Another involuntary no-fly day. We're being held hostage by Vikings! We hang around the Reykjavik airport, still trying to satisfy the civil aviation authorities that we're legitimate and that Arthur's Cessna is fully OK for the trip to Greenland. The Icelandic officials apparently have had all their questions - many questions - answered. They even called Namibia to check some of Arthur's paperwork, which he finds mildly insulting.
Now the Danes (who govern Greenland) throw in a new requirement: Arthur must multiply by several times his liability insurance. We're talking millions of dollars in extra insurance to cover what will be a six-hour flight in Greenland airspace.
Arthur's on the phone to his insurance agent in Namibia, who then communicates with the insurance carrier in London. Arthur envisions the worst: The insurer will conclude that the plane is not worth that much insurance, or that the premium will be prohibitively high. He muses about selling the Cessna here in Iceland and taking a commercial airliner home, or crating up our aerial steed and shipping it to Alaska.
But then we hear from the agent that the increased coverage has been approved - without prepayment. Arthur reflects on how important it's been that he dealt fairly and squarely with everyone in his years of flying in Namibia: the aircraft-service company, civil-aviation authorities, his insurance agency. We've had to call on all of them for special, unforeseen services. We're very grateful.