YESTERDAY:  Beginning in Reverse.

I had packed so well, so thoroughly, and so timely that I was ahead of schedule. I even set aside the afternoon to call family and to rigorously clean my apartment for the couple who will be staying there while I'm gone.  But then a phone call around 2pm changed everything. Because of a mailing mix up, I would not be getting the keys to Steve's London apartment -- my only place to stay once I arrived.  There we were -- Steve with a spare set of keys in Baltimore, and I sitting in sweaty hiking clothes in DC, suitcases and cleaning products strewn about.  After squelching any panic, we made a plan.  In literally 3 minutes, we reserved a seat on the Amtrak train departing for Baltimore 25 minutes later, Steve dashed back to his home, | dashed to meet the train which departed a minute after I sat down, and we both met at the Baltimore train station within 1.5 hours.  Thank God.

As it turns out, I was treated to a nice conversation with Steve and his Mom in the train station, and Steve wrote down his internet password so I could use the computer lab in his building.  Thus, here I am some rushed, frantic, but perfectly endurable hours later.  Thanks, Steve and providence.

Back in DC, with twenty minutes to spare, I dusted my porcelain surfaces with Comet, jumped in and out of the shower, picked up my remaining items and tossed them in some bag, and then met Kim who was coming to take over the apartment.  Jason also arrived to drive me to the airport, and once in the car, he graciously listened to my half hour of goodbye calls to family.  Cheap, but good, Chinese food made due for dinner in McClean, and then we made the final drive to the airport.  Wow.  Oh my God.  All of a sudden it hit me.  I am about to leave for two months.

Not too much time to think because it was out the car door, check in, find the gate, use the restroom (twice, lots of water yesterday), and a few minutes to journal before boarding.  I forgot to reserve a seat, so I was relegated to the last row.  Yet, serendipity smiled on me again because I got the entire row to myself, where I eventually moved to the aisle seat, covered up, put in ear plugs, over which I laid headphones, then an eye mask to fully block out the world.  My friend Lunesta (and Colonopin) sealed the deal, and I was out for hours, until we were 20 minutes from landing.  Perfect!

TODAY:  Encantador

After arriving at Steve's apartment -- about a 40 minute ride on the Tube -- I settled in and tried to get his internet to work.  Alas, no dice. So, instead, after accidentally finding his iTunes, I copied everything I liked.  Now I felt at home, and it was time to wander the neighborhood en route to a late lunch. Thanks to the Rough Guide, I decided on Frank's Cafe near 7 Points -- cheap, family-owned (pictures of the owner's parents on the wall), and $20 for chili and rice.  However cramped, expensive, and a bit dingy the place was, it reminded me to slow down to see what was in front of me, accepting and enjoying the broad range of humanity in my midst.  So I spyed a cute boy in the corner, I gawked unobtrusively at two deaf women signing (do their hands have an accent | wonder), I watched a tiny old lady peck over her plate with an irrepresible smile, I marveled at the tiny dumbwaiter (sp?) the staff used to lower dishes and pull up plates.

That's when I saw the photographs of the parents.  Every other piece of art was some dingy print of food or of the Amalfi coast, which is where I suppose the owners are from.  But the photos were in the center of the tiny cafe (8 tables total), and they were clearly taken and displayed with love.  The picture of the father, dating from over 20 years ago, catches him having just lit a cigar and turning slightly to his right to smile for the camera, cigar still in mouth.  Two smaller pictures of the mother are tucked into the same frame.  One is a professionally done picture with the mother in a beautiful, all-black dress, smiling eagerly.  Another small picture, next to it, includes a graphic image of Jesus next to the mother, with some wording I couldn't decipher.

On my way out, I thanked the owner and asked her about the pictures of the woman.  She beams to tell me it's her mother who just died.  I ask her about the man, whom she tells me died well over 20 years ago.  I tell her the picture of her mother is beautiful, particularly her smile.  I then look at the woman and see the resemblance, especially in the smile.  The owner again told me her mother recently died, so I just offered my condolences and said, "May she rest in peace."  With another big smile on my part, I said thanks and left.

Now I am sentimental; it's true.  But as I left I wondered what it's like to carry on a family business when the family you know from your childhood is gone.  And I wonder how odd it is to say that to a complete stranger like me.  On some level we shared an intimate moment, and on some level, it was as cursory and superficial as a Southern shop owner saying, "Come back and see us."  But I wonder what will happen as this trip progresses and I run into more proprietors, hostel owners, and shopkeepers who invite me into their space.  What will we exchange?  And might I find ways to return their hospitality and share, even for a moment, a bit of love from one human being to another that makes smiles and "thank you's" a tad more genuine and life-giving than they normally are.