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In early 2015, I began taking steps to bring a travel dream to fruition--one that had been building and pressurizing for years prior. A dream that was bound to demonstrate vast beauty and mold unprecedented memories. It was time to visit Iceland! An invitation was extended, a group chat was initiated, plane tickets were purchased, accommodations in hostels and Airbnbs were acquired, and a large van was rented to carry seven curious travelers full circle around Iceland’s epic Ring Road. In early autumn, I and two others of our group landed at Keflavík International Airport. We had an extra day to explore before everyone else arrived, so we rented a SAD little car (SADcars is a company that rents out decidedly well-used vehicles on the cheap) to bring us into Reykjavik. We affectionately named our SAD car ‘Saggie Maggie’ due to the rear passenger window not quite being able to roll all the way up. We rolled into Reykjavik and immediately found our Airbnb for the first night. My two friends were weary from their flights and wanted to stay in and rest for the afternoon. Conversely, my excitement was effervescent! The potential for adventure, discovery, newness, for culture, and the unexpected were all just on the other side of our door. I could not forestall introducing myself to the unknown. So I stepped through the door, and ventured out on foot. I walked as I often do in foreign places, with admiration. I admired the coastline. I admired the architecture. I admired the people. I admired the vehicles and the driving style. As I admired two murals encompassing the walls on adjacent buildings, I suddenly found myself on a wide gravel swath by an intersection in the road. It was within this gravel area, with vehicles zooming by, carrying on their daily commute or errand-running--as if nothing was amiss in the world--that I most certainly did not expect to encounter a vibrantly red sofa invading the grey misty atmosphere. It had such pizzazz, brilliantly off-setting the green of the grass, and the gray of the gravel. It was in fair condition, red and plush, and completely enticing. I walked past it at first, trying to determine if this was art, junk, or something else. I can’t explain why, but it was calling out to me. And while I took a moment to figure out how to respond to this call, the best thing happened. A local man was approaching from the same direction I had just come. He had a plastic grocery bag in each hand. He was probably in his 60’s, with large framed glasses, and an orange ball cap. He walked along and looked at me, then slowed his pace as he eyed the sofa, stopping directly in front of it. He looked back and forth between us, as if the sofa was a person as well and this was a three-way standoff. Then to my surprise and satisfaction, after a thorough appraisal, he took a seat. He gave a little bounce to test the cushion and with a nod of satisfaction, I was already walking over to join him. I didn’t expect to find a random sofa on the side of a road when I ventured out for a walk on day one in Iceland. I didn’t expect the curiosity of two adult men to lead to a peculiarly located interaction. And I didn’t expect either of those to end up being the most retold moments for years to come, out of a very story-filled ten days. What sticks out to me is that curiosity is a quality that spans all cultures and crosses all borders. Language need not impede it. I might argue that curiosity is the most likely quality to lead to the unexpected, and to bring humanity that much closer together. Without it, I would not have met Peiter--the retired auto shop mechanic who didn’t think it any less weird than I to be inquisitive about an irregular couch on the side of the road.