Almost Foiled Again In Iceland

Upon landing in Iceland I followed the crowd of people that I thought would be making transfers. At one point I looked up and there was a sign that said “baggage claim” I knew I didn’t have to go that way, so I followed a woman with a few kids going out an exit door. As soon as I stepped out of the exit I knew I was in trouble. I had not passed any immigration, or customs, no passport control at all, yet for some inexplicable reason I was standing in Iceland. I could see the rocky surface of the airport that I remembered so well from my trip there a year before. I looked around and realized that I needed to go back through the door I had just come, which, was of course listed as “no entrance” and locked. “Well” I thought, “I will get back on the security line and go back and find my connecting flight.” All the while I was getting worried about the time due to the fact that I don’t wear a watch. It was only after I had gotten in the line that I realized that I had no ticket. The kindly lady at the German airport had never been able to get me a boarding pass. At this point I was panicking, not thinking about having to call work to explain to them that I was stuck in Iceland but because I thought about what I would be reduced to eating. Iceland is the most expensive country I have been in and I had about enough money for a few bites of dried salted nastyfish (nastyfish being something I had encountered on my earlier trip the Icelandic name being unpronounceable for us Americans I gave it an easier to remember and apropos name). The logical thing to do I thought was to go to the Iceland Air counter and check-in like a normal passenger. Upon arriving at the counter I was confronted with a mile long line. I bravely stepped up to the first class line and began to tell my tale of woe “no boarding card, luggage already gone, must get back to Washington, not a terrorist.” After sometime they worked out how to get me back on the plane. Of course, it took seven people to figure it out, and every time a new one came over to add their expertise to the problem they glared at me suspiciously like I was making up the magic door that one takes straight from the plane into Iceland. If that country is having any trouble tracking their visitors I would suggest they lock the door from both sides.

Boarding card firmly in hand I raced to the security line, flung my jacket and bags on the x-ray belt and hoped to rush right though. That was not to be, little did I remember but I was carrying my two lovely (and totally overpriced) German beer-gifts, that were both far over the 3oz of liquid you can take on a plane. Now I was in trouble, not only had I escaped the airport through the magical door no one believed existed, but now my protestations of not being a terrorist were sure not to be believed due to the two large beer-bombs I was obviously trying to smuggle. After a talking to the really scary (note sarcasm) Icelandic police took my beer and sent me on my way. I made the plane, and while I didn’t have to eat nastyfish I was given something just slightly more tasty in way of nasty-sandwich.