Postcard from Amsterdam

Ok. It’s a small sample size but if you look at Icelandair direct flights from the United States, it seems the of Americans as an isolationist, incurious folk is way overblown. My better 83 percent and I were on.a flight out of Portland on Wednesday afternoon and it was full except for two seats, one of which happened to be in our row so it was like winning the lottery. Better.

It made me think.

More than 200 people fly from Portland to Reykjavik six times a week. From Boston, they fly 21 times a week, from JFK New York seven times, Chicago 14 times, Pittsburgh four times, Raleigh-Durham seven times.And more.

Again, it’s a small sample size but it gives me hope that not everyone in the United States wants to stay home and watch television.

As for the flight, it was actually great. Some turbulence but life without turbulence is like watching Bob Ross paint. The flight attendants were thoughtful, the food was good f and, as I already said, there were only the two of us in the row so, winner!

Once we arrived, things became a little more nuanced. . The plane didn’t pull up to the terminal so we had to get off the plane on the tarmac. Fortunately, things quickly got better. As proof that there’s almost always a silver lining to be found, my lack of eyesight and occasionally near-crippling sciatica pain means I occasionally travel by wheelchair. To get me off the plane, they drove one of those elevator lifts up to the door and then lowered it at the terminal.

It was kind of like being treated as very precious cargo.

At the terminal, I was met by someone with a wheelchair and I quickly realized there must not be any overweight people in Iceland. Fortunately, I’ve lost 51 pounds since January and fit snuggly into the wheelchair.

The airport worker pushing the chair was a nice young guy whose name I broke my tongue trying to say. Iceland seems to be a difficult language filled with many consonants and a seeming lack of vowels.

Here’s an example. This past Monday was Icelandic National Day marking their 80th year of independence from Denmark, In Icelandic, the word is “Þjóðhátíðardagurinn.”

The man guiding me through the airport told us, though I can’t remember how it came up, that Icelandic is easy compared to Danish. He said he spent three years studying Danish in school and remembers almost none of it.

Why did he spend three years studying Danish, I asked.

It turns out that all Icelandic students have to study Danish as a nod to the years of being under Danish control.

“We are taught Danish but something like English would be more useful,” he said.

It’s been 80 years, it might be time to let the only Danish lessons be knowing when to serve a cheese danish and when to serve a custard line.

Finally, we made it to Amsterdam and arrived at the hotel. The guy checking us in said something that made me think math is different here. The hotel is 17 stories high. He put us in a room on the 6th floor, saying he was putting us on a “high floor.”

Hmmm.

Anyway, we got to the room and the smell of cigarette smoke was strong enough that I looked around for the ashtrays I assumed must be everywhere.

They moved to us a lovely room on the 15th floor.

As I said, there’s always a silver lining.

Off to the Rijksmuseum.