35,000 Rising

Currently 1,005,800 centimeters above the mid-Atlantic aboard an IcelandAir Boeing 757.  Blood Alcohol Content at a guesstimated ~0.14%.  Thanks, New Orleans!  I had a large beer, a large shot, another smaller beer on the recommendation of a Sammy Haggar fan, and other things I can’t remember besides, plus a can of Icelandic apple juice, way up 105,800 decimeters above sea level.  IcelandAir is frequently rated one of the best airlines in the world, and I can finally understand why: the secret’s in the apple juice.  Or their complimentary seats.  Or their general cheery disposition.  Or the eclectic selection of in-flight movies–screening “Titanic” on a goddamn airplane above the mid-Atlantic Ocean?  Bold move, IcelandAir.  Oh, and the apple juice.  Or their general bedside manner.

 

Over hills and far away.

 

There’s no one sitting in front of, behind, or next to me.  I’m all alone in my little row.  Not too many people go to Iceland in the winter, I guess.  Been making frequent trips to the toilet, so at least it’s not interrupting anybody.  Just me and this entertainment system.  Listening to Bjork.  Lots of Icelandic documentaries/propaganda.  Some of the words are pretty similar to Latin or English.  Just finished watching that “Lazy Town” kids’ show rerun about baking a pretty cake.  No, really.  They have that too.

 

You know you can’t be la-zy.

 

The sun won’t rise until 10 or 11 this morning in Reykjavik, but I will be there waiting, having long since arisen myself.  I can’t sleep.  Been thinking about the reasons why I’m doing all of this, which I haven’t really bothered to explain to anyone.  I’m wondering if it’s even possible to explain it.  It’s just one of those things, packing a life into a bag and moving on.  Shrug.  I do it enough that it isn’t worth the marvel.  My lodging arrangements in Iceland include couchsurfing a scuba instructor with a penchant for gin, followed by a night in Keflavik International Airport, which is notorious for its security force tiptoeing around in the dead of night just to kick awake sleepyheads.  Frankly, I’m not sure which is more depressing; that I know the reputation of airport as reported by bums, or that I’m going to try to add my own voice to the mix.  Anyway, I just finished a beer, which means I win another beer.

Man I wonder though.

It’s odd looking down from up here.  I remember when I was afraid to fly.  But then you start to think about how many people dreamed of having wings over the past thousands of years.  Countless myths of winged man spanning innumerable cultures.  And now, to do it, to take it for granted, these aluminum tubes soaring nearly faster than the words that describe the culmination of those eons can come out of your mouth, seems a bit silly in comparison.  As does complaining about a lack of ice in your soda, or a lack of a smile from a flight attendant, or a galley stocked with exclusively non-Icelandic apple juice.  Shit’s just silly.  There are just other things.

I’ve got to try to sleep.  Greenland is outside my window.  I don’t think I’ve ever been this far north.  Wonder what everyone else has been doing.