Terminal Velocity

Chapter 2 of Search For a Dancer, a serial memoir about a week I spent in Iceland. Mondays on Flippism is the Key

Flugstöð Leifs Eiríkssonar is the official name for the international airport in Keflavík, Iceland.

Arrivals and departures were at a simple building when I first came here in 2000; it has been expanded several times since then.

In the predawn darkness I found myself deplaning but not at the main airport but, rather, at a satellite gate. Passengers from MSP are evidently not a priority for Icelandair for they get stuck in the boonies. … other quirky incidents: in 2009, they changed the departure gate without changing the sign at the original gate, in 2000, when they didn’t recognize our tickets—our paper tickets mailed to us from IA’s office in Virginia so they bumped us up into first class… I trundled onto a shuttle bus that wound its way across the desolate tarmac miles from the actual terminal … really thinking about nice a urinal would be right now… When we finally arrived at the terminal proper. Some of the workers were in costume, causing a momentary blip of panic until I realized that today is Halloween, and I remember that it has become something of a big deal here in the last few years.

After passing through passport control with the bleary-eyed and jet-lagged, I trekked down seemingly endless corridors to the terminal’s departure shopping and dining area. I can’t buy anything here, but it is where my favorite restroom is located… oh, the relief! A 6-hour flight in a confined and unchanging environment is quite a contrast to this three-dimensional theme park replete with displays promoting conspicuous consumption—shops full of high end goods in seductive packaging. In true Icelandic fashion, the airport features a quirky counterpoint to these mercantile excesses: The prominent display of a collage by Pop artist/plagiarist Erró: Silver Sable Saga, done in tile:

What were they thinking?

I left the control area and went down a level to the luggage claim and more shops. Buying wine in the early hours in the arrival duty-free seems decadent but the alternative, shopping in the Vínbúðin in Austerstræti, is an exercise in sticker-shock. Between my back-pack and a tiny carry-on (thanks to Icelandair’s stingy regulations) I had second thoughts about buying the limit of three bottles of wine; I selected two: a couple of dry Spanish reds, passing on the Icelandic candy (liquorice in everything!) and go to the checkout …the clerk doesn’t look to be pleased at working at 06:00…  I crossed my fingers and tapped my credit card. It worked! The modern world has its drawbacks but cashless paying, now that it has been perfected (?), is not one of them.

Then: over to an ATM to get a little cash, I’m not to keen on paying for a 450 KR ($4 USD) hotdog with my credit card—foreign transaction fees apply! I take it back what I said about credit cards always working, I made several attempts at the machine then tried my second card. I finally made the withdrawal … always carry two cards… One thing that hasn’t really changed much over the years here is the vagueness of the exit. A maze of plain tan walls with a couple of disinterested custom agents at a declaration station but no obvious signage… there is a door—should I open it? YES! I’m out… into the bus staging area. I had bought and printed out my Flybus receipts previously, at home; one less line to stand in. Outside, it was still dark, the air is crisp, not yet windy. I loaded my carry on into the cargo hold of the bus. My backpack, with all of my electronics, stayed with me … not that I’m paranoid, just being safe.

I climbed the steps into the bus.




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