June 10: Today and yesterday are but one long, long day in the Einsteinian continuum of eastward travel on a continental scale. I woke up yesterday, spent about nine hours in flight over three legs of the journey, and am now ensconced in the home of a new friend in Haugesund Norway, ready to face my first day playing Viking in actual Viking country, tomorrow morning.

A kindly friend drove me to the airport in Minneapolis. We had lunch before we left, and he patiently listened as I obsessed over every awful travel experience that would “probably” happen to me on this trip. I’m an obsessor, and travel is one of my triggers. The idea of being stranded in a foreign country is high on my list of consummations devoutly to be avoided.

But I made it to the airport despite my fears, put on my warrior face, and went to face the indignities of the baggage check-in and the security check. To my amazement, they didn’t reject my checked bag (just at the limit of allowable size), and nobody arrested me for having a big Viking knife inside it, either. I fumbled a bit over the security scan, but again I wasn’t detained by the authorities. I think they appreciated the laugh.

Then the long, long flight to Reykjavik. I had a book to read on my Amazon Fire, but even so, time seemed to have achieved a semi-viscous consistency. I calmed myself by worrying about swelling ankles and blood clots, as is the custom among old men.

My stopover in Reykjavik was short, but I did manage to lose my Amazon Fire. Didn’t notice it was gone till I was on the outbound plane, and you can’t exactly go back to search at that point. I’ve got my business card inside the hard cover, so maybe the finder will contact me. Or I could check the lost and found on my return trip. But let’s face it, Icelanders survived for centuries as ship wreckers. My Fire is probably just spare parts now. (Note the use of my favorite word, “probably.”) Fortunately, I could read on the Kindle app on my phone.

The flight to Norway was only a couple hours, and palpably shorter in subjective experience. The feeder flight I took to Haugesund from Oslo was almost too short to mention – except that they offered free snacks, which is pretty classy these days. (It was SAS. A free candy bar deserves a plug. Especially when it’s Freya, the Norwegian brand.) The Haugesund airport is not actually located in Haugesund, but across the sound on Karmøy island, which happens to be the home of my forefathers. The farm where my great-grandfather was born almost neighbors the airport. Einar Berdinessen and Tore Ravn Ottesen, my two new friends, met me with great fuss, then drove me to Einar’s apartment in Haugesund, where I’ll be staying for this festival. Supper was exquisite Norwegian smørbrød (open faced sandwiches), and for dessert a bløtkake (cream cake) of great delectability, with a cartoon of a Viking drawn on top.

Later Einar gave me a car ride around Haugesund and Karmøy, where he grew up. (At Hinderaker farm, the likely spot where Asbjorn Selsbane paused to view the royal farm on his way to murder Thore Sel. If you’re a saga fan, you’ll know what I’m talking about. And I’m writing about the event in my Work in Progress.) We looked at some Bronze Age grave mounds on Karmøy, and the Five Foolish Virgins, an ancient array of standing stones. Legend says they are all that remains of five heathen girls who taunted St. Olaf, but they’re actually prehistoric.

All of this was balm to a worrier’s soul. The fears of the day had failed to come true (I’d never actually worried about losing the Amazon Fire), and the fuss these people made over me raised my spirits infinitely.

To crown all, Pres. Biden and the CDC announced that the rule requiring that Americans get a Covid test within 24 hours of flying home would be suspended on Sunday. That test was one of my major causes of worry all through the day.

Is it possible God is not against this trip?