The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.2004, Síða 17

Vol. 58 #4
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
163
To Iceland with Afi
by Blair Swanson
In 1998 - on July 28th, my Afi and I
met at the Winnipeg International Airport,
all packed and ready for our planned jour-
ney together to Iceland. The long anticipat-
ed departure date had finally arrived. At
the airport, there appeared to be a long,
motionless line of people with their lug-
gage. My thoughts looked back to immi-
grants waiting in readiness to board ships
and trains, prepared to go to new lands in
search of a better life. My mind played a
game of ‘matching faces with people’ as I
surveyed the crowd. I saw a “Richard
Nixon” - sad eyes and big cheeks; I saw a
“Margaret Thatcher” - walking fast, with a
great sense of confidence and determined
look about her. My mind game was taken
back to reality with the gentleman who
spoke to me in the Icelandic language. I
shrugged my shoulders and explained that
I did not understand what he was saying.
His reply was “Don’t worry, that’s all the
Icelandic I know”. He told me his name
was Holman Olson and that he lived in
Selkirk. He said that I would never forget
his name because it is not “half-man” - but
rather “Holman”. The line began to move
and I finally reached the ticket desk where
my luggage was checked for the flight.
Now, to find my Afi.
Checking all the coffee shops, I found
Afi with our relatives enjoying their com-
pany. We all walked to the observation
floor and waited for our plane to land. It
would be coming from Iceland, loaded
with Icelanders that would be visiting
Manitoba. Once the arrivals disembarked,
the aircraft would be cleaned and serviced
in preparation for the return flight to
Iceland. At last!
Having said our ‘farewells’ to family
that had come to see us off and wish us
well, we continued through to the security
area with the metal detectors in place. Afi
went through the screening and set off the
alarm. An official and stern looking lady
began to frisk Afi with some roughness.
My Afi looking suspicious? I don’t think
so! It was cleared that he was innocent.
All passengers would gather in the
waiting room, watching the Icelanders that
had just arrived. A wall of glass separated
us as they were cleared at customs. One
would have thought the “Beatles:” had
arrived - the excitement of it all.
We were boarded and ready for take
off. My seat was perfect - and one where I
could stretch out my legs. Once the aircraft
had gained the required altitude, the pilot
turned off the seat belt sign. This was the
cue that two-thirds of the people had been
waiting for. They rushed towards the
washrooms - reminding me of young chil-
dren that had just noticed the ice cream
man passing slowly down the street with
the bells under his handlebar, playing that
familiar jingle.
After a meal of fish was served, almost
everyone settled into their seat patiently
waiting to land in Keflavik. Just over the
half time point, Oli Narfason (Gimli)
addressed the passengers over the inter-
com, wishing them well once they landed
in Iceland - and involved everybody in an
Icelandic song. Oli and his wife Marj were
the major organizers of this charter flight.
Our flight began to land. We had
arrived at Keflavik. Afi and I collected our
luggage - and looked for the airport bank
in order to exchange money. We got 13,800
kronur for $300.00 (CDN). We checked
into the duty free shop for Afi to buy pack-
ages of tobacco for one of his many
Icelandic friends that we would see. We
then went to the exit where Afi sought out
the man who would be waiting for us. His
name is Gretar Haraldsson. Gretar wel-
comed us and led us to his truck.
The day was sunny and a pleasant 19C
as Gretar sailed along the narrow highway.