^{Photo Credit: Carol Madigan}

   Carol and I have reached a compromise between our competing travel objectives. Mixing her desire to plan, see and experience as much as she can with mine, which is  to plan, see and experience as little as possible, we came up with the following compromise for our first day in Reykjavik. We would purchase SIM cards for our phones to provide data access while traveling in Iceland, visit the travel office for info on riding the public buses and finally, climb (via elevator) the Hallgrimskirkja tower. (Guess which one I didn’t care if we accomplished.)

   The SIM card purchase was a simple ten minute walk, followed by a coffee and bagel purchase with the unexpected discovery that Carol’s brand new phone (purchased for its superior camera) would not accept the SIM card, because it was locked by the carrier for 60 days after purchase for security reasons. We learned that unlocking the phone would require the equivalent of the U.S. Senate overturning the 60 vote filibuster rule.

   Then, the tourist office was closed due to a lack of tourists, according to the sign on the front door. That meant we had melted the day’s activities down to ascending the big church’s tower, which as “must do” tourist activities are concerned, frankly was quite unencumbered by any lines and surprisingly pleasant. Another point for Carol having her hand firmly on the throttle of getting things done. Then it was my time to show what I could do…

   The small bar offered street-level views of the passing parade with the added attraction of couch seating. Carol understood that I had dutifully fulfilled all the objectives set for the day, and though the hour preceded her definition of happy hour (“It’s not five o’clock somewhere everywhere, Reid.”), she agreed to match her coffee with my beverage of choice.

As I drained that second Gull, Carol delivered on cue, “So what are we doing now,” she said brightly, but meaning there’s no way we’re going back to the gas chamber and kick back until dinner.

   With my second Gull, (the Icelandic Heineken for sure) and Carol’s switch to a chardonnay, the cafe character of sitting and enjoying the passing parade outside kicked in. “This is what you wanted to do here. Sit and drink and watch the people pass by.”

   I’d like to say she’s catching on, but I know her. This was an “allowance,” much as you give a teenage son for cutting the grass. As I drained that second Gull, Carol delivered on cue, “So what are we doing now,” she said brightly, but meaning there’s no way we’re going back to the gas chamber and kick back until dinner.

   The forced walk did produce our first meaningful contact with an Icelander. He’d lost his business to covid-19, but was able to open this sweet cheese shop part-time, while moonlighting at an adult center. He told us he traveled to Minneapolis frequently, and that it’s colder there than in Iceland – a surprise, coming from a local. We contributed as well as we could to his full eventual economic recovery, while scoring some great, tangy gouda that had the bite  and mouthfeel of a parmesan. ( We crumbled some over our first camper meal of pasta and sauce later on our Ring Road trek.)

   We’d made dinner reservations at that wood fire pizza place, in which the crust met and exceeded all expectations, even as the toppings were, meh, Pizza Hut.

   Day one ended with the comforting knowledge that Icelanders knew how to brew beer and bake a pizza. What else is there to take a rightful place among the family of nations?