But Then,

Linda Lou Burton posting from Central Hotels Plaza, Reykjavik, Iceland – It’s dark and cold. We’re tired and hungry. We need to eat. “There’s no restaurant in the hotel,” we were advised at the front desk. “But they’re all around, just step outside the door.” Someone blew in off the street just then, zipped and wrapped, mittens and parka; he stopped at the sight of us. “You’re going to freeze out there!” he said. “You aren’t dressed for Iceland! How did you get here without a coat?” “We just left the Equator, and turned north,” we answered. He made a face at us, and next thing, we were all laughing, and exchanging travel routes. He was from Texas, as most of our safari gang had been. He pointed to a spot across the street, not thirty feet from the door of the hotel. “Go there,” he said. “It’s warm.” Truer words were never spoken.

Saeta Svinid, aka Sweet Pig, calls itself an Icelandic Gastropub; they not only had a Sweet Pig out front decked in lacy red stockings, they had a sign enticing you in with a 7-course Tasting Menu consisting of the following:

• Shot of Icelandic Brennivin
• Smoked Puffin w crowberry liqueur sauce
• Minke Whale, smoky celeriac puree, malt sauce
• Icelandic Flatkaka Lightly cured artic char, cream cheese, dill, lemon oil
• Horse Carpaccio, dates, rucola-mayo, Jerusalem artichokes, Parmesan
• Ling, mashed potatoes, caper flowers, Dijon-butter sauce
• Icelandic Lamb Rump Steak, parma ham & herb crumble, mashed potatoes
• Icelandic Crowberry Cheesecake

While there is controversy about eating Iceland’s treasured puffins, and whales; horse is considered okey-dokey (though we couldn’t bear the thought!). We had no qualms about the fish or lamb however, and the red-stockinged pig staring at us sealed the deal. There was nothing gray in the Saeta Svinid. Everybody was happy houring; eating and drinking and laughing; the liveliest place we’d been in since, well, we couldn’t remember when.

Rick ordered the Ling Cod and mashed potatoes; it came piled with asparagus and carrots. I ordered Gyoza –beef dumplings, hoisin sauce, pomegranate, spring onion, served on a hunk of slate. (It was so pretty I didn’t notice the gray.) The food was great, the ambiance was greater, but the real bonus for the evening came in a glass. It was ice! Due to Africa’s unpotable water, I hadn’t had an icy cold drink in two weeks. Iceland’s fresh clear spring water is delicious straight from the tap.

Bill paying time; our perky server handed me a receipt, the amount listed in Icelandic kronas. “I can’t read this,” I said to her. “And I need to figure your tip.” She laughed and shook her head. “There is no tipping in Iceland!” she said, and scooted off, to keep another customer smiling. The Sweet Pig was a mood lifter, no matter what you chose to eat. Or drink.

Back out in the cold, we took note of the square, directly across from the hotel. People were enjoying the evening. It was pretty. So this is Iceland, huh? If it’s gray turn on the lights. If its rainy, put on a coat. Gather with your friends. Eat scrumptiously. Paint your buildings red.

 Center Hotels Plaza, Reykjavik, Iceland https://www.centerhotels.com/en/hotel-plaza-reykjavik

Saeta Svinid Icelandic Gastropub https://saetasvinid.is/

Next Post: Domed If We Do

Fifty Shades Of Gray

Linda Lou Burton posting from Central Hotels Plaza, Reykjavik, Iceland – Walter was his  name. Walter welcomed us to Iceland. Actually, a young woman welcomed us first with the wheelchair, whisking us rapidly down to luggage. We’d checked our bags in Zanzibar, and luck was with us, they followed all the way to the Arctic Circle. She whisked us past Joe the cat, and his wise take on life – When nothing goes right…go left. – but no stopping for juice. She whisked us to the front of the terminal and said “Here you are.” Taxis were rowed a distance away, but I didn’t see the Reykjavik shuttle bus I’d read about. So I asked. “Yes, there is a bus,” she explained. “It goes to a terminal downtown, then you get a taxi to your hotel. Or walk. Or you can get a taxi from here.” I looked at Rick, hmmm, taxi now or taxi later? We decided on taxi now. Walter opened the doors to his rather large, luxurious van but didn’t speak. Walter drove us to Reykjavik, 31 miles on Highway 41, alongside gray waters that were part of the Atlantic Ocean. Or was it called the Sea of Greenland right there? Greenland was off in that direction. It was gray. The skies were gray. The pavement was gray.

And Walter seemed rather gray. He didn’t talk, at all. When we arrived at our hotel, he turned to look at us, credit card reader in hand. I handed him my card. He handed me a receipt. “I can take you back to the airport if you want to make an appointment,” he said, handing me his card. “I’ll let you know,” I replied. Walter set our bags on the sidewalk and drove away. It wasn’t just chilly, it was windy cold. It was gray. We jiggered our bags across the wet street; into the hotel, front desk. Our rooms were ready. That way. We jiggered our bags across the lobby, up the elevator. Two rooms. Peace and quiet. Black and white. Gray. The walls were gray. My window was foggy gray. I looked across the rooftops to the gray clouds beyond.

How do I know his name was Walter? It was printed on his card. So this is Iceland, huh?

Center Hotels Plaza, Reykjavik, Iceland https://www.centerhotels.com/en/hotel-plaza-reykjavik

Keflavik Airport, Reykjavik, Iceland https://www.isavia.is/en/keflavik-airport

Next Post: But Then,

Goldfish For Lunch

Linda Lou Burton posting from Flight # LX8300, Edelweiss Airlines, Keflavik Airport, Iceland – Got your calculator? Here’s a math problem for you. If you leave Zanzibar at 10:30 PM Tuesday and land in Zurich at 6:10 AM Wednesday; then leave Zurich at 1 PM and arrive in Iceland at 2:55 PM; and you change time zones by 3 hours overall, what time do you eat lunch? The entire issue becomes irrelevant I suppose, when you fly Edelweiss. Because they give you Goldfish to munch on any time you please! I grabbed a handful of Goldfish bags the minute they were offered and stacked them greedily in my lap.

I was living in high country now; our seat row was just behind the curtain separating us from business class (a step up for sure, at least we’re breathing the same air!); I had adequate foot room, and I had a window seat! The flight time from Zurich to Reykjavik’s International Airport was under four hours, so much less daunting that the “getting into Africa” adventures had been. Rick and I both were excited, not quite sure how the climate change was going to hit us. And, for the first time, we were totally on our own. No Globus guides running interference for us or drivers aiming to honor all our whims and preferences. “Flying solo and eating Goldfish,” I laughed to Rick, looking out my window, hoping to see an Alp or two.

All I saw was green, the brilliant, well-tended green of well-watered farmland; houses neatly rowed in villages. No elephants, no zebras, no giraffes. We flew over the edges of Germany and France; we flew above Belgium, the Netherlands, Scotland. The North Sea. The Atlantic.

Now we’re in Icelandic territory (it’s part of Europe but you can’t get there by car!); the landscape has an unfamiliar look. The ground is a different shade of green; the houses lower; the skies grayer. There’s the airport. The attendant has collected all my empty Goldfish bags so I’m done eating now, and I can give you a surprising factoid about Reykjavik’s International Airport – Keflavik. It was built by the US military during WWII!

Think about that, and Iceland’s role during the war. Meanwhile, Rick and I will be hunting for a way to get to our hotel. Jackets on.

Zurich Airport https://www.flughafen-zuerich.ch/en/passengers

Keflavik Airport, Reykjavik, Iceland https://www.isavia.is/en/keflavik-airport

Next Post: Fifty Shades of Gray

Einstein Missed

Linda Lou Burton posting from Family Services Lounge, Zurich Airport, Zurich, Switzerland – Yes, there was a reason for choosing a flight with a seven-hour layover. In Switzerland. The reason was the Café Odeon. Making the transition from East Africa’s equatorial region to Iceland’s watery grayness was challenge enough. Why not throw in a quick-flick of European history on the way? We had to stop somewhere in Europe, and when I read about the Odeon, I knew I’d found something so different it would do the trick. This little coffeehouse in downtown Zurich has been around over a hundred years, and its name-dropping list of customers would make any history lover blink.

Politicians, physicists, writers, musicians, dancers – hey, dancer Mata Hari performed in the cabaret there way back before she was convicted as a spy and executed. There was Benito Mussolini, and Lenin, and Trotsky. There was Somerset Maugham, Erich Maria Remarque, and James Joyce. Add Arturo Toscanini. Add Albert Einstein. Yes, he was there. Albert earned his PhD at the University of Zurich, and was living there in 1911 when Odeon opened its doors; they say he liked talking with a crowd of students there, hanging out over coffee. So that was my plan: just luck into the table where Einstein used to sit, and have a coffee (Viennese style), listening for voices from the past.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge,” Einstein used to say. I imagined getting off the plane fresh as a daisy at 7 AM; catching the smashingly modern train that rolls right underneath the airport terminal and whisks you downtown in 10 short minutes; strolling along the Limmat River and reaching the Odeon in time for breakfast, served 8-11:30. I’d have a cappuccino with lots of foam and a plaited roll, maybe an omelet? Plenty of time to get back to the airport before our afternoon flight.

Did that happen? Are you kidding? My wheelchair was waiting as soon as we dragged ourselves off the plane to the ramp after a sitting-up-straight-trying-to-sleep night (and remember, I’m in my night-shirt due to the unfortunate sprite mishap). A kind person pushed me to the Family Services lounge, where Rick and I plopped down and stayed. Hot coffee and cool water right there. Restrooms right there. Peaceful, away from the crowd. Long benches for stretching out for a nap. A restaurant and bookstore just outside the door. My berry muffin was delicious. Rick had a hearty sandwich. No ghosts hovered near; the Euro-techno music kept them away and drove us back to the quiet. Look at the pictures – first what we DID see in the Zurich Airport, and last the Café Odeon, that we did not. Next time, Albert!

Odeon Café Breakfast Menu https://odeon.ch/en/karten/breakfast/

Odeon Café History https://odeon.ch/de/uber-das-odeon/

Zurich Airport https://www.flughafen-zuerich.ch/en/passengers

Next Post: Goldfish For Lunch