Iceland Information
| Touchdown |
Iceland Information |
| It was a hot lively evening of Baltimore, when my
plane darted into the dark blue sky tinged with a trace of red. There
was a 4-hour time difference between US East Coast and my
destination: by Icelanders'
standard, my plane took off at 1:30 AM, only to hail their high-latitude
sunrise at 4:03AM.
Despite all the promising signs from pleasant Apollo, the journey was tailed
with a cloud sea diving. My heart sank. A little paragraph in my tour book
grinned at me triumphantly: "In January, Reykjavik enjoys an average
of three sunny days and in July, only one. Basically, it's a matter
of 'if you don't like the weather now, wait five minutes - it will probably
get worse.' " Reykjavik didn't welcome me with an exception in terms
of luck. The only thing I could hope for was not being caught in the dramatic
wait-five-minute scenario.
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| The first sight of the island from the plane still cheered me up greatly regardless of the weather. Rugged coastline jumped into my view, which delicately separated dark green land from light green sea. Immersed in thick foggy air, it all became surreal: I couldn't help wondering if this was the rediscovery of the long lost Atlantis. Seconds later, a city with all bright colors followed. I took it for Reykjavik, but in fact it was Keflavik, another independent town in Iceland. Politically, Iceland is divided into 23 counties and 14 independent towns. Keflavik proudly holds the international airport of the country, and with mixed feelings, headquarters of the US-manned Icelandic Defense Force. With no armed forces but only police and coast guards, Iceland's defense has been provided by the US all along since WWII. Despite protests by local people, US couldn't afford to lose it: The strategic location makes the island a gigantic aircraft carrier floating deep in the Atlantic Ocean. |
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| The moment of touchdown was memorable; after all, my dream of standing
on European soil finally came true. This feeling
accompanied me all through the airport complex, where yellow wood-board
floors, cozy hallways and soft lights waved all informality and hospitality
at me.
"Is this the bus going downtown?" I asked, pointing at a coach called FlyBus, parked right outside the airport entrance. "What downtown?" The tall man beside the bus smiled back, who was probably in his cheerful fifties. "Rey - Ya - " I started to realize the difference between Keflavik and Reykjavik, and the tough pronunciation of the capital. "Oh, yeah, Reykjavik. Welcome to Iceland!" As it turned out, he was our driver. |