Last Day

On the way to the airport, Larry pulled into Brúarfoss waterfall’s parking lot.  But after hiking one and a half kilometers, we caught up to a large, slow tour group that we could not pass, and thus we would not be able to reach the waterfalls in our time allotted.  So, we turned around and hopped into our little rental car and zipped an hour down the road to a lunch spot Larry had seen the day before.

With an hours drive remaining to the airport, we came across Kerid Crater.  A quick stop, a few photos and we were back on the road.

The airport was a zoo.  It was the same when we arrived, did I expect anything else?

When we went through a bizarre security check in the drop-off luggage line, the attendant asked how I liked Iceland.  I disliked Iceland, bordering on hate, and as I started to answer him, Larry shot me the ‘don’t you dare tell him’ look.

“Were you really going to tell him you don’t like his homeland?” Larry asked a minute later.

I don’t recall the exact words he spoke next, but Larry spoke his truth, which hurt my feelings because it was also true about me.  I’m not an easy travel partner, and when I’m unhappy, God help those in my company.

Every time I looked a Larry after that my eyes watered as I fought the urge to cry.  Did I mention, I really didn’t like Iceland?

I went to the restroom to compose myself. My pity party ended when I found a woman’s passport and boarding pass on top of the toilet paper dispenser.   I rushed out looking for her.  Then I looked for someone ‘official’ to help.  Nobody.  No counter.  No airline employee.  I flagged down two young men pushing a cart from a restaurant. One of the boys took the passport and sprinted down the passageway to the gate area.

I hope she made her flight.