New Orleans

The streetcar slowly rolled into the last stop on the line and the two brothers jauntily hopped off the train and surveyed the scene around them. They could see the lake just two blocks away, shining a deep and vibrant blue in the afternoon sun. There weren’t many people out and about and Jacques said ‘I wonder if they come out at night’ half-wondering to himself and forgetting that Eddie was standing next to him. Eddie beamed a child-like grin and slowly nodded ‘Mmm hmm, mmm hmm, mmm hmm… I like it!’ Jacques was the older of the two and a little more circumspect in nature. ‘Eddie, what are we going to do? Just set up on the street corner and play for no one?’ Eddie laughed, ‘Well, first - it’s good practice. And we need it. And second - if we play, they will come.’ ‘Who will?’ ‘Them’ he gestured broadly ‘Everyone. You’ll see.’ 

Jacques acquiesced and tried to get on board with Eddie’s infectious energy. They picked up their bags and knocked on the door of the little yellow house they’d been told to seek out. ‘Maude’s Bed and Breakfast’ - Eddie’s co-worker’s cousin’s friend in Chicago sent word ahead that two (aspiring) musicians were going to show up on her doorstep looking to stay for at least a month, while they got their sea-legs in the Big Easy.

They door swung open gently and a plump, middle-aged white lady in a flowered apron and orthopedic shoes gazed at them steadily. ‘You must be Jacques and Edward - come on in.’ ‘I go by Eddie!’ piped up the younger of the two men. ‘You can go by Hercules for all I care’ mumbled Maude with a sideways laugh ‘won’t be here long enough for it to matter.’ Eddie’s bravado deflated just a little; then he shook himself off and picked up his bag and trumpet. ‘Where to?’ ‘Your room is to the left at the top of the stairs. Lucky number 7 on the door. Breakfast is at 8am. I serve a dinner each night at 6pm and you’re welcome to eat here if you want. Today’s laundry day so it’s red beans and rice.’ ‘Sounds delicious!’ declared Eddie. ‘Thank you, ma’am, you’ll see, we’ll turn out to be your favorite boarders.’ Maude eyed him warily but couldn’t help a tiny smile. ‘All right then - get upstairs with you.’ Jacques picked up his suitcase and double-bass and started climbing the stairs, slow and measured.

At about 5pm, Eddie and Jacques came downstairs with their instruments and Eddie sniffed the air ‘Smells good!’ he enthused and reached over to pull the lid off the pot of beans on the boil. ‘Oh no, you don’t.’ Maude came flying in from the laundry room adjacent, big wooden spoon in hand, and smacked Eddie good, right on the paw. ‘Ouch! Careful, I need these hands to play sweet, sweet music.’ he grinned. Maude stirred the pot and said ‘why don’t you two get outside and play some of that music until it’s dinner time. I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

Jacques and Eddie ambled out the front door and looked around. Jacques pointed at the vacant lot diagonally next door and said ‘How about there, in that patch of lantana? With the lake behind us, it’s almost like a stage…’ Eddie was already headed across the grass and opening up his case ‘We should start with something local - ‘The Saints?’ Jacques nodded and counted off the swing ‘uh 1, uh 2, uh 1, 2, 3, 4’. 

For the next hour, Eddie and Jacques lost themselves in the tunes, playing everything from New Orleans Jazz to Delta Blues to Zydeco with a couple of original improvs tossed in for good measure. A small crowd had started to gather and seemed to enjoy their style which buoyed their energy to no end. Just as they finished playing a tune by Toussaint, they heard the dinner bell and reluctantly started packing up their stuff to head in. Eddie shouted ‘We’ll be back out here tomorrow afternoon. Tell your friends. Hell, tell your enemies too!’ The crowd laughed and started to dissipate into the setting sun. Jacques and Eddie made their way back to Maude’s little yellow house, counting the money that had been tossed into Eddie’s case as they walked. ’23 bucks, not bad’ mused Jacques.

Maude greeted them at the front door with a soft, supportive smile and said ‘Looks like you boys are finding your way just fine. Now put your gear upstairs and get to the table. It’s time to eat.’ ‘Yes ma’am!’ they said in unison, scrambling up the stairs in their hurry not to miss the delicious welcome dinner that was waiting. Good people, good music, good food and a place to lay your head - truly, what more could you ask from New Orleans?

Osaka

Yuki and her mother exited the small café onto a bustling side street in Osaka. Born in a small village, Yuki had never quite gotten comfortable with the size and pace of the city so she was grateful to seek out havens like the Milk Café and knew her mother felt the same. It had been a lovely morning of catching up on family news and town gossip, lots of smiles and laughter and knowing nods. The café owner had become friendly with Yuki-san and was happy for them to sit for hours, lingering over their tea and snacks.

As they left the café, it looked like rain might be on the way. “Let’s go to a museum this afternoon’ Yuki suggested ‘feels like a good day for it.’ ‘Yes’ her mother agreed ‘that sounds like a good idea.; ‘And then we can return to my apartment and I’ll make us a simple dinner with the special miso I got as a gift from Jae.’ ‘Sounds wonderful’ Yuki’s mom said ‘Tell me more about this ‘Jae’’. ‘Oh, Mom, please don’t start - we’re friends and colleauges, that’s it. He’s a great guy but I don’t think there’s a spark there.’ ‘Ok, ok’ Yuki’s mom demurred ‘we shall see. Will I get to meet him?’ ‘Well, sure’ Yuki nodded ‘we can visit him after the museum. I’ll give him a call to make sure he’ll be around.’

Mother and daughter linked arms and walked easily, winding their way through the back streets of the market quarter. A short while later they found themselves in front of a shop that specialized in the art of bonsai and Yuki’s mother stared into the shop window entranced. ‘Did you know that I studied bonsai arrangement with a master when I was a young woman?’ ‘No!’ Yuki exclaimed ‘When? And where?’ ‘When I was at university in Kyoto - there was a studio across from my apartment and I would walk by each morning admiring the man’s diligent work through the window but I never said anything. And one day, with a twinkle in his eye, he beckoned me into the space and just started talking and demonstrating the techniques. After about an hour, he put the tools in my hand and said ‘Now, you try.’ To say I was in shock - well. But I loved it almost immediately; it felt like a form of meditation to me - the slow, careful, thoughtful process. I lost hours at a time in that studio but gained something very precious.’ Yuki’s mother awoke from her reverie to find her daught’s eyes glistening with tears. ‘Why did you stop it if you loved it so much, Mom?’ Yuki’s mother sighed ‘Well, life has a way of moving you along. Anyway, let’s go to that modern art museum you mentioned.’

Yuki and her mother gazed at the modern art museum’s exterior admiring the architecture and the glossy cherry red trim and accents. Yuki wondered aloud if the art inside would turn out to be as beautiful as the building itself. Much like the Louvre and the Guggenheim, the answer turned out to be ‘not really.’ They emerged an hour later and agreed that it was a pleasant enough diversion and there were a couple of pieces they both liked in particular but the building was the best part. They stood outside and gazed at it for a bit longer and then Yuki nudged her mother’s shoulder ‘Are you ready to meet the infamous Jae? I texted him, he said he’s home and he’d love for us to come visit.’ Yuki’s mother smiled ‘Yes, let’s go - I’m really looking forward to meeting him.’

About twenty minutes later, after having taken a bullet train to the more rural outskirts of the city, they arrived at Jae’s hillside home which was lovely and surrounded by lush greenery. As they walked up the front steps made of stone, they could hear someone gently fingering a folk tune on guitar and suddently Jae’s baritone voice snuck around the corner. ‘Come to the back garden, I’ve made tea for us.’ As the two women made their way around the house and into the back garden, Yuki’s mother stopped in her tracks and her eyes welled with tears. ‘What is it, Mom? What’s wrong?!’ Yuki asked with concern. ‘No, it’s just - that tune.’

As they saw Jae seated on the back patio with a tea setting, Yuki’s mother gasped. The bonsai arrangement on the patio was so unique that she knew it had to have been created by her old mentor from all those years ago. She turned to Jae who was smiling with curiosity and felt like she had stepped back in time. The spitting image - Jae had to be the son of her old teacher, there was no question.

Yuki gently shook her mother’s shoulder ‘Mom, are you OK? What’s gotten into you?’ Yuki’s mom broke her trance-like stare at Jae and blushed slightly. ‘I’m so sorry. You really remind me of an old friend. And your bonsai is just the kind he would’ve created. What was your father’s name, if you don’t mind my asking?’ ‘Not at all -’ smiled Jae ‘his name was Atsushi Han. Is that who you were thinking of?’ Yuki’s mother’s face glowed in delight ‘Yes. I studied bonsai with him many years ago. I have so many questions for you.’ Jae gestured to the table ‘Please join me. Let’s have some tea and it sounds like we have a lot to talk about.’ Yuki and her mother sat down and pulled their chairs closer to the patio table as Jae poured the green tea into warmed cups and offered them a bowl of savory snacks. Yuki looked between her mother and Jae and thought happily to herself ‘Yes, this feels right.’

Mexico City

A bright yellow sun was beating down on the plaza as the women disembarked from the rickety bus that had brought them to the ciudad from the outskirts of town. Grace and Marisa gazed around them at the beautiful mix of classical and modern architecture. Grace piped up ‘Everyone says this is the most beautiful city, I guess it’s true!’ Marisa grinned and said ‘Now are you glad I talked you into coming? Come on, let’s go find this apartamento where we’re supposted to be staying.’ Marisa was definitely the one with a better sense of direction of the two of them. She surveyed the spokes of streets spiralling off from the central plaza and grabbed her bag with one hand and Grace’s arm with the other ‘This way.’ she announced confidently striding towards the afternoon sun.

After a 15-minute walk, they arrived at the place they were staying, recommended to them by some friends from the States. Dragging the luggage up two flights of stairs was a bit of a chore but as soon as they used the ancient skeleton key to open the door, they knew it was worth it. Sunlight flooded the common room, glowing off a dining room table made of dark wood and mosaic tiles. The windows were framed in billowy white curtains with charming red trim and the floors were a beautiful mahogany hardwood, swept and scrubbed clean within an inch of their lives. Grace grinned ‘Well, I could certainly get used to this…oh look, a little patio! And a lemon tree.’ She wandered into the first bedroom while Marisa investigated the kitchen. ‘Not too shabby, I can definitely work with this.’ Marisa called to Grace ‘I’ll make us some coffee and then we can go out exploring.’ Grace poked her head out of the bedroom ‘sounds perfect. I’m taking this room, look an alligator lamp, it’s meant to be mine!’ Marisa laughed ‘It is indeed.’ and turned her attention to the stovetop cafetiere.

After they had spent time relazing on the patio with their coffee, trying to see everything they could of the city from their little perch, they decided to venture out into the neighborhood around them. The streets were lined in tall, majestic buildings with trees planted in rows that seemed to go on forever. A very regal looking city, CDMX. They found themselves wandering a few residential side streets and then they suddenly emerged into a much busier thoroughfare with cafes and restaurants and shops - all the vendors setting up for the evening trade after an afternoon lull. Grace was instantly seduced by the beautiful beaded jewelry and Marisa gently reminded her that they’d flown economy to Mexico and she needed to be aware of how much space she had in her bag; pick a piece or two, no more. The late afternoon sun was sinking into the violet hour at the end of the long street and everything seemed to shimmer with a magical sheen. Marisa sighed contentedly and Grace squeezed her hand ‘Should we find somewhere for dinner?’ ‘Defnitely.’ Marisa agreed ‘What are you in the mood for?’ ‘Tacos’ they said in unison, laughing.

Marisa and Grace stood on the street munching their handheld tacos and watching the mix of locals and tourists, lively and loud. They noticed a small crowd gathering at the next corner and wandered in that direction, hearing the sharp smack of the cahon hand drums as they got closer. A drummer and guitarist perched on small stools and grinned widely as they jammed, picking up steam and improvising on each other’s energy. Grace stood stock still watching with wide eyes, while Marisa started to groove, her dancing inspired by the folk rhythms. A tall, skinny brown man next to Grace leaned over and offered her a slice of something fresh and green. ‘What is that?’ Grace asked tentatively. ‘Agave! The mother plant. To tell you the truth, I prefer it in this form, instead of distilled and fermented into mezcal but I’m not turning down either one.’ He laughed and Grace relaxed - he seemed OK, she trusted his eyes which was her usual test. She took a small slice from his hand and was surprised by the tangy sweetness. Marisa danced over to them and peered at the agave, declaring ‘that looks lovely but you know what I really want to try is homemade churros.’ The man smiled and said ‘Follow me. I know just where to take you. My brother José has a sweets shop on the next block over and his wife Anna Maria makes The. Best. Churros. in Mexico City. Claro.’ The women looked at each other, nodded and followed their new friend into the velvety blue horizon. ‘Hey, what’s your name?’ Marisa asked. ‘Flaco. Well, that’s what everyone calls me because…’ he gestured to his tall and thin frame. ‘But mi madre named me Patricio.’ ‘Great to meet you, Flaco.’ Marisa said ‘She’s Grace and I’m Marisa. Lead us to the churros’

They sauntered down the street pointing at knick-knacks and peering into shop windows. After a few minutes, Flaco stopped in front of a small shop with an awning that said ‘Dulces’ and poked his head inside. ‘¿José aqui?’ he asked. Anna Maria shouted to the back in Spanish and José appeared - a broader, shorter version of his brother, but basically the same face. Flaco grinned and gave his brother a bear hug. He gestured magnanimously and said in English ‘These are my new friends, Crace and Marisa. Son americanas. I told them your shop makes the best churros in town!’ José laughed ‘Thanks for the business, mi hermanito. One order of churros con chocolate para las chicas, si?’ Marisa nodded and licked her lips in anticipation ‘¡Si! Muchas gracias.‘ Anna Maria placed four fresh, warm churros on a paper towel, handing them to Grace and followed it with a cup of warm, glossy chocolate sauce. Grace and Marisa each took a churro tapping them against each other like swords and said ‘Cheers! Salud!’ As Marisa took her first bite, her face melted into ecstasy and she joyfully cried ‘Yum! Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum. We’ll be here every day while we’re here.’ The whole group laughed easily and José gestured for them to sit down at a small table so they could talk while enjoying their dessert. What a welcome, thought Grace.