Mary Winston Nicklin

It had been a foolproof plan. To transplant my Paris-based family for a summer on the Chesapeake Bay, where I grew up, we would meet my mother “halfway” in Iceland and enjoy the famous stopover that Icelandair has marketed brilliantly over the past few years. We’d then continue the voyage with a doting grandmother to help entertain a (possibly) unruly toddler. An added bonus: The gradual adjustment to a new time zone, since Iceland is two hours behind France, making for an easier arrival on the East Coast.

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