Pining for the fjords...

August 30, 2013. About 10am. Kasia and I deboard our plane in Bergen.

But before that...

It was a 7 hour flight from Seattle to Reykjavik. For a 6'4" individual, it was a relatively peaceful and comfortable flight. Great ham and cheese sandwiches! We get off the plane at Keflavik Airport. Bleary eyed from not that great of sleep. We have no idea what passport control is like entering Schengen via Iceland. There's a bit of time to kill before we need to deal with that, so we decide it's best to get some food and coffee in us. Apparently, all the flights through Keflavik arrive in giant bursts. The airport is crammed full of people who want nothing more than to not be on an airplane anymore, and people who are anxious to get on an airplane to wrap up, begin, or continue on with their adventures.

Kasia and I are in the group whose Venn diagram overlaps in "not being on an airplane anymore" and "anxious to continue on with our adventures". I need a hot dog.

We weren't going into Iceland proper, but, being a good traveler, I read up a bit on Icelandic culture, and cuisine. They really like their hot dogs, according to what I read. Under normal circumstances, I would not order an espresso, and a hot dog at the same time. These are not ordinary times. I'm, however briefly, in fucking Iceland!

We locate the cafe/deli. First things first... espresso. Grab a paper cup. Place it under the spout of life. Hit the button for double espresso. Watch the life giving bean juice spill into the cup.

Yup! Smells and looks like espresso!

I follow the orderly line toward the self serve hot dogs. Grab a bun. Grab a hot dog. Mustard. Done. Locate my debit card. Hand it to the cashier. A frown crosses their face. It's not a chip card. Time to use the old fashioned magnetic stripe machine. Sign the slip of paper, completely ignoring that this is probably the most expensive hot dog and espresso I've ever purchased. Apologize for my bank being so behind the times... this would be a common occurrence throughout this entire trip.

Sip the sanity maintaining espresso. It's just ok. My trip to Southern Europe two years earlier had radically skewed my scale for what constitutes good espresso. This will do, but it's no Rome airport baggage claim vending machine espresso.

I take a bite of the hot dog. Hot damn! I have a new absurd sounding high water mark! Reykjavik airport cafe hot dogs! It's fantastic. Such a simple thing, but it's incredible how good this is.

We have calories in our bellies and caffeine in our veins. Let's cross into Europe. Having recently been stopped at the Candian border because I said I was a video editor, we rehearse our "what's the purpose of your visit?" speeches. "We're on our honeymoon." "Where are you traveling?" "Norway, Sweden, Poland, Czech Republic, and Slovenia." "How long?"

"Three weeks." "What is the average airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?" "What? African or European?"

We pass the border crossing test. They're very friendly. Don't make eye contact. Ask the questions very matter of factly, stamp the passport. Move along.

Ok. Find the smoking section. What? It's back on the other side of passport control. Fuck. Sad face.

We have a little time to kill, so we get comfortable at our gate and await our departure. Sneak in another espresso.

Two hour flight to Bergen...

August 30, 2013. About 10am. Kasia and I deboard our plane in Bergen.

MUST PEE! It's impossible to miss the giant sliding glass doors adorned with "people needing to pee badly" iconography. Relief.

Three hours at SeaTac Airport. Seven hour flight. Two hours in Keflavik. Two hours on a plane to Bergen. Nine hour time difference. Our bodies think it's 1am Pacific Time. We're a little loopy.

Coffee! There's a cafe just outside the restrooms. Time zone change and snack in Keflavik means I'm not hungry, but we have a bus into town to deal with, and then a hotel to locate without reliable WiFi to assist us in our mapping. Ha ha! We have a paper map! Still need to read it though... so... coffee!

I order a macchiato. Norway is not a country widely known as a place to expect top notch espresso. My expectations are properly adjusted. Excellent! The macchiato is way better than expected! Not Rome airport baggage claim vending machine good, but superior to most cafes in Seattle. Proper amount of foam and crema. Rich. Chocolatey with just the right amount of bitter. Proper.

Properly caffeinated enough to read a map and deal with people that might not speak English all that often, we approach our bus. The driver speaks perfect English with a slight British accent... as will just about everyone we meet in Norway. It's a twenty minute bus ride from the airport to the train terminal in Bergen proper. It's overcast, and a little drizzly.

We take in the sights during our short ride. Hills and water everywhere. Trees. Bergen is the second largest city in Norway... meaning, it's about the size and population of Tacoma. Fewer strip malls though. The town outside of the city center is wholly unremarkable except for the lush greenery in which it's enclosed.

We disembark the bus. We're both packed very efficiently. Rick Steves backpack/suitcases. One carry on. We're ready to travel. Bust out the map.

Neither of our brains are working at full potential right now, so we both propose routes to our hotel which should be about half a kilometer from where we are. We spend a half hour walking in every direction that wasn't going to get us to our hotel. We're both a little irritable from the travel. Take a deep breath. Retrace our steps. Focus on the map. Really? One block north and three blocks west? Really? Can we actually see the hotel from where we're currently standing? No, but we can see the national opera house across the street from it. Ok. 5 minutes walking.

We're here! CityBox Bergen. Self serve check in. Not so self serve. Talk to the staff person on duty. Very helpful. Hilarious little dog is super excited to see us, providing some much needed levity in these final moments before we can relax. Checked in. Keys proffered. Up two stories. Door opens. It's a simple room. Sparsely, but tastefully decorated. Very Norwegian. Ooooo! Heated bathroom floor!

Hop on the WiFi. Let our parents know we've arrived... knowing it's now about 2am where they are.

It hits me. No one on the maternal side of my family has been to Norway since they emigrated to the US in 1904! I'm a little exhilarated and saddened by this. No time for that now because...... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Nap. Exploration begins once consciousness resumes.