From London to Keflavik, Iceland

Summary

A traveler recounts a challenging journey from London to Keflavik, Iceland, marked by unexpected delays, physical exertion, and logistical hurdles.

Abstract

The traveler's experience begins with an early departure, navigating muddy terrain and public transportation with heavy luggage, relying on the kindness of strangers for assistance. Despite careful planning, a series of unforeseen events, including a late bus and a rigorous security check for the traveler's companion, lead to a rushed airport arrival. The traveler faces additional fees for carry-on luggage and endures a seat change on the flight. Upon arrival in Keflavik, the traveler encounters further complications with accommodations, requiring multiple room changes at the hostel. The day concludes with a makeshift dinner and anticipation for the next day's challenges.

Opinions

The traveler appreciates the assistance received from "lovely young men" encountered during the journey.
The traveler expresses frustration with the unexpected additional costs incurred at the airport.
The traveler is critical of their own physical condition, noting the impact of the day's exertions on their body.
The traveler is bemused by the repeated issues with their booked accommodations, requiring multiple relocations.
Despite the day's hardships, the traveler maintains a sense of humor, referring to their brisk walking pace as "turtle pace" and finding camaraderie with fellow travelers on the bus.
The traveler anticipates future travel complexities, as evidenced by their closing remark about traveling the following year.

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses.

I was packed and out the door before the household stirred. First obstacle: Mud and puddles. I carried one suitcase over then tiptoed back for Biggie. Now just over 23kg, so no chance of my being able to lift it. I avoided most of the mud but couldn’t avoid the water. Up the slight incline to the station. I hadn’t even noticed the hill until now. The extra 3kgs is really making me work hard. A lovely young man carried both my suitcases down the stairs but I managed to get both of them on the train myself.

First train and tube and bus

Fortunately, I only had one change at Waterloo down, down, down to the Bakerloo tube line. Several levels. I asked for help with Biggie on each escalator but didn’t have to ask on the stairs. Once again a lovely young strong man carried Biggie and my other suitcase down. When I warn them he’s heavy, they seem super keen to test their strength. And Biggie loves the attention.

The tube to Paddington screeched so loud it set my teeth on edge but no one else seemed to notice. It must be normal. Out at Paddington Station and lifts up to street level. I asked a railway employee the whereabouts of the National Express bus stop to Luton and then reconfirmed with another. It was a very long way, much longer than long, and quite complicated. I managed to get up to the street level. Actually canal level. Grand Union Canal to be exact with boats strung along it.

The bus stop was still another level up and there was no lift. I needed a break before attempting those stairs, so I found a bench. Timber never felt so comfortable. I ate one of the Tesco sandwiches and cooled down. My exertions had actually left me soaked with sweat.

After eating most of the sandwich, I climbed the stairs (with help of course) and was waiting at the pedestrian crossing when Stacey whizzed by in an Uber. Perfect timing! The bus stop had nothing on it to denote it was the National Express stop to Luton. No wonder there were no signs in the station. But there were other people waiting with suitcases so yes, it was the right spot. And we waited. And waited. And waited. The coach was over half an hour late! And the trip out to Luton was so long that it felt like we were halfway to Birmingham!

Luton Airport

I was getting a bit panicky. I’m normally at the airport hours before I’m supposed to be. Check-in of our suitcases went smoothly. We sat down to drink our juices and Stacey ate her sandwich. But security turned out to be a nightmare. For once, it wasn’t me who was the suspicious one. But Stacey! She had to take her shoes off and was then searched thoroughly again and again and again. It took forever!

Going through duty-free, Stacey thought it was a good idea to stock up on alcohol as it’s prohibitively expensive in Iceland. And we’ll probably need it to keep warm. So we bought a litre of scotch, a salted caramel Baileys and two bottles of Australian red and a tiny bottle of Jameson’s. We paid and then looked at the board. Gate 14 — last boarding call! Shit! We ran. Which was more like a brisk walk. But faster than my usual turtle pace.

Stacey took my suitcase but I was still carrying a few kgs extra in my backpack and Thai bag. I arrived at gate 14 and lined up. We were last. Phew! Officious check-in girls were checking sizes of carry-ons. One passenger had her carry-on put in the hold but I just got charged an extra £50 for my little Cath Kidston backpack. If I’d known I wasn’t allowed to have it, I could have fitted it in my carry-on suitcase. Because we were the last passengers, there was no time to redistribute items so that the backpack would fit.

The back stairs were already up so we had to take the front. Our bags were stored in the only available space and we took our seats right down the back. Until, for some reason, we had to swap seats. I was saturated again. Even my hair was wet. It took me the whole flight to cool down. I had done 3.5km walking and BRISK WALKING to get from my bed to the plane!

Keflavik Airport

Arrival at Keflavik Airport went smoothly or maybe I was just too tired to remember. After going through passport control, and collecting our bags from the conveyor, we lined up to buy bus tickets to the city. My right knee had locked up on the flight, probably from the brisk walking, then sitting on the plane for 3 hours. By then, I was definitely hobbling. The tall bus driver took my arm and walked me out to the bus, which was waiting. We were the last passengers. I sat right up the back so I could stretch my leg and chatted to an English family just here for the weekend. It was another long bus ride into the city terminal, where we had to change to a smaller bus, which took us to our hostel. Very modern. The hostel, not the bus.

The hostel

After checking in, we went to our room on the ground level, only to find the bottom bunks were already occupied. We were supposed to have the 4-bed dorm to ourselves — a special Booking.com genius offer. There was no way I could get up to the top bunk, so I went back to reception and explained the situation. The lovely lady checked the computer and said she could put us in room 37 which we had booked for tomorrow night. Perfect. It’s on the second floor. We carted all of our luggage up to the room, but on opening the door, found the room was already occupied. Again.

I stayed with the luggage while Stacey went to sort it out at reception, and we were given another room on the opposite side of the hostel — on the GROUND floor. So down we go again. A lovely room. The bad news is tomorrow we have to move back upstairs to room 37! We will cross that bridge and climb those damn stairs again when tomorrow comes.

Dinner was a boiled egg, a chocolate chip cookie and a baby KitKat. Washed down with a glass of red wine. Just what I needed to put me to sleep. What a day!