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“I don’t know what to do to celebrate your [70th] birthday!” my husband lamented. “I know you don’t want a party or jewelry, but I can’t decide what to do for you.” “I’m going to Scotland by way of Iceland!” my friend said exuberantly. “Why don’t you come with me?” And so it was that I found myself on Icelandic Air to Reykjavik one balmy night in July with my friend Sloane, an artist and former helicopter pilot who had been there in the 1960s when the airline had one prop plane and a dicey la...
