After a flight enlivened by bone-rat­tling tur­bu­lence and a mad­woman mak­ing a scene in the plane, my first glimpse of Ice­land was, appro­pri­ate­ly, the bright glac­i­er of Snae­fell­sjökell (see pre­vi­ous entry), fol­lowed by a rapid descent into Keflavik. From the air­port, it was a hour´s bus ride across chaot­ic black lava fields to Reyk­javik. Read more »

In about three weeks, I’ll be land­ing at Keflavik Air­port, in Ice­land. While I do have some pre-set appoint­ments, for the most part, I’ll be explor­ing that inter­est­ing coun­try in my usu­al unplanned, eccen­tric way. I must cram as much expe­ri­ence as I can into a mere ten days ― not much time, con­sid­er­ing how much that coun­try has fas­ci­nat­ed me over the years, and how much I’ve read about it. But read­ing about a place, no mat­ter how thor­ough­ly, is no sub­sti­tute for walk­ing in it, talk­ing to its peo­ple, get­ting the smell of the air and the lay of the land.  Read more »