I was in a bistro near the dockyards in Ventspils, Latvia, with just a carafe of the house red for company. It was a blustery Monday evening, and the place was deserted but for an English couple sitting at a table nearby. They were both dressed in jeans and fleeces, and their wet cagoules drip-dried on the coat stand. They sported backpacks and Gortex boots, so I assumed they were there for the forest walks. I hadn’t heard much English spoken in that out-of-the-way city, so I couldn’t help tuning-in to their conversation. They were talking about quantum physics, or at least he was. She had the look of someone who wished he’d take a running jump into the Venta River.
“The Many Worlds Theory has been around for years,” he told her, “it suggests the existence of universes other than our own, but now there’s a new theory proposing universes that interact with our own…”
She looked at him as if he was reciting the weather forecast in a language she didn’t understand. His words were punctuated by a ferocious wind thrashing the window and occasional thunderous crashes from the cargo ships loading at the Baltic Coal Terminal less than fifty yards away.
