We generally notice what we expect, discover what we thought, or hoped, might be the case, and find most satisfying familiar experiences. When browsing in a bookstore our eyes commonly land on book covers with images that resonate in some way with ourselves – perhaps a seascape for a sailor or an aesthetic composition for an artistically inclined person. At the moment I am on an ocean cruise visiting visiting various ports in Scotland, Denmark, Iceland, Greenland and Ireland, enjoying magnificent scenery mixed with a dash of history.

Yesterday I went to one of the most beautiful fjords in Flateyri in northern Iceland. My attention focused on the vast, treeless landscape littered with waterfalls; the picturesque farms with rolls of hay wrapped in plastic sheets of various colors (each color represents a charity that will receive a percentage of the profit of sales; pink for research in breast cancer and blue for research in prostate cancer); the fjord surrounded with mountains patched with snow near the tops; and the quaint, tiny town with charming houses. The scene was as I had imagined it, but even more striking and appealing. I’m drawn to the remote and fantasized about spending a year in such a paradise to experience each season  – read, write and explore mysteries lurking in my mind, but buried by the torrent of stimuli in my life in Bethesda.

As I strolled the main street, I saw a sign welcoming me to the “Magical World of The Oldest Original Store in Iceland”. This I had not expected in rural, out of the way, Flateyri – a bookstore established in 1914, owned and run by one family for its entire existence. I went inside. The small shop was filled with books neatly arranged in shelves and table tops.

I bought Independent People by Halldor Laxness, a classic novel I had never read and winner of the 1955 Nobel Prize in literature.

The hidden bookstore in plain sight was a treasure I least expected in tucked away Flateyri.

I snapped a few pictures with my trusty iPhone camera and then turned my attention to the quiet gentleman who I assumed was the owner, Eypor Jovinsson.

“This is your shop, no?”

“Yes,” he said, as a matter of fact, yet I sensed a touch of pride.

He told me his great grandfather established the shop 104 years ago. Imagine how isolated it must have been then! And, if my memory serves me correctly, he said that the shop was taken over by his maternal grandmother, then his mother and now him. I forgot to ask if he had children waiting in the wings to take over from him in the future.

Accounts of business transactions throughout the shop’s history lined one wall. The oldest I found was from 1917. The neat, handwritten pages weren’t computer printouts, electronic traces that could crash at any moment or become archived forever in a cemetery of information lost in the bowels of history due to a minor change in software. No, these sheets breathed and faded, like human beings, and would remain as a tangible lineage of a devoted family.

“If I had known about you before I came I would have brought a copy of my memoir, the Speed of Dark, to add to the bookstore,” I said.

I gave him my card with information about my memoir and website.

“Do you mind if I write a blog about your bookstore?”

“Oh, no,” he responded. “It’s good for business.”

Wow, I thought. My blog speaks to all parts of the world, even those I never heard of! How different than the state of Flateyri in 1914, when this small magical enclave was born and recognized by a tiny handful of people at the most. Somehow, this made me appreciate the value of a single thought, one act, an honest expression of oneself. If it’s authentic, it’s important. I thought of the time I urged the young scientists in my laboratory to study what excited them, not what they thought would grab the attention of others. Perhaps 104 years later, scientists would be reading their articles; if not, they still had contributed a lot – themselves.

I’m drawn to the remote and fantasized about spending a year in such a paradise to experience each season  – read, write and explore mysteries lurking in my mind,

The apartment, unchanged over the years, of Eypor’s great grandparents who established the shop was attached to the bookstore. Photographs, books, a few pictures of nature, Persian rugs, an inviting chair for reading – a sequestered world – remained intact, a slice of history, an image of a reality worth remembering.

To me, the unexpected, the story heard for the first time, the apparently dark cavern that glows, the surprise finding, the oasis in the desert, the epiphany that strikes like lightning on a clear day, a bookstore in remote Flateyri – ironically, the one thing that can’t be searched for but might appear like magic if you give it a chance – the marvel of life – is what makes it all worthwhile.