Iceland and picnic dreams

We are flying Vancouver to Paris via Iceland.  It's efficient, and we can say we've been to Iceland, even if only for a couple of hours.

Here's what I know about Iceland.  

Information regarding Iceland from my brain:___________________________.


Am I going to find out more?  Not likely.
Because I don't care?  No, not at all.  
Because I won't make it out of the airport?  Bingo. 

One day.  Maybe even one day soon, I would like to go to Iceland for the sake of Iceland.  But this trip is scratching the surface of France, and delving a little more deeply into Italy.  

We will be in Paris for the first few days, then we'll be getting our rental van the day we leave to address points Normandy, Brittany, Loire Valley and Provence/Riviera before we fly from Nice to Rome. 

I purchased a little picnic lunch pack yesterday.  In my romantic idealism about France, we will picnic, and and icepack and a place for cheese to reside would be a good idea. It's big enough to fit a wine bottle, so that rocks.   And I threw in whatever sporks we had around the house.  I hate the word "spork."  I hate it so much that I almost didn't pack them.  then I thought about spreading soft cheese with my finger and reconsidered. 

So here's what the picnic pack holds:
  • a small picnic cloth, that belonged to my mom
  • ice pack
  • bees wax food wrap
  • a small foldable tote for the stuff that doesn't need to be kept cold 
  • sporks (cringe)

I considered briefly packing a small serrated knife for bread, but hoping to avoid jail on this trip, I decided tearing bread was quite romantic.  



The image in my brain about picnicking in France:



The actual image of my adorable picnic lunch pack:


This is about 12" by 12" - so reality is not really on my side, here.  

But a girl can dream, right?  I suppose we can pick up the adorable cheese knives and crystal once we're there...





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