"The biggest coincidence would be if there were no coincidences."
As we have written before, we were introduced to the "smallness" of Iceland upon our arrival, when our bike-guy told us "if something really goes wrong with a bike, like a busted wheel, just to put it on a bus back to Reykjavik and wait for [him] to send a new one."
We have also written about another fantastic coincidence: running into Gummi, our would-be hiking guide in the Highlands (a five hour bus ride southeast of Reykjavik, on the Snaefellsnes Peninsula (a five day bike ride northwest of Reykjavik).
A handful of similar stories round out a memorable and very telling list:
It's Thursday at The Blue Lagoon, 40 minutes south of Reykjavik but near the Keflavik Int'l Airport. Tina is to arrive from EWR and meet us there. We're not worried about our rendez-vous, despite being at the most visited attraction in the country. We head to the pools just after spotting her from our comfy cafe vantage point and run into a friend of Austin's from high school. His attempt to prevent any maternal embarrassment by saying, "Mom, you remember Jason Handrinos, right?" is muffled by an exclamatory, "It's Mrs. Lehn, my first grade teacher!" we introduced new wives/new fiancés/former teachers and spent some time together floating around one of the most relaxing places on Earth, even if a bit touristy.
It's Wednesday in Reykjavik, and we just got back to "our" apartment when Austin realizes he's missing his sunglasses (many of you probably know this is not yet surprising). Retracing some steps, we come up with a small window in which they went missing. First call is to the Akureyri airport (Iceland's Chicago to Reykjavik's SoCal.). "Are they grey with yellowish lenses?" the Iceland Air receptionist immediately asks. "Yes!!" the forgetful tourist excitedly responds. "Okay, I will put them on the next flight and they'll be in Reykjavik for pick up [in less than three hours]." So basically, it took us two minutes on the phone to call O'Hare Airport and get them to send a lost item to LAX. (Perhaps we should mention that Iceland's second city has a population of 17,000.)
It's Thursday, and we're enjoying an early afternoon coffee in Isafjordur (the Seattle of Iceland). Three days prior, we took a small bus to the Western-most point in Europe - the amazing bird cliffs of Latrabjarg. Into the cafe walks our bus driver, who immediately sees us and comes over to say hello. We smile and tell him about the past few days biking, without mentioning that we still felt he nearly killed us - either by flying off a cliff or giving us heart attacks barely avoiding such an accident.
It's 9pm on Wednesday night, we're packing for Ireland since our bus to the airport leaves at 4:30am, and Tina realizes she doesn't have her wallet (apple...tree!). We've gotten good at retracing steps over the years, and last remembered using the wallet in an off-the-beaten-track coffee shop that morning before "the kids" were even out of bed. Steph rummaged carefully through every bag and crevice of the apt. while Tina and Austin ran to the shop to stall deciding what to do next. Few coffee shops are open at 9pm. Our high hopes that one of six apartments above the store housed the owners were sinking as we rang the fifth bell looking for any sign of life. Austin failed to respond successfully, perhaps due to a language barrier or maybe simply not correctly using the intercom, almost blowing our chance to start our impassioned plea, but the elderly woman came down the stairs to answer the door. She has no affiliation to the shop, "but hold on, I might be able to find a phone number." While we waited outside, she called and was hung up on as it was their children's bedtime, but "they'll call back." She invited us in, she offered us a drink (which we of course refused), and we exchanged travel stories until the owner called back. He had the wallet and would drive to the shop to drop it off, loaded with Krona, Euros, Dollars, credit cards, and ID.
Coincidences happen early and often here in the North Atlantic.
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