One day a man in thongs, (AKA flip flops), and shorts strolled into the Guest House I worked at in Iceland. Two days later we started our journey across the Atlantic in a plane that could be accurately described as ‘cute’. No I didn’t stand on a runway with a rucksack and my thumb in the air, but I kind of, sort of, hitchhiked a plane – and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life.

Sean is a pilot, and a really, really good one at that. Even though it is almost impossible not to question the sanity of a guy who arrives on an island just south of the arctic circle in the same outfit he would wear back home on the beaches of Miami, it didn’t take long to realise that he was just an inappropriately dressed, great guy. (He did have the excuse of his luggage containing his winter-wear being confiscated back in the sunshine state, due to an attempt to check-in a life-craft. An item which is apparently equally as forbidden as packing hair spray or a machine gun…)

During general checking-in smalltalk, Sean mentioned that he was flying to North America the next day and in passing joked that I should come along. I agreed (of course). He probably thought I was also joking until later that day I asked what time we were planning on flying out.

So we ran some standard ‘crossing the Atlantic’ errands. We tried to find some appropriate footwear for Sean to fly across the Atlantic with… We failed. He purchased a months supply of socks instead. We stocked up on snacks (bananas and wine) and we went to bed confident that the same time tomorrow we would have successfully crossed continents.We were wrong…

One arriving in the airport, Sean checked the weather and made sure everything was good to go. We loaded up the plane with the little luggage we had and we were ready for take-off. Well, we were until Sean turned the engines on and we heard a noise similar to the one that you would expect to hear at a house party after someone has taken that 7th shot of tequila and ran straight to the bathroom…

What was supposed to be a half hour wait in Reykjavik’s lovely private airport turned into a fun-filled day of observing rich people disembark from planes, unnecessarily large for couples on vacation. My friends at the airport shared with me the quirkiest encounters they have had with celebrities including babysitting Lady Gaga’s dog and greeting an intoxicated Charlie Sheen, (surprise, surprise).

By the time the engine was fixed it was too late to reach Greenland during airport opening hours so we were forced to push our trip back a day. It’s a good thing it was happy hour at the Hotel across the road from the airport.

The next day the engine started. It even lasted all the way to Narsarsuaq, Greenland. But that’s another story…