Traveling through Iceland on a recent family vacation granted us everything the travel websites promised. It's a small country so dense with wonders and surprises that one is tempted to find the pull-down screen with Disneyland creators behind it.
Wild horses. Geysers and glaciers. Waterfalls and volcanoes. Oddly ubiquitous hot dog stands with delicious offerings. Twenty-two hours of daily sunlight during our visit.
Ours was a physical, stupendous, unforgettable trip. So it seems ungrateful to admit that among the most profound images I left with were not fire and ice, or puffins, as adorable as they are.
It was the steady stream of men and women, some with children, most of them solo, with their thumbs out along the Ring Road that encircles the island.
Hitchhikers. Everywhere, hitchhikers.
The image made me weirdly sad for my country. When was the last time you saw a hitchhiker in the United States?
Sure, our country is huge. Our highways are vast and complex and potentially dangerous if you meet up with a speeder or drinker or texter.
None of that stops us from getting into our cars, mind you. So, what might push us out of our cars again, to hitch a ride? Or, at least, push us out of our comfort zone to pick up somebody?