Everyone in the check-in line at Baltimore’s BWI Airport was going to Iceland, and many were talking about the volcano. I was mildly surprised to find how complacent folks were. Almost everyone who wanted to see the volcano was talking about going later in the week, when it fit their schedule. They were oblivious to the fickle reality of an erupting volcano.

PlayAir was a new airline for me. For the last fourteen years I have been a Delta customer whenever I can help it. In my experience with airlines, long time loyalty matters.

PlayAir is not Delta, and I won’t try to compare the two. PlayAir is a budget airline solely for Trans-Atlantic flights. That reality hit me across the face a few days earlier when I checked the airlines cancellation policies. I had bought cancellation protection for the tickets, neglecting to read the fine print on the conditions. Turns out I could cancel – but one of my parents would have to die or I’d have to be incapacitated and I’d have to give PlayAir the death certificates or doctors notes within a week for a refund. No, I am not exaggerating.

The PlayAir staff at BWI seemed to hate their job and the people they had to work with. I’ve flown nearly a half million miles in the last ten years and I have never had a ticket or gate agents make me feel like the ones at BWI did. They mumbled their words, gave very vague and incoherent directions, and then got indignant when you didn’t understand them.

Pardon me for thinking that everything I carry onto the plane is considered a carry on item.

PlayAir requires all bags to fit specific limits of size and weight. At check-in we had to put the bags in a box that showed they fit the requirements. When Hope put her bag in the bin the lady said something to the effect of: “The blue is sticking up.” Confused, Hope rotated the bag thinking that she had it in the wrong place. The lady put her hands on her hips and snickered: “Mam, it’s the same size still.”

By this point, folks in line were listening and clearly annoyed on our behalf. I had no clue what she was asking for, neither did anyone else. Finally I got a clarification, Hope’s blue bag’s zippers stuck over the dotted yellow line by a half inch or so. I am not sure what facial expressions I (and a few folks in line) gave her, but it was enough for her to drop the issue and give us boarding passes.

The next issue came with the gate agent. Again, mumbling somewhat incoherently, we struggled to understand her as we gathered for boarding. Finally, quite clearly, we all heard this over the intercom:

Fifty or so passengers standing about had a collective “Excuse me?” response. Was she talking to us?

No one sat down, but we did shuffle off to the side a bit.

I looked over to see families with small children and strollers waiting to board standing by the windows.

Seriously? Get over yourself and board the plane.

Then when it did come time to board she barked out instructions about which line to get into if you had a paper versus digital boarding pass. She seemed unpleased with the folks with passes on their phones.

There was a guy standing next to me who very smugly, and loudly, said, “Well, I don’t know why the rest of you are here. I know I am where I should be.” I chuckled and said, “Well, no one here can hear her.” To which he side-eyed me and said, “Of course, because you’re not listening. I listen.”

....OK – get me on the plane and get me a beer.

I’ve never, remotely, been made to feel the way the PlayAir staff in BWI made me feel. Seriously, replace this staff with people who at least try to not be total shit heads to passengers.

We boarded the plane into a different reality. The PlayAir staff on the plane was spectacular. Physically and personally. The flight crew was all dressed in loud red suits and pants. Their physical appearances were immaculate. Their personal interactions with you were flawless. I was supremely impressed.

I boarded and found myself in an aisle seat next to mister “I listen”. I sat down and gave him a big smile. He looked away from me and proceeded to manspread the entire middle seat and both armrests. Taking arm-rests is his prerogative as the middle-seat passenger but he was travelling with a companion at the window seat. He could have at least leaned over there a bit. I spent the next six hours leaning into the aisle.

We had a smooth take-off out of Baltimore. We flew over the house and the Chespaeake Bay Bridge. During boarding and take-off I found myself experiencing a wave of intense emotions. The stress and anxiety of the last ten days was falling away. We were doing it. Whatever came next we would just take one step at a time. It almost felt like a dream.

We tried to strategize our sleeping. We had a six hour flight from Baltimore taking off at 7pm local time. A bit early for sleep but nothing two Dramamine and a beer shouldn’t handle, right?

Wrong. All that did was make us very drowsy, but adrenaline kept both of us totally wide awake. I think I got maybe twenty minutes of sleep in six hours. I alternated between trying to sleep, reading a book, and writing in my journal.

The sun began to set around 9pm eastern time, and made it just far enough below the horizon that everything outside became a navy blue before rising right back up. The sunset and sunrise lasted only three hours but it was a reset to my mental clock. Physically I was very tired. Mentally I was waking back up. The sun went down, it got kind of dark, and the sun came up. The flight crew wass talking about breakfast options. It’s morning, right?

Kind of? It was 5am in Iceland when we landed, but 1am at home. The worst of the jet lag had yet to hit.

A very cloudy landing in Keflavik brought me into a new country – country number four for me. We disembarked and went through customs. The customs agent asked if we were staying or connecting.

A second or so passed as several thoughts and questions fluttered across the agents face.

The customs agent blinked a couple of times before cracking a smile.

and he stamped our passports.

I could hear him laughing as we walked into the terminal.

Terminal’s are weird places. Keflavik Airport at 5am, where literally every single flight is to another country, is very weird. Time zones dont matter, and I am not sure laws really exist. People are sleeping everywhere, some folks are raucously drinking, and languages abound. Each successive gate shows different places: London, Helsinki, Lisbon, Toronto, and the Azores.

I took a quick swing into a store in the terminal to buy two SD cards, realizing I left mine at home. I was quite surprised to see that, unlike in the US, the SD cards here were unlocked and not restrained in any matter. I could just grab one without the staffer unlocking it for me. I got two SD cards, paid for them, and went to baggage claim.

After baggage claim, we had to get to the Rental Car Center. This was a short drive away from terminal and we needed to grab a shuttle. We followed the signs and walked out into the rather chilly Iceland air (ok, it was 53°F, in Baltimore it was 88°F). Stepping outside we got momentarily confused and turned around. It was barely 6 in the morning, local time, and 2am for my internal clock, and we were rambling around an unfamiliar airport complex. The things we do for fun.

The shuttle dropped us off at the Rental Car Center. We walked in and plopped down on the couches to wait in line. There was only one agent, and several people waiting to get their cars. A large flat screen TV had the live stream of the volcano on it – it was alive, and quite peppy. I checked the Iceland travel sites again to confirm the eruption site was still open – it was.

The agent was quite overwhelmed. A rather large man, physically and personally, with a thick Boston accent was talking down to her (physically and personally). She was struggling to get the system to put his wife on as a second driver. For thirty minutes we all listened to this before they finally went to their car. In a minute the man came back in and complained the car’s gas tank was empty. She followed him to the car and returned a few seconds later – the man accompanied her, apologizing, saying “Sorry, I didn’t realize that the red line meant full!”

By the time I came up, the agent was flustered. We chatted a bit and she told me she was on her own this morning – two agents other called in sick. I felt bad, having been in the service industry I can tell the difference between someone trying to pretend and someone who is genuinely overwhelmed. I tried to put her at ease. I began to appreciate the Icelandic sense of humor and candor.

and she brought up a photo of a car crossing a river.

Last things last was I needed to buy car insurance for the trip. Apparently my AAA international insurance did not cover the car without me putting a ~$7,000 deposit down on something.

Then we were out the door and on the road. Swinging around to the main road from Keflavik, we saw it. The hills to the east were the mountains of Fagradalsfjall, and sure as shit there was a smoke column rising rather serenely above the hills. Our volcano awaited us.

First we needed some supplies. Hope found us an N1 gas station in Grindavik. I trusted her that we would find camping fuel, water, etc at a gas station but had concerns it would be open. Grindavik was a beautiful drive of only twenty minutes away, and we arrived to a closed gas station.

Now it was 7am Iceland time, 3am for my internal clock. I was wearing down, and didn’t want any caffiene lest I really screw myself for sleeping. We drove back to Keflavik and found a 24hr gas station, bought our supplies, and drove back to Grindavik to the volcano.

The drive from Grindavik to Fagradalsfjall is spectacular. The road hugs the North Atlantic, and volcanic mountains loom above you. The road is right along the sea cliffs and slowly climbs up into the mountains.

Within a few moments we saw the first parking area, the one which gave access to the trail we wanted. As we got closer I saw something That made my heart sink: a police car sat near the entrance. This couldn’t be good. I slowed down, turned on the turn signal, and started to turn off the road when the lights came on and the sirens blared at me. I both jerked the car back onto the road and nearly had a heart attack at the same time. I stopped and put the window down,

The attitude in his voice made it clear that was the final word. Stunned and mildly sickened, we drove on. After another minute or two we found the second parking lot. We pulled in and found police officers at each trailhead, all with the same response. No one knew why the volcano was closed, or when it would reopen, or why the official statements online said it was open.

Again, there was the reality online, and in person.

I updated folks like my parents, friends in Iceland, etc. We pulled in to the parking lot and tried to sleep.

Hope fell asleep, I couldn’t. The rental car was not quite long enough to stretch out in, and I didn't have the space to pack a sleeping pad. I was sleeping on folding chairs and clothes.

I was angry, saddened, and mildly sick. We came all this way, and we got stopped at the trailhead. I just couldn’t really believe it.

I kept waking Hope up every twenty minutes or so because I kept bouncing back and forth on what to do. I would try to sleep but never it never came. I'd get up, walk around outside, and ruminate. Folks who had been at the eruption kept returning to their cars. I was livid. At one point I was ready to just leave and go find a waterfall or a geyser. Anything to avoid sitting in the parking lot and watching those favored souls who were returning from the eruption. I'd hang around the group clustering around the police officers. No one knew what happened, just that around 2am the police were asked to go to the trailheads and close everything off.

It was now 8:45am Iceland time, 4:45am Eastern time. The Iceland Met Office would be putting out their daily update in 15 minutes, I decided to wait at least for that. At 9:05am I walked out to the crowd. The officers were chatting with folks and I heard one of them say, “I know what it says online, we are waiting for our Police Chief to confirm it, and we will let you go.”

I fumbled for my phone and checked online. Sure enough, the daily update posted: “All trails open until 6pm.” I was stunned and momentarily speechless. The nausea abated and my mind began racing. I went back to the car and woke up Hope. She was clearly in deep sleep and only half awake. She wanted to sleep. I wanted to move.

Then the little voice in my head began speaking to me: “You don’t want to be here.” My gut began telling me to go to the other parking lot, which we had no confirmation was now open. I told Hope we should try to go, and she insisted on sleeping still. Then that voice began yelling, “Go, GO NOW.”

With Hope asleep in the back of the car, I drove over to the first parking lot. As I rounded the bend I saw the police car still blocking the entry way. A tour bus was stopped and blocking up traffic, the driver was talking to the officer. For once I was happy for the delay. I took the excuse to sit around and hope the officer would drive away. After a moment the tour bus pulled away, and the officer followed him.

I pulled forward and turned into the parking lot... and no one stopped me. I could practically hear the angels singing down on us.

We were here.