In Which I Experience Customer Service, Iceland Style

At the rental car office I was met by my new friend, Magnus Gunnarson, who was not happy to see me and remained in this state throughout my stay in Iceland. I was informed that I wasn't supposed to be in Iceland until noon, and because I had the temerity to show up on my scheduled flight, my car wasn't ready yet. But he did me the massive favor of showing me a car which was like the one he was willing to let me have in five short hours.

Well, folks, I want to assure you that when I called and talked to him from the USA, and when he said they had a 7-seater car for me, what he MEANT was that they would take a 5-seater wagon and bolt two extra seats into the cargo area. Remember those twelve bags we chatted about earlier? Minor details. At this point my new friend informed me that this car was not an option for me. Ah, I said. I am sure that you will fix this for me! Insert eyelash flutter here. Cue fighting kids in background.

He rolled his eyes, ladies and gents.

So we mosied back to his office while the kids argued in the shuttle van, and he discussed the fact that he wasn't able to help me at length. Which I of course accepted with stoic magnamity. He eventually decided that he would loan me the van my kids were already sitting in, perhaps anticipating that it would be easier than moving them. I thanked him and gave him a tin of tea which I had brought from America. He informed me that America was not known for its tea. He also wondered if a 'tea infusion' had anything to do with nuclear fusion. Yes, he was truly a peach.

So after renting me a carseat which did not work and sending a flunkie to buckle it into the backseat since the seatbelt in the middle was broken, he informed me that I was to drive to his other office, that he would meet me there when he got there, and that he would give me a carseat which did work at that time. He also informed me that I would be returning this van halfway through my stay, as he 'needed it for someone else.' Jaha, as they say in Sweden. Emphasis on the ha.

But I was happy to be on my way, and I had a GPS (although as I discovered he hadn't paid for updates on a few years) and my kids were happier as well once they were back under my supervision, ha ha. It's maybe a 50 minute drive to Reykjavik from the airport.

And wow, folks, Iceland is quite the place. The first 30 minutes or so were lava rock as far as the eye can see. Cinder cones in the background, ocean in the foreground. the occasional fishing village in between. And lots and lots of black lava rocks.

Our first international adventure consisted of, you guessed it, a potty stop. We now know the location of most of the public restrooms in Iceland, if you ever need a tour.

Once in Reykjavik, we found the car rental office. I was met by my new friend Magnus, who wondered why it took me so long, and who immediately left and said he'd be back in fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes later, another employee arrived who gave me a new carseat and wondered where Magnus was. I could, unfortunately, not enlighten him.

But we were glad to be done with Atak Car Rentals for the time being and headed to track down the guesthouse where I had booked a room. We typed in the address into the GPS and it took us almost straight there, with a minimum of road construction etc.

As we pulled into the parking lot at Egilsborg Guesthouse I noticed that the front windows were both broken out. Hmm. So I took the kids out of the car and went to scope out the situation. The door was unlocked. You enter directly into the dining are which smelled distinctly of cigarette smoke. It was empty. As was the kitchen, and the hall, and the second floor, and the third floor. No one at all. Hmm again.

At this point the boys were pretty sure they didn't want to stay at Egilsborg (translation: Egil's castle). But I was trying to be upbeat so we hopped in the car to find some breakfast. I thought I could drive around the neighborhood and see what kind of place we'd ended up in. And it really seemed ok. Kids on scooters and Icelandic pappas out with their baby carriages. And we found a dreamy bakery where we ate ham and cheese filled pastries and sandwiches and orange juice. So I really did think we could give the whole thing a try.

The next time I tried the hostel I ran into a Spaniard who had been staying there for some months. He had no idea where to find the owner, although he did mention that things were "strange" there at times. A good sign.

But after we ran to the downtown area, fed the ducks, went to the Viking store, and picked up some tourist pamphlets, we finally had some luck. As we were pulling out of the hostel parking lot for the third time (and on our way to find another place to stay) the owner came running out to meet us. He had obviously just woken up.
Apparently there had been an incident with a drunk in the night, hence the broken window and sleeping owner. And the sign telling where to find the owner (room 3) was on the part of the window that had been broken. I was feeling pretty sceptical despite his explanations, but I really didn't want to start dragging five kids all over town to find another place. And I knew that anywhere else was going to cost much more.

So I followed him up the stairs to our room, which was clean and good-sized. I started to feel better about it at that point, but the clincher was when he said we could also have the room across the hall without adding to the price. So we hauled up our bags.

The owner, whose name is Maggi, ended up to be a really nice guy. He let me use his laptop to mail Quinton to let him know we were alive, and he gave us lots of sightseeing tips and advice. He was always pleasant and he didn´t even blink when we had one bed-wetting incident (sigh). In fact, he thanked me for telling him instead of just leaving it, and washed the bedding, and cleaned the mattress. Which was more patient than I felt about the situation, let me tell you.

So we settled in for a nap, which was desperately needed by that time. Leif and Rosalie had slept some in the van, so they wrote quietly in their journals and played a game Mormor bought them for the plane. The beds were comfortable, but by that time it didn't matter anyway. We crashed.