“Your path is illuminated by the light, yet darkness lets the stars shine bright.”
— J.L.W. Brooks

I was getting itchy feet and wanted to take a quick trip to my favorite place…Scotland. Edinburgh is such an easy city for a single traveler. I wasn’t sure if anyone else would be going with me, so I began to make plans for one. I found a relatively inexpensive flat in the building where I’ve stayed comfortably several times, and I found an equally inexpensive flight via Icelandair with a schedule that would be perfect, with a brief layover in Iceland. I’d never flown Icelandair, but I’d heard good things about them. I booked the flat and airline tickets, and I was good to go. Edinburgh in late October-early November can be cold and rainy, so I didn’t want to invite a first-timer to join me, and I was perfectly fine to go alone, but I decided it would be more fun to invite my cousin, Doug, to join me if he was available. This wouldn’t be his first rodeo, and we travel well together. He agreed. With everything set, all we had to do was wait for the departure. Haggis and Sticky Toffee Pudding were in our future!

If you’ve got a layover in another country, can you count it as a country you’ve visited?…Me
Only if you leave the airport…Granddaughter, Fiona
If you pee in a country you can count it. Hey, You’re leaving your DNA…Seatmate, Maria Oh! This one counted! Believe me!

Flying from Boston to Keflavik wasn’t a long flight, but my seatmate and I found it a rather uncomfortable, bare-bones trip. She was a darling, and although I generally prefer not to make conversation with the person next to me on a flight, the two of us really hit it off, and I was blessed by her companionship. She was on business, coming to Iceland from…San Diego. Oh, my! Neither she…nor I, for that matter, were prepared for what lay ahead.

“Oh, and it’s snowing,” the captain said rather nonchalantly as we made our final descent and landing.

I explained the logistics of this Icelandic Adventure in Part One…the delays, the chaos, the canceled flight, the disorganization, and the lack of information…but there was so much more to the story than the way we stood in line or jockeyed for position to get on a bus.

Iceland is known for its unparalleled beauty. My ChatGPT friend describes it this way.

Iceland’s beauty is unlike anywhere else on Earth—raw, otherworldly, and almost mythic in its contrasts.

Imagine vast lava fields blanketed in soft green moss, stretching beneath skies painted with streaks of pink and gold at midnight in summer—or illuminated by ribbons of emerald and violet in winter’s northern lights. The landscape feels alive: geysers hiss and roar, volcanoes smolder beneath glaciers, and waterfalls—powerful, endless—tumble from cliffs into misty canyons.

The coasts are wild and dramatic: black sand beaches shimmer like obsidian, sea stacks rise like ancient sentinels from the surf, and icebergs drift silently through the glacial lagoons, glowing blue in the Arctic light.

Inland, the highlands are a dreamscape of color and solitude—ochre rhyolite mountains, steaming hot springs, and winding rivers carving through untouched wilderness. And then there’s the silence: vast, pure, and humbling, broken only by the rush of wind or a distant waterfall.

Iceland’s beauty feels both ancient and eternal—a place where the planet’s raw forces are still visible, and where you sense, more than anywhere else, the power and poetry of nature itself.

Trapped on buses, in motel rooms, and in the airport terminal, I saw NONE of that, but I was indeed surrounded by beauty at every turn.

The Icelandic beauty I saw was in the faces and actions of my fellow passengers who were stranded in Keflavik with me. It was in the kindness, concern, and compassion for others, even when personal comfort was in flux and ultimate destinations were unknown. There was a palpable feeling of “We’re in this together.” Everyone was frustrated, disappointed, and concerned, but for the most part, people kept those feelings in check.

The airport is enormous, so perhaps this spirit was not consistent throughout, but from my vantage point, I saw only goodness, thoughtfulness, and kindness. No voices were raised. No one tried to cut the line, and no one complained about crying babies or tired children. People shared snacks with strangers and offered words of encouragement to people feeling overwhelmed and discouraged. High school groups were respectful, subdued, and attentive to their chaperones. Although the preferred response may have been tears, people nevertheless found the strength to share smiles and even laughter.

I’ve been fortunate to visit many countries. In each one, without exception, I’ve waited in line for the loo. It was no different here. I don’t think men talk in the restroom line, but women do. The line was short, but the women talked…in many foreign accents… about where they were from, where they hoped to go, how to access the soap, which faucet produced the strongest stream of hot water, and how best to position your waterbottle for the quickest fill. It was a beautiful exchange. Simple, important, and caring. These small moments of normalcy provided an opportunity to reaffirm our connections with each other and the world beyond. Despite everything, we were going to be OK.

As the hours became days, I was blessed by innumerable acts of kindness and bountiful blessings beyond anything I could have expected. Strangers were understanding and patient with the glacial speed with which I descended stairways or climbed aboard the buses and trams, and people repeated directions for me when I couldn’t hear them or understand.

My guardian angel in all of this was a young man studying at St Andrews University in Scotland. I noticed him when we were expecting to make our transfer out that first morning. He was wearing a t-shirt from a store in a small town less than twenty miles from my home. At first, I thought he, too, was a Vermonter. He was from New York City. How serendipitous that he chose to wear that shirt…a gift from his mom…on that day…and that I saw it. We kept running into each other. He probably thought I was stalking him. Hey, he was cute…maybe subconsciously, I was. I enjoyed his company, and he didn’t send me away; in fact, he became like my adopted grandson, showing me great kindness and friendship. He had major school-related issues of his own; nevertheless, he looked out for me. Who cares about Northern Lights when you can observe the beauty in this level of generosity and caring?

Anna, Rachel, Luke, and I came together originally because we wanted to share a taxi to the airport in the morning. Our trust in the transportation provided by the airline back to the airport was waning, and we wanted to be sure not to miss our flights out. I believe that becoming a team strengthened all of us. We knew we weren’t alone and that someone had our back. We shared a lot and created deep bonds within a short time. I don’t know how I made the team, but truly grateful that I did.

The world feels like such a dark place these days. We face economic stress, political tension, climate concerns, and deep social division. It’s difficult to stay hopeful, and we often struggle to find joy and light. Yet my experience in Iceland allowed me to see the essential goodness, grace, and compassion that still live within each of us—qualities we may forget, or that sometimes lie buried beneath the weight of our worries. I missed a few days in Edinburgh, but don’t feel sorry for me. I wouldn’t have chosen this episode in my life, and I hope never to repeat it. I did not see the Northern Lights, but I saw the light of kindness, support, and love. What a gift. I am truly blessed!

“I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.” 
 — Og Mandino