I had forgotten about that. “You live in Toronto?”

“Guelph.”

“Guelph?”

Mimi handed me a business card. “I teach art at the university.”

“Thought the Blackfoot were in Alberta. And Montana.”

“My mother lives in Alberta. On the reserve at Standoff.”

“But you’re in Ge . . . Gel . . .”

“Guelph,” said Mimi, with only the hint of annoyance in her voice. “Do you live with your mother?”

“So, if I want to see you again, I’d have to go to Guelph?”

After dinner we went to a street dance in Union Square. There was a trio playing, guitar, bass, sax. I wasn’t much of a dancer, and neither was Mimi, so we just stood in one place and swayed back and forth, until the band stopped and everyone went home.

I HAVE THIS RECURRING expectation that when we go to fascinating places, we’ll be surprised and amazed by what we find. It’s a misconception, of course, and as we walk into Billa, I can see that the grocery store in the train station will not be an exception to the rule.

“We can get yogurt for breakfast,” says Mimi as we wander the aisles, “and sandwiches for lunch.”

“Just like back home.”

“Bird, if the food was exotic and unusual, you wouldn’t eat it.”

“Slightly unusual would be okay.”

“Look, they have ham and cheese.”

Mimi gets a yogurt and two sandwiches along with a couple of bananas. I slide past the containers of lunch meat floating in jelly, displays of Kinder eggs, and the rack of candy bars in bright colours.

Mimi picks up a coconut and weighs it in her hand. “What do you think?”

“You want to buy a coconut for the trip to Budapest?”

How about we buy the coconut, says Kitty, and stay in Prague.

“You’d need a hammer to break it open.”

Didi and I would like an ice cream, says Desi. Ice cream always cheers us up.

I don’t see much protein here, says Chip.

“Or we could just hit it against something hard or drop it on the sidewalk,” says Mimi.

Where it will splinter into a million pieces, says Kitty, and put someone’s eye out.

We leave the coconut in the basket and pay for our purchases. Mimi walks back into the main terminal and stands in front of the digital display. Every so often, the train times shuffle and change. At 7:45, the platform still hasn’t been announced.

“Maybe the train has been cancelled.” I try to sound concerned rather than hopeful, but I’m not successful.

At 7:53, our train number pops up. Platform twelve. Boarding right now. All aboard.

“This way,” says Mimi.

Eugene gives Kitty a push. The twins skip ahead. Chip brings up the rear. I have the backpack, and Mimi has the tickets and brochures.

And just like that, we’re off on our Hungarian adventure.

VI

So we’re in Prague.