taking off, and landing

Before I get started, I'd like to make note of a habit I plan on repeating. Because I do not always have reliable internet access, I plan on keeping a journal on Microsoft Word, and posting it here as I am able. Therefore, the date and time stamps that Blogger places on my entries will often not coincide with the dates and times the journal was actually written. In the event that an entry suggests my imminent peril, with the future of my travels or bipedalism in doubt, I ask that you please suspend your knowledge that I made it back in order to post these entries in order to better appreciate the circumstances of my seemingly impending doom. And anyway, supposing that I made it out alright is fraught with error because you only need two fingers and one eye to blog.

Monday, 13 July 20:30, Boston's Logan Airport...

I've just cleared the first of what I expect will be many airport security checks. When I went to Belgium, I left Logan Airport from Gate E8A. Today, I'll be leaving from Gate E8B, and I have to say I'm pretty excited to see how the other half lives.

Last night I had a small going-away party where I was given some helpful advise from my friends; Karen: "avoid scketchy people, don't die"; Emily: "bring, like, a thousand paris of socks and underwear." I regret to report during today's packing excipades, I fell short of Emily's suggested packing itinerary by roughly 995 pairs, but I'm just going to hope for the best. After copying all of my important documents, and squeezing my lugage into my suitcase and backpack, my mom, dad, and I filed into the Silverado and drove down to Boston. I decided on Lobster Bombalatti as a last meal in America, and, trust Tilly Hat (look 'em up) in hand, I said my goodbyes and zipped through security. Right not I'm sitting in the waiting area, trying to get used to the 92% keyboad that's squeezed into this Netbook and doing my best to avoid eye contact with some rather interestingly dressed monks.

For now I'm going to cherish my last hour on pseudo-America soil and read up on the things that can kill me in Iceland.

Tuesday, 14 July 8:15, Reykjavik Airport...

I have arrived in Reykjavik, the city that never sleeps - for want of an actual nighttime. My flight was an uneventful expiriance of my trying in vain to get some sleep and the left half of my right hand going numb from... space radiation? I don't actually know what caused it, but I'm starting to get curious because it's been 7 hours now and feeling hasn't returned.

When I left the terminal at the one and only Reykjavik Airport, I had my heart set on skipping the bus fair and walking into town. I felt confident about doing this because I had GoogleMapped out the route before I left, and it was only about a 2-3 km walk (get used to the metric system). After a quick stop by the ATM, where I withdrew roughly my lifesavings in previously worthless Icelandic Krona, I felt ready to take on this land of the midnight sun. So with compass and map in hand, I boldly stepped out into the breezy Icelandic air, chuckelling to myself at the tourists who were getting fleeced by the BSI Bus service. "Haha", I thought, "I'll probably beat them to the city center because I am prepaired!" It didn't take long for me to notice, however, that Rekjavik was nowhere in sight. I checked my map, checked my bearings, and even consulted my GPS. My map said I was where I thought I was (the airport), my compass told me that I was pointing in the right direction, and my GPS helpfully suggested that I was in the Atlantic Ocean (turns out Iceland isn't Garmin's specialty). "What could be wrong", I thought, "where is Rekjavik?"

After a few minutes outside, I finally decided that I should check back at the airport to see if perhaps I was in Greenland. However, a short consultation with the BSI Bus map cleared everything up. It turns out that I was not at the one and only Reykjavik Airport, but rather one of the two Reykjavik Airports. And rather than 2-3 km. away from my hostel, this airport is about 50 km. from anything even the Vikikngs would have considered civilization. So, having missed the first bus, and having two hours to kill before the second arrives, I decided it would be a good idea to have some breakfast. I'm now sitting in a 10/11, which is pretty much like a 7/11, except, presumably, 1.4x better. Since I've already resolved to try the local delicasy of rotten shark while I'm here, I decided it would be a good idea to start trying some of the local food. So I bought a Skyr-brand yogurt (med Blaberjum og Jardarberjum!) and, not wanting to get too crazy, an Aunt Mabel's Milk Chocolate Muffin (with Original American Taste!). The yogurt is fantastic, not for its taste (which is quite blaberjum-esque) but for its fold-up, snap-together shovel spoon. If this thing doesn't have a US Patent yet, I know how I'm going to make my first million. Anyway, I suppose I'll spend some time reading and enjoying my breakfast while I wait for the bus to arrive... and feeling to return to my hand.