(re-run)
I lay on the physical therapist’s table, running names of L countries from the cubby hole in my brain that held them.
Laos, Lichtenstein, Latvia . . .
Why couldn’t I think of the name of the country where my youngest had sneaked off to see, the summer after her four months in Jordan?
Lithuania, Latvia, London . . .
How did London get in there? Hadn’t I already said Lithuania? Why couldn’t I think of the country? Right there near Turkey and Syria, and close to Jordan?
Israel? That didn’t even start with an L. Why couldn’t I think of the capital of the country either? What was the capital of Turkey? Istanbul? It was close to there. My Omaha friend’s family was from there. She had introduced me to dolmas, forty-some years before, grape leaves soaked in olive oil and stuffed with meat and rice.
My PT had mentioned wanting to travel before having kids, and I had bragged about being in Machu Picchu back in the 70s before the place was taken over by tourists, how my friend and I had climbed Huayna Picchu by ourselves. No buses yet that day, only the guests at the 26-room hotel there at the top of the Andes where our reservation had been lost but where Kristy had flirted with a bell boy and played smoochy face with him on a private hike (yes, I was trailing along behind them). He had secured us two rollaway beds in the hallway. These days the place issues 400 permits a day to climb the mountain.
Israel, Istanbul, wait — these weren’t places that started with L. I knew it started with L. That was all the info my brain was giving me.
I’d told the PT to travel now and not wait until retirement. I mentioned a friend in her 70s who had to sit out half of her European trip because she stepped down off a high curb on the first day and twisted her ankle. Walking was a painful undertaking and she had to skip many of the walking tours.
“Think of all that money,” I said. “She sat in bars and couldn’t go.”
I would never attempt to climb a mountain these days. My balance is not great, and sometimes when I walk, I feel like I have to will each leg forward. Those are days right before my twice-monthly massages when my back is out or one hip is higher than the other and I am in need of a chiropractic adjustment.
I came to PT for a sore elbow, but Erik has been concentrating on my neck. He has figured out that all my arm and shoulder issues originate there. I don’t complain as he gives me gentle massage as I lie face down on the table.
Erik is young, maybe 30 at most. This is the time for him to go see the world. Yes, it’s pricey, but he and his wife are (I’m assuming) strong and healthy. That can go a long way toward making a grueling tour a lifetime experience. Machu Picchu was my once-in-a-lifetime experience. I think of it now, how we were alone, looking down on the Inca ruins and the road with many hair-pin turns. Is it better now? Is it paved? Do young boys still run down the hill while people on the bus throw them Peruvian dollar bills out the window? The railroad stop had nothing there, only two women selling trinkets while their small children tugged at their skirts. Now it’s an entire town with hotels and gift shops.
Lichtenstein, Lithuania, Latvia. Why can’t I remember the country?
Two hours later I get it.
Lebanon.
Thanks, brain. Better late than never.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 