Too Many Airports

As usual, my trip to the Faroes was too short, and I was scheduled to fly home to San Francisco on April 22 and 23. Just a day or two before I left, I received word that my brother-in-law in Dallas had died, so I booked a flight to Dallas for the 24th.

On Sunday, the weather in Fuglafjørður was sunny and clear. When we came out of the tunnel from Streymoy to Vágar, we were in heavy fog, which got thicker and thicker as we got closer to the airport. The flight was scheduled to leave at 5:30 p.m. At 6:30 p.m. we walked over to the airport hotel for a free meal, provided by the airline. About the time we were walking back to the airport at 8 p.m., our plane was able to land. The fog had lifted just a little, but it was enough. I was grateful to have a friend and neighbor on the same flight, and he translated the important anouncements for me, such as a free meal and our revised departure time. He also carried my suitcase.

I got to my hotel in Copenhagen at about 1:30 a.m., and spent just a few hours in bed before I had to get up and go back to the airport. I flew to Heathrow Airport in London, and then I had a long 10-11 hour flight to San Francisco. I took a shuttle home, going the long way around with other passengers during rush hour traffic. I rummaged through my 3 suitcases to pack a fourth suitcase to take to Dallas. Again, I had just a few hours in bed before I had to get up and drive to yet another airport in Oakland. At least there wasn’t any rush hour traffic, because I left home before anyone else was even out of bed. Fortunately, we arrived in Dallas on time, and I was able to pick up my rental car and get to the funeral 30 minutes early.

Wednesday, I didn’t go to any airports. I guess that was my birthday present. On Thursday, I got up at 4 a.m. to take my older sister to the Love Field airport for her flight back to Georgia. Then I had a few hours to rest before I flew back home.

I think I will avoid airports for a few months now. When I woke up Tuesday morning, I told myself, “Jenny, get up, you have to go to the airport – you have to go to the airport.” Then I thought for a few minutes, “What airport am I going to? It isn’t the Faroes, because I already did that. It isn’t Copenhagen – I did that. Oh yes, I’m home in my own bed. I’m going to Dallas, so it must be the Oakland Airport.”

Gásadalur in the Fog

On the way to the airport, I wanted to visit the small village of Gásadalur on the island of Vágar near the airport. The village sits in a high valley with high mountains on three sides and steep cliffs on the other. The tunnel to the village opened just a short time ago. Before that, the only way into the village was to climb a trail over the mountain.

A Cold Spring Day

Driving along the road in town, I spotted these icicles, formed from the dripping rain water. The mountain tops around the bay have snow on them again.

Tomorrow I will leave the Faroe Islands and return to my home in the San Francisco Bay Area. The month here has passed quickly.


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