Early arrival to Iceland’s KEF (Reykjavik) airport should be followed by a trip to the pool

Flights from the USA to Iceland typically arrive at KEF very early in the morning.

Though KEF is often referred to as “Reykjavik” airport for marketing purposes, it is actually 45 minutes outside the capital in the city of Keflavik. There is a smaller city airport that handles short flights from Reykjavik proper, but that is irrelevant to most international visitors except, perhaps, those from Greenland.

“Very early” on my two flights to Iceland meant before 6 am. At least in June unlike March, this was after sunrise.

Food & transport from the airport

KEF is a fairly nice airport. It is modern and well designed. Though it could use more water bottle filler fountains. Iceland, however, is a tiny island nation with a population of just a few hundred thousand people.

Keflavik isn’t New York City. This isn’t a 24 hour kind of town. Even Reykjavik itself, where the majority of the nation’s citizens live, doesn’t offer too much for the tourist before 8 or 9 am.

Sporty types who don’t suffer jet lag so badly could take a lovely walk or hike. Nature, in June, is open 20+ hours per day.

The wrong way to arrive: witless & unprepared

On our first visit, the kids and I rode the FlyBus from the airport to our hotel. Naturally, our room wasn’t ready yet just past 8:00. After all, typical check in times are in the early afternoon.

We sat in the lobby staring dumbly at the poor receptionist, and she did get us into our room by about 9:30 am. It was a miserable first couple of hours in a new place, however.

Icelandic pastry

A typical Icelandic pastry, according to our favorite tour guide, Steinthor

The kids were too tired to even go in search of pastries when the receptionist suggested a bakery nearby!

Better alternative: ready to meet bodily needs

Having a much better idea of what to expect upon arrival, I planned more wisely for our second trip to Iceland. Of course, it helped that it was just me and my now teenaged son. He’s reached a stage of offering more help than he requires, especially when it comes to schlepping heavy luggage about.

I was going to rely upon public transit options again, but decided on a rental car at the last minute.

We could have reached a public pool via mass transit and reasonable walks, but it would have been one nearer our lodging and after taking the FlyBus away from the airport.

Rental car freedom

The forecast called for chilly days (in the low 40’s F) and plenty of clouds and rain… in mid June.

There was also a museum I’d wished to visit on the first go ’round that remained just as difficult to access without a car. It was so tantalizingly close to the airport… but the city bus only ran from there back to Hafnarfjördur and Reykjavik every two hours. Missing it would mean a very expensive taxi ride, in the ballpark of the auto rental cost, or an unacceptably long wait.

If I found myself so exhausted from the flight that I couldn’t drive safely, I determined we would nap in the car for an hour or so before leaving the grounds of the airport. I felt better having a backup plan in place, even one in which I felt like a bit of a vagabond.

Even if you dislike driving a strange car in a foreign country, it is pretty manageable in Iceland. Traffic is light, eliminating the thing I hate most about driving near my suburban home in the USA.

Icelandic drivers rank, en masse, somewhere in the middle of the pack I’ve experienced worldwide for road manners; they aren’t as courteous as Oregonians, but behave less aggressively than New Yorkers. There’s none of the insanity of Rome or Israel.

While road signs are in Icelandic and can throw you for a loop, most turns on major roads are roundabouts, so you can just keep circling while your child navigator figures out the way, or rely upon the GPS who will mangle the Icelandic language for all s/he/it is worth so you can enjoy a good laugh while you are circling the rotary for the fourth time.

Between Iceland’s major airport and capital, road conditions are good. Consider that “possible weather events excepted,” of course, but, even in Iceland, those are somewhat less risky in June.

Breakfast at KEF: not many options

I’d already determined from my online research that buying an espresso and sandwich or pastry on site before heading out would be our likeliest spot for a very early breakfast. There is a Dunkin’ Donuts branded cafe after customs at KEF arrivals, co-located with a convenience store.

Dunkin’ Donuts didn’t open until 8:00. The people of New England will be outraged when they learn of this. Dunkin’ Donuts is bizarrely popular where I live.

Joe & the Juice was doing a brisk business, though, and it was also quite near the car rental kiosks. A turkey and pesto sandwich (hold the mozzarella for DS’s lactose intolerance) helped kick start our groggy metabolisms. Yeah, the espresso helped a bit, too! A packaged caramel muffin proved a necessary adjunct for the voracious teen.

The museum was only 15 minutes or so from KEF, but it didn’t open until 8 am. Even taking our tiiiiiiiiime at the airport, we would be at least an hour earlier than the door opened. Plus, I knew I’d feel grungy and sore after sleeping in a cramped Icelandair Economy seat.

Note: the seats have really gone downhill on Icelandair between Boston and Keflavik. I think this was the worst seat I’ve ever had for legroom. I was disappointed, remembering this otherwise nice airline as much, much better a few years ago!

Does jet lag wash off?

The solution was the local pool, Reykjanes Swimming Center/Waterworld. It was only about ten minutes from the airport, and that includes time spent driving around a construction project that barred the GPS’s suggested route. Note: this is easy driving, too, with very light traffic. I hate using rental cars, but hardly minded it, even jet lagged, stiff and sore, and in a city I’d never visited before.

Americans, take note: this is more like your local YMCA pool than the “Waterworld” name might imply. Yes, there is one waterslide and a children’s activity room indoors, but both of those were closed during our 7 am visit. The facilities were quite nice and up to date, but nothing like a theme park.

There are a few major benefits to hitting the pool first thing. For me, having a chance to wash my hair before sightseeing was a big one. My morning shower is an integral part of my waking up ritual. It helps me to feel like myself.

Next in importance to me is having somewhere to go before I can check in to my hotel anyway. I’m not a skulker or “see what I can get away with” kind of a person. I’m careful and rule abiding. I don’t want to nap by the side of the road or in an airport, but I’m also not up to much more than a good nap after a night flight.

Visiting an Icelandic city pool offers a great insight into what regular, everyday life is like for people here. It isn’t just hardcore lap swimmers and toddlers taking lessons like I’d see on a weekday morning at my local YMCA. Icelanders are socializing and meeting up in the water.

There were more retirees represented than any other age group at this hour and in this neighborhood, though.

The abundance of cheap geothermal energy from the volcanic activity underfoot means outdoor pools are heated to comfortable temperatures no matter how cold the air temperature is that day. In addition to a moderately warm heated pool (cooler on the lap swimming side), there have been multiple hot tubs (locally translated as “hot pots”) at each facility I’ve visited as well.

Waterworld had three: 36-39 C in both shallow and deep varieties and 41-43 C with the deeper sitting depth.

I believe there was also a cold plunge pool, but the object I guessed to be such wasn’t labeled with a sign and there was no temperature posted to help me confirm my guess. One guy climbed into whatever that was, however.

Having traveled with so much discomfort up front that I failed to raise my arms high enough for the TSA cancer inducer body scanner to clear me as a terrorist threat, I was less than limber upon arrival. I spent every minute past the safety briefing of my too-short-for-a-night’s-sleep five hour flight in fitful sleep, but it wasn’t restorative. I struggled to reach my feet for the required soapy shower before going into an Icelandic pool.

At that point, the hot pots offered unmitigated bliss.

While our two night stopover in Hafnarfjördur, Iceland, was designed primarily to ease my travel related pain and jet lag (i.e., it wasn’t intense or highly scheduled), I do believe that hitting the pools provided a soothing balm to both of these maladies.

Warm water is obviously going to ease joint pain. So does reducing one’s experience of gravity due to buoyancy, of course. But the effect upon jet lag was just as profound and somewhat less expected. I suppose the combination of light exercise and being outdoors under the sun in the morning explains most of it.

Read more about what foreigners should expect at an Icelandic public swimming pool, especially for those of us with mild mobility impairments who wonder about handicapped or otherwise accessible accommodations in the facilities.

Spring Break: a great time to tell kids, “I’m glad you’re here”

Spring Break is winding up in our neck of the woods, and it brings up a pet peeve I’ve written about before: messages in popular culture that suggest children are an annoyance, or a burden, more than integral parts of our families and society.

Of course, I understand that a week at home with kids one usually sends off to school can disrupt orderly routines. It requires scrambling for babysitters or fun activities to fill unaccustomed hours. That presents an element of inconvenience, especially for those who can’t take the same days off of work to spend time relaxing with the freed children.

Calendar spring break - 1The disconnect between today’s school calendars and the dual working parent/single parent households that make up most American families doesn’t make the children themselves the problem.

Try to find a moment to tell your kids so, even if you think they’ll roll their eyes or believe you’ve gone batty. It’s good for them to hear it said.

It’s good for us to say it, too.

It’s easy to get caught up in life’s buffeting winds of distractions and disappointments. Kids are beholden to us adults for everything: shelter, food, toys, and a sense of where they stand in the world. Don’t forget that last bit in the struggle to optimize the tangible needs.

Mom hugI tell my kids I love them, but I also say how much I like them for who they are, no matter how different from me, and even when* those differences cause us to disagree.

They’ve heard me get angry at “back to school” sale ads that suggest parents rejoice once the brats are out of their hair. I reject those offensive notions, and I tell my kids so. Kids deserve better than that, just because they’re human beings, and even when their vacation weeks disrupt our schedules.

Spring Break this year at our house did include my sending them out to dinner and a movie with Grandma so that a group of moms could join me for a ladies’ literature evening. I know I’m fortunate to have willing family members available to give me a few hours off; I’m grateful for that.

My mom did bring our young friend, The Scholar, along for the evening together with my boys. Since The Scholar’s mother wouldn’t have been able to attend otherwise, this was a gracious favor on Mom’s part.

That brings up one other option for showing kids during school breaks that they are valued by caring adults: make the offer to help another parent fill some of those hours if you’ve got a bit more bandwidth free.

Children thrive when a variety of adults show them consideration and make time for them. Society thrives when all of our children are well cared for.

CrocusI’m not sure it’s the village that matters; I think it’s all about the tribe.

It’s amazing how tiny an effort can make the world a better place for someone else. I live in certainty that every child deserves at least that much.

*Not so much during a fight, say, do I remember to be so gracious, but I try to get the message across the rest of the time, so the good things overwhelm family squabbles. I’m no saint!

**She’s another home educated child whom I tutor in math because my talents differ from those of her mother.

Thanksgiving lessons learned: one mom’s (grateful) battle to enjoy labor-intensive holidays

I love that Thanksgiving reminds me to take stock and be thankful for the abundance of blessings in my life. I am blessed. I am thankful. I’m grateful for a holiday devoted to that awareness.

Thanksgiving give thanks - 1But then there is the reality of celebrating Thanksgiving in America as a mom. It involves a lot of cooking, a lot of shopping, and a lot of stress.

Let’s all keep in mind that I’m not a great cook. I can produce reasonably healthy and palatable food for my family; I don’t enjoy cooking.

Shopping the gauntlet

I start shopping right after Halloween. I buy the wine as early as possible for obvious reasons. I pick up our family celiac’s favorite gluten free stuffing mix from Trader Joe’s as soon as it arrives for the season.

Pantry goods are easy to buy ahead of the rush, and doing so helps spread out over multiple weeks the costs of a sit down dinner for 20.

I’m grateful for Amazon Fresh delivering my last minute, fresh foods on the day before Thanksgiving. Grocery stores are hellish just before this holiday! Having the items I want dropped off right to my door is a Really Wonderful Thing.

We enjoy seasonal, local bounty direct from family-owned farms in New England via Farmers To You. This year ’round service is especially gratifying as the autumn harvest rolls in. I’ve posted before about my commitment to support our regional food shed with my grocery dollars.

A humanely raised turkey from Misty Knoll Farms as the centerpiece of our feast is something I’m proud to feed my family and friends.

Cleaning the house

As we catalogue my faults, let’s remember that I’m not much of a housekeeper, either. Hosting a large meal raises certain expectations for minimizing the usual daily clutter. Having out of town relatives to stay means prepping the guest room and the downstairs bathroom, too.

I have to confess: this year, I didn’t get as much done as I’d have liked to prepare for houseguests. I struggled to forgive myself for that, but I used up every iota of energy that I had prepping for Thanksgiving in other ways, choosing to prioritize the feeding of 20 people from seven households over the immediate comforts of close relatives.

I’m grateful that I’ve gotten better at acknowledging my limits; I’ll keep working on accepting those limitations with grace.

Planning on the level of a precision strike

The only way a less-than-stellar cook is going to get a meal for twenty on the table in something resembling good time is to create a plan that incorporates all the prep and cooking times for multiple recipes and integrate them temporally. Continue reading

24 hours in twenty years: marriage, discovery, and a matter of time

Do we ever really know another person? How long might that take? Twenty years can’t possibly be enough if my example is any indication of the scope of the discovery.

My husband took note recently of the fact that I opt to have the time displayed in 24 hour format when possible. He noticed this as the evening grew dark and visiting friends wondered about the prudence of getting their kids home to bed. I woke up my phone first as it was sitting rather rudely before me on the dining room table.

“20:12?” DH asked. “Your phone is set to military time?

Keep in mind that we’ve known each other for almost 20 years, and been married for most of those.

This becomes rather more amusing if you’ve ever visited my home, ridden in my car, or viewed any of my electronics. All of these conditions have been met by my husband, with most of them occurring on a daily basis.

Both of my children have had noisy arguments with me within DH’s earshot about my insistence that they learn to read a 24-hour clock and an analog one before I will buy them the digital watches they oddly covet.

In our kitchen, the microwave oven and a digital clock give the time in 24 hour format. Come to think of it, DH has always complained about being unable to find the time in our new house. Perhaps he thought those were kitchen timers in constant use?

time 24 hr clock face - 1

In the communal study the kids and I call the “workroom,” there is a digital clock set to 24 hour time displayed prominently on DS’s desk. You can’t walk through the room—which DH must do to reach his own office—without seeing its face.

The clock in my minivan displays 24 hour time and it has since I set it on the day I drove it home.

The sunrise clock on my side of our shared marital bed shows military time, too. To be fair, though, DH has his own clock on his side so he needn’t read mine with any regularity.

Are you sensing the pattern? I don’t think this is a subtle one.

I prefer the efficient notation of written time in fewer characters. I like the frequent tiny mental math problem of subtracting twelve. I don’t like the look of the abbreviations for ante- and post meridiem unless they are in small caps, and those can be annoying to implement (in WordPress, for example.)

None of these reasons matter in the least, of course, though it’s amusing that the same husband who teases me for clinging to the archaic Imperial system of measurement seems to have a similarly irrational preference for a less concise system for measuring time.

I pronounce the time in the standard twelve hour format, so, without his ears to help with the heavy lifting of comprehension, DH can be excused for never noticing what was right before his eyes.

It’s easy, after a decade and a half, to assume we know it all about a partner and a constant presence. It is very often true that I can predict exactly what DH will say, or choose, or prefer.

But, then again, human beings are awesome in their complexity, and my mate is no exception. Every day, each of us goes out into the world, changes it, and is changed by it. We grow. We evolve. Hopefully, we learn a little, too.

We aren’t the same young people who met online, like proper nerds, dated, and fell in love. We’re older, saggier, and otherwise more time-worn.

One of us prefers miles and military time; one of us is all metric, but goes to bed at 8 o’clock instead of 20:00.

The joy of it is being tickled by discovery this far in. The wonder is that we still have so much to discover, and so much desire to do so.

How to help when there is nothing you can do?

We all face some problems with no real solution. There are periods in every life when trials must be endured, and difficulties faced. This week, I’m struggling with what to do when a loved one is suffering, and there’s nothing I can do.

Yet, doing nothing isn’t an option. I can’t solve the problem, but I can insert my love and affection between a person I care about and her pain.

When there’s nothing else to do, I can help by being available.

I can offer my ears, and listen.

I can offer my heart, and empathize.

I can offer my time, and share it with someone who is feeling unheard, unappreciated, and disenfranchised.

I can’t solve her problem, but I can be present.

It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all that I can do.

beach - 1

My husband shares his beautiful photographs with me