It was like landing on the moon. Black, volcanic, and a teeth-grinding cold wind forced us into a hunched sprint to the rental car. We giggled in relief as the heat kicked in. From Minneapolis to JFK to the dark highway 41 into Reykjavik had taken us 36 sleepless hours. Our layover had been plagued by hurricane Sandy's flooding, and we discovered her backhand was echoing through southern Iceland. Gusts sent Angie tumbling down the alley behind the Hotel Cabin, and just hours later tore the hotel's door off. Welcome to Iceland.