According to Google (statistic provider for the chronically lazy and research impaired), the world has a population of 7.4 billion. Iceland accounts for a measly 350,000 of that number. And Reykjavik, where we are, accounts for all but 70,000 of that. Assuming I'm doing the math correctly (granted, giant assumption, considering this is being typed from three chardonnays deep in a hotel bar), the people in my immediate surroundings represent about .00004% of the global population. It would seem statistically unlikely that that subgroup, isolated on a chunk of sulfer-smelling basalt at the northernmost fringes of habitable Europe, would ever intersect with anyone I know.
And yet, all the same, we just finished spending an enjoyable day of endless, Nordic summer with my best childhood friend, Jon Croy--a bizarre, Jungian-ly synchronistic, chance encounter if ever there was one. Jon and his son, Cooper, had a 15-hour layover here from Seattle on their way to a summer vacation in Paris and London. When he read my blog re-boot earlier in the week, he texted me and let me know about our impending, coincidental reunion. Unbelievable!
And since we're on the subject of bizarre coincidences, the night we flew out of Toronto, Hall & Oates was playing a concert at the Molson Amphitheater. From there, I just assumed they would be continuing on with some other leg of a North American greatest hits tour.
However, after stumbling across this sign while walking by the seafood shacks near the pier yesterday, I can only assume that their venue shrank dramatically. Either that, or there is a Lobster Hall & Oates dish on the menu that one shouldn't miss. Sadly, I was more in the mood for Steely Dan Cakes, so we continued on without closer investigation.
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