Shark Sandwich

It's 6:21 a.m., and I have a huge list of things to do before I pick up Jenniekins and head to the airport. Sadly, I am rendered immobile with the crushing discovery that while in flight with Icelandair no meal will be provided, but instead we are offered "Food for Purchase". There is nothing savory about that phrase. To me it translates to "If You Are Hungry You COULD Buy This, Though, If You Look Around You, Nobody Else Has--Except That Creepy Guy With A Neon Green Baseball Cap Advertising "Hot Doug's House of Tube Meats".

If it were Air France I would feel confident in the fact that perhaps a baguette avec jambon and brie is available-shrinkwrapped and made three days ago, sure, but it is a cute sandwich in theory. Whereas a fermented shark hoagie or Hangikjöt is never cute. This begs the question: Does the plane have a smoke room? Will my air hostess talk in a high pitched voice and beg me to not step on my flight fairy? I am suddenly getting a bit anxious. What were we thinking?! Three months ago the chance to stopover in Reykjavik was compelling (not to mention cheap), but now it looms ahead like a dormant volcano spewing weird green gases! Why why why?!

On the flip side, after we endure a flight of crackers and cheese and slightly mashed grapes (lap picnic!), we make our way to our adorable hotel in the lovely town of Bad Kreuznach. I don't know if Jennie realizes this yet, but the name of the street we are staying on is Eiermarkt - Egg Market. We are just a few kilometers from a duck emporium/restaurant and need I remind anyone that it is all about spas spas and more spas in this town. Ima gonna take a Roman bath, a Turkish bath, a bath bath, then I am gonna rinse it all off with thermal healing waters. When I return I will be unrecognizable, and not because I was on a steady diet of quark and marizipan, but because I will have spent a week soaking in these waters. Also because I avoided the shark sandwich.