Tag Archives: Viking Mars

Coming Home

We made it to the Star Theater, our assigned assembly area, just as the group before us was leaving. When our turn arrived, we followed the path outside to the checkout station, scanned our cards and bid a bittersweet farewell to the Viking Mars. Not really. We’d gotten up earlier than usual and I hadn’t had my coffee, but I wasn’t awake enough to notice.

The sun was out, and the sky was a deep blue…which was just our luck. Our arrival and departure days were the only ones without clouds and rain. We walked down the gangway and into a tent, quickly identified our luggage, and then headed toward our assigned bus indicated by a staff member at the end of the tent, the same woman who guided the Southern Coast of Iceland tour. We settled into seats in the front row, waited for everyone to finish boarding and then departed on Reykjanesbraut, the highway to Keflavik International Airport. Click here for a short clip of the trip..

Ours was one of several buses lined up to discharge passengers at Keflavik. We waited while the driver unloaded suitcases, grabbed ours and headed for a very crowded entrance. I recognized the taxi pick-up area just to our left, remembering the dickhead that commandeered a van that could have held seven people just for himself.

Our arrival had been a challenge; our departure was absolute pandemonium. (The planned expansion, expected to be completed by 2030, can’t come too soon!) The airport has self-service kiosks for check-in, but one still needs to hand over tagged bags to an agent. I’d guess there were at least a few hundred people crammed into the lines that were moving like glaciers. Peg sat down at a small area reserved for wheelchair requests while I debated getting in line. I noticed the Icelandair Premium counter, at the far end of the perpendicular wall, was almost deserted. I grabbed Peg, our suitcases and passports and headed there; we were checked in and done in five minutes. There were several older women sitting in the wheelchair pickup area when we returned. One of the staff asked, in English, who needed a wheelchair. While the others looked around at each other in apparent confusion, I got her attention. If you snooze, you lose, and this was going to be one very long day.

The staffer was a Nordic goddess! Tall, blond hair, blue eyes and a butt to die for; she was a sight to behold even if I was old enough to be her father (or grandfather). I put my eyes back into my head and followed her as she deftly cut through the crowd, heading for the elevator that would take us to the second floor. People in wheelchairs get access to a priority line with far fewer passengers at the security checkpoint. When we arrived, I put Peg’s carry-on onto the conveyor belt, and we went through the metal detector.

We hadn’t removed our Kindles from the bag—it’s never been a problem in US airports—but they triggered the screener to flag it. This type of scanner automatically pushes suspect luggage onto a parallel conveyor belt for further inspection. A second screener grabbed Peg’s bag, put it on a long table behind her and asked, “Whose bag is this?” We both raised our hands.

She went through the bag and pulled out our Kindles. “These have to go through separately.” She put them in a plastic bin and ran our bag and the Kindles through again. We had to show her our boarding passes to reclaim the bag.

Peg’s carry-on bag wasn’t the only thing we picked up. A couple of disease vectors (read: little kids with underdeveloped senses of hygiene) were coughing openly and sniveling in our vicinity. I hadn’t thought of bringing masks, but I should have. We were in another country among a novel pool of viruses for which we had no immunity, and we both developed upper respiratory infections two days after our return.

Getting a wheelchair had another advantage. Instead of continuing with the mass of humanity headed for the gates, our Nordic goddess made a right turn and headed for a controlled access door that took us directly to the concourse leading to the South Terminal and the only lounge in the airport–available only to business/first-class passengers–where we would hang out for the next several hours.

Icelandair’s Saga Lounge is on the South Terminal’s third floor, away from the chaos, and is spectacular! We showed our boarding passes at the reception desk and then explored the area, passing by the self-serve buffet and restaurant seating that put food kiosks for mere mortals to shame. I saw a large smoked salmon, yogurt, granola, hot and cold cereals, and pastries. Drinks included water, coffee and tea, sodas, and a variety of alcoholic spirits, most notably 64° Reykjavik Distillery’s Rhubarb and Angelica Pink gins. The buffet switched over to lunch selections – a salad bar, hot soup, meat and cheeses for sandwiches, and cookies – around 11am.

A large boulder, an “elfstone”, sat at the entrance to a seating area across from the buffet, with leather chairs and loveseats around small coffee tables. I can only imagine how they got the rock into the lounge and hoped the engineers had correctly calculated sufficient floor support.

The Elfstone

We found a spacious lounge area behind the elfstone section with wide, comfortable surrounding a gas fireplace in the center. Small tables with USB ports and European outlets separated the chairs, providing room for drinks and personal belongings. Chaise lounges located along several of the full-length windows afforded guests views of the peninsula. Strategically placed refreshment stands featured refrigerators with cold soft drinks, an automated coffee/cappuccino maker with real china cups, and a variety of alcoholic spirits. We parked Peg’s rollator and carry-on at one end of the chairs and headed to the buffet for breakfast.

The bathrooms behind the restaurant are remarkable. The lighting is indirect and soft; none of the fluorescent glare in most public toilets in the US. The floor and sinks are immaculate, and the stalls have full-sized doors. The toilets are wall-mounted, which makes cleaning the floor a lot easier. Two shower rooms equipped with soap, shampoo, conditioner, and large towels are available without needing a reservation. (You’ll know what I mean if you’ve ever been in a large, interstate truck stop.)

We returned to our seats after breakfast. Most of the next several hours were quiet, aside from the horde of eight-year-old girls running amok until they left for their flight. A woman sitting near us kept bitching at her teenage son’s dietary choices. I made several trips to the refreshment bar refrigerator to replenish Peg’s drinks. We later revisited the food area for lunch; I had a few shots of the rhubarb gin during the afternoon.

The reception desk had assured us the wheelchair escort would return around 5:00pm for our flight, but no one had shown up by 5:45 so we had the desk call for someone. It took about 30 minutes for the escort to arrive, and boarding had already started when we reached the gate. There’s no seating at the boarding gate and hanging around would have been another nightmare. We had to take an elevator to the jet bridge while the more mobile had to climb stairs. We gate-checked Peg’s rollator, assuming it would be at the gate at O’Hare when we arrived, another mistaken assumption.

Our flight back was uneventful. We once again had drinks and dinner and settled in. First class passengers get free noise cancelling headphones, so I browsed music by Icelandic composers—I think Norwegian and Finnish composers are better)—while Peg watched the Barbie movie. Despite leaving Iceland at 7:00pm, it was just dusk as we descended over Michigan on our way to O’Hare. We were more than ready to get off the plane by the time we landed.

We hadn’t seen passengers getting off the inbound flight the night we left. We discovered that international passengers are diverted to Customs instead of walking past the boarding area, a VERY LONG trek. Peg’s rollator wasn’t at the gate (big surprise), but a wheelchair was ready. We went down a corridor, down a long switchback ramp to the ground floor and then another long walk before standing in yet ANOTHER line to pass through Customs. (O’Hare might want to consider installing a moving walkway.)

We were exhausted but fortunately had a young and friendly Customs agent to whom we presented our passports.
“Do you have anything to declare?”
“A couple of chocolate bars for the family.”
“Well, you look OK. Have a good night.”

We walked through the checkpoint to baggage claim, found our bags and the Rollator, and headed outside. It was warm and muggy, unlike the cool and cloudy weather we’d left behind. I called for our pickup and waited for 20 minutes until he arrived. We piled into the car; the air conditioning felt really good. The driver and Peg chatted; I pretended to sleep. Finally, we were home and ready to crash, but I had to turn the water back on. A quick trip to the basement and then bedtime!

The cruise was a good way to get an overview of Iceland with minimal hassle. If we were to do it again I’d wait a few years until Keflavik International Airport has been renovated, and I’d rent a car so we could see things at a far more leisurely pace than the tour bus cattle herding. We’d definitely want to revisit Akureyri; it’s a five-hour drive from Reykjavik but a 45-minute flight from the downtown Reykjavik Domestic Airport.

Time is becoming a scarce commodity and the current political turmoil threatens international travel. I’m just grateful we were able to make the trip.

Up Next: Postscripts

Photo Credits:
Beautiful sunset in Iceland II. Helgi Halldórsson from Reykjavík, Iceland. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.
Saga Lounge graphic: Icelandair.com
All other photos: mine.

Day 1 – Embarkation

Arriving in Reykjavik a day ahead to recuperate was a very good idea. Going from the airport directly to the ship would have left us more exhausted than we already were.

The Skarfabakki Harbor Cruise Terminal is about three miles from the hotel, and a much cheaper cab ride.  We were fortunate that our ship, the Viking Mars, docks at Skarfabakki 315.  Other ships dock down the street at Skarfabakki 312, a long hike from our drop-off point The old terminal was demolished to make way for a new terminal scheduled to open in 2026..

The ship’s crew took our luggage after the cab dropped us off; Viking has set up a temporary facility that made boarding (“embarkation” if you want to be formal) efficient and easy. We entered this building, showed our passports and boarding passes, and walked outside to the boarding ramp. High tide made for a steep climb, but one of the crew took Peg’s Rollator ahead while she grabbed the railing.

Viking Mars embarkation building

Once inside the ship, the staff scanned our boarding passes, which put us into their system, gave us our room keycards, and offered us a hot, wet washcloth and glass of champagne. Then, they directed us down the hallway to The Restaurant where another crew member went through the mandatory safety evacuation protocol: how to put on the life vest and where to go if needed.

(At this point, I recommend getting a lanyard for your keycard. Otherwise, you’ll be fishing in your wallet or purse for the damned thing and risk losing it, as I did.)

We had to wait until 1p.m. before we could get into our rooms, so we went up to the World Café, a self-service buffet, on Deck 7 for a bite to eat.

After lunch we made our way to our stateroom, a long walk almost to the end of the narrow hallway. Our cabin steward, a friendly Indonesian man, greeted us by name. “Dr. Rivera and Mrs. Sullivan.” (All future greetings were an enthusiastic “Dr. David and Mrs. Mary!”) Our suitcases sat outside our stateroom door. He pushed them into the room and then hefted one of them onto the large vinyl pad covering the foot of the bed to protect the bedding while unpacking before orienting us to our room.

My fat ass in the doorway of our stateroom

The large sliding glass door at the end of the room opens onto a veranda with two chairs and a small table. An armchair sits just inside. There’s a couch to the right of the chair; a large wooden tray with Viking brochures and a copy of The Viking Daily – with a synopsis of the port stop, a morning-to-evening list of the day’s onboard activities, departure times for shore excursions, the dining hours, and a ship services directory with phone numbers – sits on a coffee table in front of the couch.

The long desk has drawers for storage at the near end and a mini fridge at the far end stocked with Sprite, regular Coke and Coke Zero; Carlsberg beer; tonic water; travel bottles of Bacardi Rum, Beefeater Gin, Smirnoff Vodka, and The Famous Grouse Scotch;  two small milk chocolate bars, and two bags of nuts, all replenished once a day.  (Our steward switched out the regular coke for Coke Zero after Peg left him a note saying we didn’t drink sugared pop.) We had a complementary bottle of champagne and two flutes waiting for the right time to celebrate.

The middle of the desk opens up to a lighted mirror, a pair of binoculars and abundant storage for cosmetics and toiletries. The devices next to the hair dryer are QuietVox audio receivers used for self-guided tours or for one’s tour director to herd the cattle back to the bus.

The king-sized bed has four pillows (Peg asked and received an extra), a comforter, sans top sheet, and a “Traditional Norwegian Marius-weave blanket.” Each side has a night stand with 110/220V outlets, two USB charging ports and a wall lamps. The switch just above the electrical bar turns on the nightlight for bathroom trips. The two little silver circles are reading lamps.

A credenza with even more drawers and two shelves sits across from the bed. The ship supplies a large carafe of water and two lovely blue drinking glasses, along with a card that said, “if you like these items, they are available for purchase.” Subtext, “if you steal these glasses, we’re gonna add $200 to your tab!”

A 42” television is mounted on the wall above. There are several programming options: movies, TV series, news channels (Fox, CNN, BBC), a variety of music choices whose categorization left much to be desired, broadcasts of previous lectures (which is how I found out Bluetooth was named after Harald Bluetooth, a 10th century Danish and Norwegian king), and the perpetual view from the bridge camera, overlaid with classical music. My Cousin Vinny was one of the movie selections; however, we didn’t think showing Lifeboat and Titanic on a cruise ship was a wise choice.

Bow camera view of Isafjödur’s port

The bathroom was superb! It has a heated floor which is so efficient I had to turn it off because the temperature became stifling. There are drawers on each side of the sink and toiletry racks for Viking’s “Premium Freyja® toiletries” on either side of the anti-fog mirror. We found large, fluffy towels and washcloths under the counter.

The wall-mounted toilet is very efficient and very loud when flushed. I’d like these in my retirement house because cleaning the bottom of a floor-mounted toilet is a colossal pain.

The shower is more than adequate despite appearing rather narrow in this picture. The knob on the left turns the water on; the one on the right controls the temperature. I discovered a button on the back that overrides the water temperature limiter if one wants hotter water. The water flow decreases if one opens the shower door while the water is running. I should note that showering while the ship is sailing requires some caution. Peg only showered when the ship was in port to avoid being hurled out the shower door in rough seas.

There’s abundant closet space opposite the bathroom with a lot of wooden hangers on one side and more than sufficient drawer space on the other, hidden by sliding doors with magnetic catches. There are two decent sized robes on hangers, and a wooden box on the floor holds two pairs of complementary slippers (I could only get half of my foot into one) and a bright red Viking umbrella for rainy shore excursions.

A shelving unit next to the closet houses a Nespresso coffeemaker, a safe behind a cabinet door, and more drawers, one of which housed a horse hair lint brush, a shoe shine brush and instructions for complementary clothes pressing, returned the next day.

After unpacking, putting drawer things in drawers and hanging things on hangers, it was time for another nap. We woke up around 5:30pm and arrived at The Chef’s Table just before it opened for dinner.

There was a line of people waiting at the restaurant desk to make reservations for the ship’s two specialty restaurants: The Chef’s Table and Manfredi’s Italian Restaurant., (Our booking class had allowed us to make reservations 70 days before the cruise departed, so we were all set.) Our host took us to a table in a bright corner near the back, next to the windows.

Beauty and her beast

Our four-course menu started with the “Amuse Bouche,” a fancy name for appetizer that conjures an image of Beavis saying, “funny bunghole.”   The Goan Potato Chop was a light vegetable and cheese stuffed croquette, served with Soave Classico, an Italian white wine.  The first course was Chili Soft-Shell Crab in a light tomato-chili sauce, paired with a nice glass of Pinot Grigio another Italian white. (You can probably guess where this is headed.)

I’m not into food porn; I started taking pictures when our palate cleanser, a lychee, guava and cranberry juice granite named Red Lotus arrived.

Our main course was Thai Spiced Rack of Lamb with eggplant, sweet chili and my sister-in-law’s nemesis, the dreaded baby corn, served with a ruby-red Rioja Tempranillo.

Dessert was a delightful Yuzu Cheesecake, whose namesake fruit provides a lemon flavor, along with fine ruby port.

An amateur restaurant critic seated with a foursome just behind us weighed in on the main course. I thought he might be a Texan, but he mentioned being from Oklahoma in passing.  “Well, the lamb was very good but I’m kind of a meat and potatoes and beer guy.” Icelandic animal protein sources are largely lamb and fish, although beef would be available on the cruise.  

He and his wife were celebrating their 40th anniversary; the waitstaff presented them with a chocolate ganache-covered mousse, the size of a small curling stone, along with a glass of champagne. The couple at the table next to us were celebrating their 50th anniversary and must have married young, because they didn’t appear to be terribly old; their mousse and champagne arrived shortly after.

Not to be left out, our waiter brought us a berry mousse covered with a strawberry ganache. And a glass of champagne. By this time my photographic skills were sorely lacking.

Fully sated and slightly toasted from the wine we had with dinner, we headed back to our room for bed. Our waiter graciously offered to send the leftover mousse to our room for us to enjoy over the next couple of days.

There’s no chocolate on the bed with the turndown service, but neither did we find the whimsical towel creations on the bed which are popular with other cruise lines that seem intent on forcing your happiness.  I hung the room service request for breakfast outside door and sank into our nice soft bed. The Southern Coast of Iceland bus tour started 7:30am, an ungodly hour to be doing anything.

The best thing about dinner? Peg didn’t need time to “wind down” while fighting sleep. A few minutes under the covers and she was out.

Next: Touring the Southern Coast of Iceland by bus. Geothermal power plants, black sand beaches, waterfalls everywhere and a stop at the Lava Centre.