Today, like Bjork before me, I will travel to Iceland. I'm pretty sure she's Icelandic. This is the first holiday I have been on in eons (a year), and after putting the trip out of my head, knowing it was a couple a months until we leave, it has suddenly arrived.
I have spent the last week preparing and pre-packing, washing and generally organising my clothes - lest I have a packing induced nightmare. This is a fun side effect of airport based anxiety whereby you dream of arriving at the airport with no bag, the wrong bag etc etc. I once had a nightmare when my friend was flying to New Zealand. Not me, my friend. As hilarious as I find these dreams I try to avoid them by getting started early.
The trip itself got off to a roaring start when the taxi driver was late picking us up. If that gift wasn't enough, he proceeded to spend the entire journey telling us why this was our fault (duh). My mistake, buddy, I thought it was your job to know where you're going. Forgive me. This monologue was interspersed with some mild racism. A winning combination, I think you'll agree. Here's a helpful hint, when ordering a taxi you must always provide a manifesto detailing the exact location of your home and the directions when approaching from all possible directions. Because apparently in this day and age, giving your postcode and full address isn't enough. You idiot.
Thankfully, this slight set back didn't impact too much on the enjoyment of the airport departure lounge experience. If you thought packing based anxiety dreams were bad, you haven't met my mother. Clearly she foresaw the taxi driver episode and had booked the picked up time allowing us THREE hours once we got to the airport. We wouldn't have been late if we'd tried.
We all arrived at the airport and were allowed through security (amazingly) and this is when the real fun began. We were treated to a long queue for the toilets and overpriced water in a climate similar to that of a jungle. Why are airports so damn hot anyway? We set off on our 5 minute walk to the departure gate and managed to overtake an obese woman being driven to her flight. You'd be mistaken for thinking she was disabled because after being dropped off, at the same gate as us naturally, it turned out she did have a pair of fully functioning legs and walked herself down to the plane unaided.
In the midst of all the fun I've been having, I have made a startling and pleasant discovery. If you are from Iceland or on a flight to Iceland, this immediately equates to attractiveness. There are no exceptions to this rule. Bar the obese woman.
So I am currently mid flight, eagerly anticipating the Icelandic fun and games ahead of me. We are lucky enough, or unlucky depending on how you look at it, to be arriving at the peak of a music festival. I'm not sure what Icelandic music will be like but my expectations are pretty damn high.
As a parting gift I will end with the Icelandic word of the day. Loftslag. Teeheeheeheehee. Apparently it means 'climate'. I wouldn't advise saying that to anyone in the UK. You might get some funny looks, or a punch.