The flights to and from Stockholm were—as I’d been told they would be by more seasoned international travelers—grueling. When we arrived at Keflavik airport at ca 5am Iceland time, it was pouring buckets outdoors. That would’ve been no problem had we been looking at the usual sheltered ramp to walk to the terminal. Instead we were confronted with a steep stairway from the aircraft to the ground. Thank God for family members who helped me get my carry-on stuff to the jam-packed ferry bus heading for the terminal…after minutes upon endless minutes of delay.
When we reached our ship’s quarters in Skeppsholmen, Stockholm, I couldn’t get my 78-year-old body slammed down fast enough for a 3-hour nap on that bed in the captain’s quarters. When I woke up, I was once again feeling more or less human. From then on I felt quite accustomed to the new time zone.
The re-boarding both ways for the second leg of each trip was even more challenging. Once again, a stairway, but now up. Problem was: I had preferential pre-boarding accompanied by daughter Ruth, who had her own hands full with carry-on items. That left me with a computer bag in one hand and a carry-on suitcase in the other…and a very steep stair climb above me. Talk about mission impossible!
At that very moment, who should appear by my side but a strapping young man who said, “can I help you, sir?” When I had hauled myself up and we stood at the aircraft entrance, I said, “Thank you so much and ‘Gud välsigne dig’; that’s Swedish for ‘God bless you’.” I’m not sure either of these helpers knew quite what to make of that, but what else could I say? (BTW: Thank you Lisa Spady for that most used and useful Swedish I know except perhaps for the Lord’s Prayer.)
So what’s my final takeaway from all this? Keflavik certainly is geographically an ideal stopover point that can fan out so conveniently for second flight legs to multiple destinations in Europe and the near east. This makes first-leg flights from many more U. S. cities—like Kansas City—possible using medium-range jetliners like our 757s.
However, Keflavik has a long way to go to get fully equipped for such air journeys. Not that Icelanders aren’t hard at work at this; construction work is evident all around the airport as you bus from a remotely parked aircraft to the terminal. Icelanders are hard-working folks; they’ll get there.
As for personnel, I can’t speak highly enough of Icelandic people—flight crew, terminal workers, all of them. And for this old foreign language aficionado, hearing Icelandic spoken was a once-in-a-lifetime fascinating experience.
All things considered, I would heartily recommend Icelandair for a trip across the Atlantic.
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