When I exited the Keflavík International Airport terminal around midnight last night, Iceland welcomed me with 5°C (41°F) and a strong wind. “Nice,” I thought. “The perfect temperature!”
My fellow countryman, who had arrived on the same plane from Turkey, was not as happy. I heard more swear words coming from his mouth than I can possibly ever remember. Both in Icelandic and English, and maybe even one or two in Turkish, which he had learned from his bar stool.
They were all about “the shitty weather.”
Half-way to Reykjavík, a special sensation sunk in.
I realized that it was still bright after midnight.
In less than two weeks, I had totally forgotten what the best thing about Iceland is by far: the three months of eternal daylight.
Páll Stefánsson – ps(at)icelandreview.com