Icelandic Charm

After hours of flying over endless water, the plane descends toward land, only to rise again. The turbulence rocks us so violently that I grip the seat in front of me. The pilots offer a brief mention of the turbulence in heavy Icelandic accents over the intercom, but it’s more disorienting than reassuring. Two passengers have already thrown up, and I mentally check if I have anything irreplaceable in my bag. I sigh in relief that I packed without materialism in mind.

The plane touches down, and I find myself exhilarated by all the aspects of international travel most people dread. I breeze through customs, where the Border Control Officer meets my smile with a blank stare. He stamps my passport, and I stare at it in awe, marveling at the moment.

Arriving in Iceland, I overwhelmed with gratefulness for how lucky I am to have the opportunity to experience this. The sky is a deep, welcoming darkness, and the constellations are vivid, visible to the naked eye. As someone who thrives on daylight, I’d feared the 11 a.m. sunrise and 4:30 p.m. sunset would feel stifling, but Iceland’s unique darkness has an enigmatic serenity I didn’t expect.

After a snowy drive to the hotel, my roommate and I settle into room 308. Looking out the window, I’m greeted by a scene captured from a Hallmark movie. Christmas lights lining shops, snow blanketing rooftops and cars, and a large decorative bell hung from our neighboring building to the one across the street was swaying as if ringing in the wind. Snowflakes continue to fall, soft and majestic.

The Icelandic people were some of the kindest I’ve ever met. As a Black woman traveling abroad, visiting places with small Black populations can be daunting. Yet in Iceland, I didn’t have to navigate the complexities of racism, anti-racism, or passive complacency with injustice. Here, race seemed irrelevant. Icelandic people appeared to view each other through the lens of personality, rather than skin color.