1:50 am (6:50 Icelandic time)
Flying into Iceland felt like flying into Bloomington, Minnesota with the thick fresh snow, precisely cleared roads and a pink-orange glow of what would have been the Twin Cities. During my layover, the ground crew threw snowballs and somewhere out there was an unknown city of substantial size. If I had seen the sun rise in Iceland I would have a concrete memory rather than a vague and snowy landscape.
I was sick – I am sick. It may be a chest cold, it may be bronchitis. My cough is raspy, I have no voice and my ears are filled with cotton. Is this the way to start the spring semester in London? My flight from Boston to Reykjavik was nearly empty and all passengers had a row of seats to themselves. Before I made my seats into a bed I ordered a whiskey with tea. I was afraid that if I drank that bottle throughout the trip (to keep from coughing) when I got to London I would smell of liquor and offend my hosts.