The journey

Stepping on to the plane yesterday evening was like immediately crossing a border into Icelandic territory. The headrests in the aircraft are printed with Icelandic phrases; each seat had a blanket at the ready and a small pillow with an Icelandic lullaby in both their language and English.

The captain's announcements were delivered in Icelandic first, then English, then in a game attempt at French. The first was absolutely musical -- it's an aurally pretty language to listen to. The musicality extends itself to their use of English as well.

I typed this note while listening to a selection of Icelandic musical artists on the plane's entertainment system -- some like Bjork, Sigur Ros and Jonsi, I knew very well. I recognized some names; others were completely new to me and may end up as new additions to our music library.

The passengers were a real mixed bag. Some are residents returning home. There was a strong contingent of younger hipsters who appeared to be heading to the Iceland Airwaves festival that is playing in Reykjavik later this week. And, in the set of three seats across from us were three priests. Not sure if they were heading to Airwaves but you never know. And then there was Sherri and I.

Each of Icelandair's fleet are named after a volcano on the island or surrounding territory. Wasn't able to catch what name our plane was, but it struck me as a little bit odd that our plane was named after a large exploding object.