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.

London

Henry and his daughter emerged from the narrow side street in Hammersmith and Henry called out turning over his left shoulder ‘This way! I want to show you where we used to hang out in Shoreditch and we’ll bike along Regent’s Canal, it’s a beautiful day for it.’ Ainsley smiled and nodded, turning in sync with her dad’s touring bike ahead of her. This trip had been an inspired idea on her part - her dad was so excited to relive his memories of college and living in London and to show her everything through his eyes. As they came to the main drag of Shoreditch, her dad shouted out and pointed as they rode ‘There’s the old club where we used to go dancing! I think it’s open again as a club.’ ‘That used to be my favorite coffee shop. Looks like it’s a poké bar now…’ ‘There’s the bench where we always met up after class.’

After they passed Shoreditch Town Hall, they cut to their right past a small park and headed towards the canal towpath. Ainsley gazed up at the silver grey cloud cover and smirked to herself - only in London could you call this a beautiful day for a bike ride. As long as it wasn’t actively raining, I guess. They passed a little storefront family-run Indian restaurant and Ainsley sniffed the air appreciatively. She shouted ‘Hey, Dad! Let’s come back this way for dinner. That Tikka Masala smells great!’ Henry nodded and signaled a right turn onto Regent’s Canal. The path sloped downward a bit towards the water and then opened up wider with plenty of space for them to ride side-by-side and no worries of traffic. They rode together in companionable silence for awhile, checking out the cool variety of homes that backed onto the canal.

After about twenty minutes of riding, the canal was clearly entering a more suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of East London and the canal towpath slowly climbed again into a large park in the center of a much more spacious residential area. As they came to an intersection between the towpath they’d been riding on and one of the park’s trails, they were facted with a stunningly beautiful Linden tree in full bloom and Henry stopped short staring. ‘Wait. This tree. Oh my goodness. This is Dr. Fuller’s neighborhood. I used to come over here on Sundays for lunch and to hear him play the pipe organ at the cathedral. He was amazing.’ Henry hopped off the rental bike and turned in circles peering around the edges of the park. ‘Yep. There it is. See that spire hiding behind the big Georgian brick building over there? That’s St. Timothy’s where my professor Dr. Fuller was the organist. Do you mind if we go have a peek? Just for old times’ sake?’ ‘Of course! exclaimed Ainsley. ‘That’s exactly what this trip is about. And besides, I love a pipe organ.’

They walked their bikes across the park and down the street to the front door of the cathedral. After tying their bikes to the stair railing, they climbed the few steps and pushed on the old wooden entry doors which creaked open slowly, offering a cool draft and the sound of scales being played on the organ wafting towards them. Henry paused and his eyes filled with tears. He turned to Ainsley and said ‘There’s only one person I know who plays organ scales with that light touch.’ He grabbed her hand and led them up the center aisle of the sanctuary, confidently heading towards an alcove in the left side of the space.

As they turned the corner, Ainsley could see a very old, short bald man playing the pipe organ with the fire of a 20-year-old. His legs stretched to reach the foot pedals and he had to rock himself back and forth on the bench to reach the full range of the upper keyboards and stops but he made it work. They listened in raptured silence for a couple of minutes and when the man came to a stopping point, Henry gently started clapping and called out ‘Bravo, Dr. Fuller! I see you haven’t lost your touch.’ The old man turned around on the bench with a start and his eyes widened as he took in Henry’s face. ‘Why, Mr. Henry Workman, it’s been… how many years, now?’ Henry beamed ‘Twenty five years, sir.’ He gestured to his right. ‘This is my daughter Ainsley. She brought me on this trip to visit my old stomping grounds but I never imagined I would get to see you.’ The old man chuckled ‘Yes, well, I retired a number of years ago but they still let me come tinkle the ivories a couple of times a week when they don’t have services. Keeps me happy.’

Ainsley piped up ‘Dr. Fuller, my dad was telling me he used to come to hear you play every Sunday when he was here at university. That was his favorite time of the week - hearing you play and having Sunday dinner with your family.’ The old man smiled wistfully ‘Well, it’s just me now. June died a few years ago so I’m on my own in that big old flat, rambling around...’ He shook his head to get rid of the memories and asked ‘How long are you here?’ ‘A week.’ Henry said moving closer to Dr. Fuller and putting a hand on his shoulder. We just got here yesterday so we’ve got some time.’

Ainsley looked from her father to Dr. Fuller and had an idea. ‘Dr. Fuller - I don’t know if you have dinner plans but we passed a great lttile Indian restaurant that I wanted to try. How about if you and Dad go back to your flat so you can visit and talk. I’ll pick up a bunch of takeaway dishes and meet you there and we can have a proper Sunday feast.’ Dr. Fuller’s eyes lit up. ‘That sounds like a marvelous plan, young lady. I would love nothing more.’ Henry caught his daughter’s eyes and held them for a moment smiling gratefully for her intuitive wisdom. ‘Yes, that’s perfect. Ainsley, here’s some cash. I don’t mind what else you pick but will you make sure to get me some garlic Naan bread? And for you, Dr. Fuller?’ Dr. Fuller thought for a moment and said joyfully ‘Butter chicken, please!’

They all three laughed and their laughter twisted together, rising and echoing through the cathedral. Dr. Fuller shifted himself off the organ bench and they walked down the side aisle towards a smaller door. ‘This way’ said the old man, winking ‘It’s a shortcut to my street.’ As they emerged into the late afternoon light, Ainsley felt a deep sense of peace and direction. Yes, she would be coming here for university next year and if Dr. Fuller would let her, she’d be bringing dinner over every Sunday. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Henry asked. Ainsley smiled mysteriously ‘Oh, just life.’ They waved and parted ways with Ainsley heading left to find the restaurant and Henry and Dr. Fuller making their way slowly towards his building, halfway down the block.