After a video chats with several friends while at Logan, I boarded my flight to rather unevenful flight to iceland.
The woman next to me heaped effusive praise on me whenever I was requested to put her bag up, or take it down from the overhead compartment. I nearly expected a tip upon arrival, but not was forthcoming.
The Icelandic woman ahead of me seemed to scheme with most of the flight attendants for better service, but in the end managed only remain in her seat and push back as far as possible, crushing my knees into my chest. Ok, I lie: I’m not really that tall, but it was a wee bit tighter than I expected.
Forward right was a woman and two small children en route to Sweden. They screeeeeammmmmmeeeeeeeed only for the first hour or two, but then fell asleep. My Etymotic earphones nearly maintained the silence for me.
On my right was what looked like a small group of elderly folks on tour.
Arrival found me in a very long line waiting for x-ray prior to going to passport control, where I was asked only to where I was heading. The first several times I flew into Iceland – in transit – I was asked, “How long are you staying here?” er, 20 minutes?
Latte, orange juice and a croissant at Kaffitár in the airport; free wifi… I now feel nearly ready to find next flight … and fall asleep. Not hard to find: there are only 8 gates or so.
Next stop: Paris.