep talking Sharpie.
We reached Langjokull Glacier, suited up, and jumped on our snowmobiles. I’m fully aware of global warming and lmy exhaust-filled footprint on that glacier, and I won’t be doing it again. However, it was friggin’ awesome.
We reached a stellar spot to take pictures. Sharpie approached me and asked if I would mind taking the young Iranian boy, who was on the tour with his family, on the back of my snowmobile because his older brother crashed the snowmobile that they were both on. “Of course,” I said. Anything for you.
The boy’s parents were on their own machine a fair distance away from me. Wait, I wondered, don’t they want to meet me? When I caught their eye, they just smiled. They didn’t say anything about me taking their son under my preverbal wing, and the young boy climbed on board.
I thought, wow, they’re really trusting to just let me drive off with their son. Then again, where was I going? It’s not like I was going to make a break for it and motor over the 360 square miles of white and ice by my lonesome.
I drove forty miles an hour taking hair pin turns and racing the other drivers up and down hills. I kept my passenger and myself alive, and in smiles. I felt a sense of responsibility; for someone else’s child, and for US and Iranian relations. The optics couldn’t be ignored. People were watching.
Maybe we should all carry strangers on our back, so to speak, in the middle of nowhere, where nothing matters but staying upright because you’re laughing wildly with pure delight.