Over his time in Europe, Luke’s family has tripled in size. Since we arrived, Rosemary has commandeered his social calendar – he sees new relations every day. Keeping track of all the second, third, and fourth cousins he’s met has been difficult for him, and impossible for me.
That one was arrested at an environmental protest, those two biked to Kazakhstan, this one was flown out of South Sudan when the strife started… when I chat with Rosemary, she drops all their names casually: “And Theo will be coming for Francis’ birthday dinner!”
“Theo. He’s Mary Jo’s husband, right? They biked to Kazakhstan?”
“She’s Mary Jo’s daughter, Francis’ sister. Bridget and Graeme biked to Kazakhstan.”
“I knew that. I was testing you.”
I’m sure this sudden swell of family means a lot to Luke, but we haven’t talked about it because we’re manly men and manly men don’t talk about feelings. What I have noticed is this: though distantly related, when Luke’s folks get together they radiate an aura of family.
Sitting at the dinner table, celebrating Francis’ birthday with a magnificent salad (prepared by yours truly) and a gluten-free risotto (prepared by Mary Jo, who is a physiotherapist and did not bike to Kazakhstan), I can see where Luke comes from. The political awareness, thoughtful commentary, dissident humor (“What to Do When Your Right Wing Goes Crazy: an American’s Guide to Political Stagnation”) – it must be genetic.
This trip reminds me that local contacts – family and friends – are what make a travel experience. Rosemary housing us in Islington, Kelton hosting us in Copenhagen, Stephen showing us around Amsterdam, Francis driving us to the airport (a massive relief after our last transit nightmare) – I’m more grateful to these new friends than I can express.
My own Old World relatives are too dead or distant to trace; I’m thankful, for the time being, to borrow Luke’s.
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