The soup is excellent, and the pork chop is not overcooked. Mimi offers me some of her risotto to taste, but I’m not a fan of beets.

“Think of it as pieces of red potato, Bird.”

For dessert, we share a pecan cake with bourbon, caramel cream, pineapple chutney, and sour-cream ice cream. I would have preferred plum cake or a fruit pie of some sort, but neither is on the menu.

The bill comes to 2,320 Czech crowns, which, with tip, is around $150.

“It wasn’t all that expensive,” says Mimi as we walk down the hill to our hotel.

“We only had one appetizer,” I say. “And no wine.”

Mimi takes my arm. “Maybe, in the end,” she says, “there are no happy endings.”

VENICE, THAT FIRST DAY, reminded me of Tofino and the coast of British Columbia.

“This is your kind of weather, Bird,” Mimi told me. “Grey, damp, miserable.”

“It is.”

“I couldn’t live in this.”

“Maybe you could try.”

“We’ve already had this conversation.”

We didn’t stay in the room. I hadn’t even begun to unpack before Mimi had her guidebook out and at the ready.

“I thought you said we were supposed to get lost in Venice.”

“There’s lost,” said Mimi, unfolding her map, “and then there’s lost.”

That first day in Venice, we wandered. Venice is not a large city and it was surprisingly busy. Evidently, even in winter, tourists came to slosh their way through Piazza San Marco and weave their way through the hawkers selling selfie sticks, corn for the pigeons, roses.

Disposable plastic-wrap boots.

“Where do you want to start?”

“Coffee.”

“I said start, not stop.”

“I’ve been injured,” I said. “Coffee will energize me.”

Mimi consulted her book. “We could go to Caffè Florian.”

“Does it have good coffee?”

“It’s a neo-baroque coffee house that dates back to the early eighteenth century.”

“And the coffee.”

“Very expensive,” said Mimi. “An espresso is over six euros.”

We walked by Caffè Florian, and it did look elegant. The walls were covered with murals. All the furnishings looked old, as though the tables and chairs might be original and generally uncomfortable.

“A little circle of quiche lorraine is sixteen euros.”

We stood outside and looked in the windows of the café at the people sitting at the tables in the soft light.

“It’s nice,” said Mimi, “but everyone in there looks like us.”

SO WE’RE IN PRAGUE, and when we come out of the restaurant, the moon is waiting for us. Full and bright. In the distance, we can see the bridge and the river. I can’t breathe out of one nostril. My left leg feels as though it’s about to cramp up. Halfway down the hill, I remember that I left my diabetes kit in the room.

“Muffy will be happy to see you,” says Mimi. “And I think you’ll be happy to see her.”