Gazing down to the dim speckles of lights below, the engines’ deep humming soothes me. Most are asleep, reclined in the cold blue leather chairs. The stiff, thin, scratchy blanket the stewardess supplied makes me grateful for the plush bed spread at home. I tip my head back to relax my neck against a polyester pillow. Peaking out through the cold dripping window, I catch a glimpse of the plane’s wing cutting through a dark cloud. Closing the plastic blind, I glance around to the other passengers, a few whose faces reflect the harsh light of the TV. The lights dim and silence encases the aircraft. Excitement grows and my imagination races in anticipation of the upcoming descent. I push through my fatigue. Pressure squeezes my head and my ears pop. I stick a piece of gum in my mouth. It’s sharp biting minty flavor wakes up my palette. In the still dry air I detect the stale aroma of pretzels and lingering left over airplane food. Unable to fight the sag in my heavy eyes, I plunge into a deep sleep.

The sky begins to blush as I wake and the inflated clouds blaze an orange hue. Gradually, over the horizon of boundless tufts of cotton, I see the large ball of golden fire rise. People around me begin to lift up their sleeping masks and awe at the scene in the sky. My body aches from restless dozing and the awkward position of the upright chair. The shrill echo of the metal food cart wheeling up the skinny aisle rings in my ears. I unclip my tray table and let it drop onto my lap. The stewardess trudges up the aisle, struggling to push the bulky cart. She wears a tight navy blue skirt, a white blouse, scuffed black heels, and a ruby red pillbox atop of her sleek feathery blonde hair. Beaming down on me, she offers me a refreshment before breakfast is served. I ask for orange juice and place it on my tray in the intended indentation. I unclip the seat belt and impatiently adjust my seating position. I envision my family and I landing, walking through the familiar clean airport and arriving at the bustling baggage claim. What would we do after? Ah yes! We would then hike over to the rental car station and pay for the same small red Toyota. I long for the peaceful drive through the misty countryside where the landscape was rocky, barren, and mossy. I call Iceland home. It is my family’s escape, for few people we know have ever been here, and if they have, it was usually in our company. I am revived from my fantasy as the plane bounces on the rolling waves of wind. I slump lower in my chair. My mind drifts away again and I find myself now having landed in Reykjavik standing in the modest garden at Holl cottage, the house we always rent downtown. I begin constructing the scenery around me picturing the abandoned park in the lot next door and the string of apartments made from corrugated steel.

“Oatmeal or eggs?” The stewardess asks lively, stirring me from the trance. The eggs were runny and soggy so I requested the oatmeal.

I finger through Skymall after I finished as much of the watered-down oatmeal as I can. I pensively trace the glowing symbols on the buttons above me and fiddle with the channels on the armrest. Over the crackling intercom I hear the pilot announce our descent through his thick accent. The fasten seatbelt sign illuminates and people tumble back into their seats. My stomach rises and my heart swells as the nose of the aircraft begins to accelerate downward. Travel is an adventure, an escape and but the most important part of life is the journey not the destination.