Going Home

 November 20, 2022

My last morning on this continent I woke early.  After slipping upstairs for a bit of coffee, I went back down to begin the job of packing.  Normally, packing for going home is easy, simply smash everything in, as it's all going in the laundry when I get back anyway.  

On this trip, however, I'd let myself get a bit carried away with shopping.  Gifts for the kids, a couple of warm sweaters, a raincoat for the incessant rain in Bergen, and Christmas decor.  It simply wasn't going to fit in my single suitcase.  So I reached out to my brother and his wife for an extra suitcase that they didn't need.  Late morning my brother arrived to bring me to the Helsinki airport.  He allowed a few extra minutes for me to load up the surplus booty, and then we were on our way through the snowy roads to the airport.

I'd paid online for the extra bag, about 100 euros, so getting through the new Helsinki self-service check-in was a breeze.  And before long I was on board, just behind the left wing, on my Icelandair flight to Reykjavík.  The plane was practically empty so there was plenty of room for me to nap if I chose.

Before we departed our plane sat idle out on the tarmac, waiting to be deiced.  Then, when it was our turn, a large, gangly machine came and thoroughly doused us with the orange liquid.

Finally we were airborne for our four hour flight to Reykjavik, Iceland.  I could now, "sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight".

In a short while we were flying above the clouds, surrounded by sunshine of an unknown hour.  Flying west, with the rotation of the earth, always confuses my brain.  I try not to look at my watch and just live in the present.

Soon we were dropping altitude and the flaps were down for our landing in the strange looking land that was Iceland.  

Some day I'll take the time for a proper visit to this country and see the wonders of its volcanoes, glaciers and waterfalls, but for this trip, it was just a short layover, and then I was on my way again.  This time my seat was a row closer, putting me over the left wing.

Over the frozen north of Canada we flew, before arching down to the Pacific Northwest and home.

Finally back to "our own" beloved mountains.

To me, a great trip is like a good sandwich.  The bottom bread is the anticipation of everything that the trip will hold.  The filling is the exploration, the beauty, the learning, and experience of the travels.  The top bread is home.  I've learned this about myself; I could never be a nomad, living an "open-face sandwich" kind of life.  I need the consolation of home, with its dear places and even dearer people.