You are walking around Terminal A right now with (I imagine) some mixture of intrigue and fatigue. I feel the same, as I sit slumping in this delightfully polyestered seat next to our gate. REYKJAVIK days the neon sign above me and I can't freaking believe it. REYFREAKYAVIK! I remember as a 5th grader having to purposelessly memorize every country's capital for my "General Knowledge" class. I found this Reyk/j/avik place calming and curious. I wondered who lived there and how on earth they got there. I fantasized about going there one day and finding myself lost among Icelandic giants. Hopefully I'm wrong about that stereotype. You know how not all who are lost are wanderers. Then one fine summer day as I wandered between my two homes on two continents, somewhere between when time stops mattering and when it tricks you with its speed, the pilot's voice came gently through the orbs above me. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're flying right over Iceland right now. That cluster of lights there on the edge? That's Reykjavik." Reykjavik? Reykjavik! Wow, I'm flying over Reykjavik right now!
Today we get to fly to it. Together.