I think we’ve all had those experiences that, in our memories, come to be defined by a song — a song that ornaments an unforgettable moment — a song that becomes something apart from its beat and melody, something different, and something personal. There was that one song — it hummed in the background of an Icelandair promotional video as my wife napped, reclined in an economy seat with her head rested on my shoulder; it played on the radio as Joy-C (valiantly) got reacquainted with manual transmission; it danced from my lips as we crossed harsh and spectacular grasslands that rose in sudden cliffs and glacial mountains; it bumped from a DJ’s speakers in that pizza joint that has no name; and it has nestled in my head ever since. “Fröken Reykjavík” by Friðrik Dór. That song is perfectly Iceland. I get it. I grock it. I know it and love its every note. The funny thing is, I don’t speak the language.
Late-April snow fell in pouts as our plane landed in Keflavík. Icelandair offers Stopovers, layovers that can be extended up to seven days. This is a brilliant way to get tourists to spend their dollars in your country. On our way back to the US from a conference in London, we took a Stopover and, with a single ticket, flew from London to Keflavík, drove across Iceland, and flew home to the States.