Landing in Iceland again

Long descent into clouds.

Exiting the plane and heading for the shuttle.

Woman ahead of me talked about how she’d been in Portland for six months teaching a woman Icelandic “she wanted to find an Icelandic husband” she said, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice, as though she thought the woman was silly, or perhaps Icelandic men were silly, or both.

The airport pooped my box out of the wall, safe and sound.

Ride from a taxi driver.  Didn’t want to wait.  Cost about 40 dollars.

I think this is supposed to symbolize exploration and transformation. Instead it makes me think of parasites and aliens.

Delighted to see that I remembered the landmarks and the route.  There’s the jet on a stick, there’s the guy playing guitar.

Somehow id expected the place to feel as foreign this time as it did the first time.

Prince pollo bars in the lobby.  Where do I get money?  Where did I get it last time?

Long time before check in.  Desk clerk let me store my luggage, then gave me a breakfast ticket for the upstairs buffet with a wink.

This time I was ready for the milk carton that actually contained yogurt.  I poured soy milk on top to loosen it up.

First Iceland meal. Anything's good after eleven hours.

Dude in fatigues in the lobby of the hotel.  I keep forgetting this is near a base.

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