Merchant Magician by John Champaign

Author:John Champaign [Champaign, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independently published
Published: 2021-02-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Shifting into second gear, I tried to adjust myself to driving a manual transmission car again. Who is going to pay an extra $10 per day for an automatic? I accelerated along the roads leaving the airport, following signs for Reykjavik. I hadn’t slept well on the red eye flight, but wanted to get into the city and keep myself up so my sleep schedule didn’t get too distorted.

Briefly wondering if I was relying on my leprechaun luck reserves too much, I decided to pull off the highway into a plaza that looked like it had a bakery. After three coffee refills and a tasty local pastry, I hit the road again. Passing a sign indicating a turn off for the Blue Lagoon, I headed towards the capital.

Iceland is beautiful; they filmed a bunch of scenes for “Game of Thrones” here, but it is expensive. Crazy expensive. “$15 for a bowl of soup” expensive. Reykjavik itself is the capital, but it’s just over a population of 100,000. It has the feel of a not-terribly-large city.

My father had taken a trip to Iceland years earlier and, at the time, tourism wasn’t common. The locals were eager to meet him and get to know him. Since then they’ve expanded their tourism, which is good overall, but the locals have had their fill of annoying visitors. Apparently on the evening news they have a recurring segment about dumb tourists hurting themselves doing things they shouldn’t.

Remembering that it was too early to check in to my Airbnb, I headed to Hallgrímskirkja. I had a savory crepe lunch at a nearby restaurant, then made my way to and entered the church. Walking through the nave, I admired the architecture and the large pipe organ.

“If you’re looking for a tour, the waiting area is outside next to the bus stop,” I heard a voice say to me nearby. The clipped accent continued, “If you’re touring the church, you can get a ticket for the tour in the church shop. It’s a majestic view of Reykjavik.”

Turning I saw a priest approaching me. A small number of parishioners were scattered throughout the sanctuary, but I must have stood out.

“It’s interesting how we never want to stand out as a tourist. I’m not sure why people are so afraid of that,” I mused as he walked up to me. “I don’t know if you can help me or not, but I need to make a ‘display of devotion’ in order to meet Agwu Nsi.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose figuring out what it means is the first step,” I answered.

“Come with me, let’s go for a walk and get a cup of coffee and we’ll try to figure it out,” he suggested, and started walking toward the exit from the church.

Hurrying to catch up with him, I asked him why we were leaving the church.

“Are you a Lutheran?” he asked.

After I admitted I’m not, he continued, “Then the church doesn’t have special meaning for you.

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