Sands of Zanzibar: September 1. Day One.

Iceland is one of those places I have always wanted to go, but not in a “Must See Before I Die” sort of way, but just in a “One of These Days, if the Stars Align” sort of way.

In the back of my mind I figured I’d likely take some sort of European holiday and if I could fly IcelandAir then I would take advantage of their stopover program and spend a few days in Reykjavik.

I have also always wanted to cruise in & out of (or is it “up & down”?) the Norwegian fjords.

A few months ago I was perusing the cruise options and none of them were quite right; either the wrong ports, the wrong length of time, the wrong price, the wrong time of year, the wrong cruise line, and so on. One day I saw….The Perfect Cruise….(play angels singing music) and….it was all sold out. I was so sad. 😞. I morosely checked back every few days, hoping for newly released rooms and/or cancellations. And one day, there it was! The perfect everything! I hit the “book now” key and ran off to my travel agency to finalize it. A direct flight was also non-negotiable and she worked her magic and got that for me as well.

Steven was not surprised when I came home and informed him where we were going. After 50 years of marriage, when it comes to travel, he just follows along.

I try to not get too excited about a trip until I am actually on the plane, otherwise I feel like too much excitement will jinx things. I decided we would fly from Cranbrook to Calgary (it’s just so much simpler) but the excitement didn’t start then, since that’s just a timesaver leg, not a real holiday leg. We left Cranbrook at 10:30, arrived in Calgary 28 minutes later and our flight to Reykjavik wasn’t until 7:30 that night. 😲. Luckily my credit card allows me 2 lounge visits per year, so off we went.

You know, I try so hard to follow directions, I really do. I read them carefully, I look at maps closely, I look at signage intently, so why things are never where they should be always astounds me.

My paperwork said the lounge was in the International Terminal, right after the Duty Free, to the left. How hard is that? We did those exact things and it was not there. It had been a long walk and I was frustrated. I spotted one of the cowboy volunteers and asked her, she said it was “back there” where we started from, miles ago, and she hailed us a golf cart to return us to where we had started. *geez*. When we got back to where we had already been, there it was. There. It. Was. I went to the desk, and the attendant told me that we were at the wrong one, there are two lounges in International and we wanted the one past the Duty Free. I had to bite my tongue. Luckily the golf cart was still there and the driver took us back to the Duty Free, and we walked through, looked to the left….and there it was. There. It. Was. I don’t understand how my eyes work. Or don’t work, as the case seems to be.

Anyhow, we were hot and sweaty and heartily sick of YYC already, so the lounge was a wonderful respite. Steven even had a morning beer, and he never has morning beer. It had Clamato in it though, so it was healthy-ish. I had coffee and cookies and we just heaved a sigh and relaxed. And then ate lunch, which was a great buffet. I would have taken pictures, but I didn’t want to look like the dork who had never been in a lounge before. It was really busy in there, and every other time I’ve been in one it’s been nearly empty.

In what seemed liked minutes it was time to head to our gate, and boarding was quick and on time. Aaaaand…..I had the coveted empty seat beside me! When the doors shut, the window-girl (I am an aisle-girl) and I thumb’s-upped each other with joy. The travel gods rewarded me for the lounge fiasco.

However, I guess I was too smug because the travel gods scowled at my arrogance and presented me with a crying baby. Oh, did I say ONE crying baby? How about TWO crying babies? One two rows in front of me, and one two rows behind. The one in front was really cute, maybe 6 months old and her dad walked her and bounced her and did everything he could to calm her. And babies cry, I get that. But the one behind was toddler-ish, maybe three years old, and he screamed. And screamed and screamed. That shrill, ear-piercing scream. Non-stop for at least 4 hours. And his parents did nothing.

I would happily pay extra for child-free flights. Happily. Much extra.

Although, even though the food looked like slop, it was truly delicious. I know…how can airplane food be good? But it really was. (It was chicken in a sauce and mashed potatoes in some sort of gravy, in case you’re wondering)

But, before we knew it, we were on the ground. Immigration was super quick and in no time we were outside in the beautiful Icelandic sunshine!