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.

In Which I Lose My Few Remaining Marbles

So as some of you may know, I am living my dreams this summer and spending three months in Europe. Oh, and did I mention that my five children, ages 3-12, are with me? Yes indeedy, folks, we are truely making a splash. Guess if 5 kids and twelve bags in a line in Iceland´s Keflavik airport are a common sight? Especially when some of the bags are bigger than some of the kids?

You may wonder how this all came about. So does my husband, actually. Quinton is a patient man and has never been the type to stifle my personality, even when it desperately needs stifling. So when an opportunity came up to trade houses with a Swedish couple for three months during the summer, he gave me the go-ahead.

At some point during the planning process I realized that IcelandAir has a free stopover option, where you can stay a few days in Iceland before travelling further without paying more for your plane tickets. Perfect for me, since it is always very frustrating to me to fly through a place without getting to experience it! So I planned to stay four nights in Iceland. With the kids. Did I mention that Quinton is meeting us once we arrive in Sweden?

A word to the wise... Google´s currency converter is NOT reliable. Not even close. I had actually done some research before I made my decision and noticed how cheap lodging was in Iceland. Fancy hotels for $45/night! Wow! Remember that saying about no free lunch?

My first inkling something might be wrong was when I went to actually make a booking and couldn´t find anything, and this includes hostels where they don´t provide bedding and you share rooms and bathrooms, for less than $100/night. So OK, I lowered my expectations and booked at a guesthouse, somewhere in between a hostel and a hotel. And then the cars that could fit 6 people were getting up there too, but I worked it out after some phone calls. So we were set to go.

Waiting at PDX

The plane ride was uneventful. My 3-year-old, Drew, hadn´t been on a plane before and was nervous, but he thought it was fun once we got started. And the first little hop from Portland, Oregon to Seattle, Washington was fast enough that we hardly had time to drink our complimentary apple juice.

The seven-hour fight to Iceland went well, too. I have to say I was proud of how the kids acted. We had two rows of three seats each, and there was really a bare minimum of fighting and whining. We made many, many trips up the aisle to the bathroom (Drew´s diary entry for that day, which I helped him with, consisted of very few sentences that did not involve potty stops.) IcelandAir serves free meals to the kids under 12, and I snagged a hamburger in Seattle for Gunnar, my 12-year-old. Personally, I got Starbucks.

I made one of many mistakes when I decided that the kids would probably be tired and fall asleep. See, for the week before we left I had been (with a pharmacist´s advice) giving the kids Benedryl one hour earlier every night, and waking them up one hour earlier every morning. I can actually recommend this method. It works really well to make up a large time difference. If you DON'T then stay up all night on the plane. Which we did. All night. A few of the kids slept just long enough at the end to be groggy and grumpy. I didn´t get to sleep at all, of course, since I was ostensibly the authority figure.



So we showed up in Keflavik at 7 AM their time, went through customs while they held the bus for us, and retrieved our bags. All of which showed up, amazingly. But the person who was supposed to meet us with our rental car wasn't there. Fortunately someone was there from the same company, and he gave us a ride to the rental company.

So all five kids, all twelve bags, and most importantly, all six passports made it into Iceland. We only lost my marbles. And some would say they were already gone.