Expectations can be a funny thing. Grounded in fear or excitement of something unknown or somewhat unpredictable, they can cloud or enhance the experience to which you’ve attached them. Getting on the plane from Bergen to Reykjavik, I’m terribly excited. Kid at Christmas excited. My expectations for this last leg of the trip are sky high. While the Scandinavian trip has been outstanding so far, for me, one of the things that sealed the choice for this year’s big trip was the two days we would be spending in Iceland.
When I was much younger, during the Christmas season you would see flocks of Icelanders wandering through Mic Mac Mall. They came to my hometown to do their Christmas shopping because of the purchasing power they had compared to the inflated costs at the time in their country. As a kid, I was struck by how different the people looked – so elegant, so well dressed – and how cool their accents sounded. At that time in my mind, Iceland was an almost mythical place.
Fast forward to me sitting on a plane to Reykjavik, and Iceland is still mythical to me. My Icelandair plane is named after one of their volcanoes (Katla). I have a bottle of Icelandic glacier water. I’m listening to the in flight Icelandic music channel and the ethereal quality to the music is igniting my excitement. I’m hours away from landing, and yet I feel like I’ve already arrived.
All of the reading I’ve done and photos I’ve seen can’t capture what I’ll experience in the two days that lay ahead of me. I’ll try to express in a few posts coming up the beauty and the magic that so deeply touched me in Iceland.
The expectations were high.