“So, like I was saying, these three German fellas buy four camels off this Afghani man,” Indigo said. “They each get one to ride, and then the fourth is there to carry their load. They’re a mini-caravan, lumbering across the desert with shadows ten times their real size. They go about twenty miles that day and then set up camp. One of the fellas is smart enough to tie up the camels’ feet so they won’t wander off.”

“Germans are meticulous,” Tilly commented.

“Morning comes. These three Germans wake up, stretch, and go out to check on their camels, and lo and behold, the camels have vanished. But they’re clever Germans who just had a good night’s rest, especially since they didn’t have to go the last twenty miles on foot. So they start following the hoofprints in the sand and—get this—all four camels had trekked the twenty miles back to their owner.”

“A tourist scam like no other,” the woman added brightly, as if something about the scam pleased her.

“It’s a true story. My friend met one of the Germans. That Afghani man made a killing off those camels every single time some soft-footed overlanders passed through.”

“Afghan,” Antonia corrected. “The people are called Afghan. Afghani is the currency.”

“Funny money,” Tilly said. “Not that ‘dollar’ makes all that much sense, come to think of it.”

“Where are you from, Indigo?” Antonia asked.

“Ohio, both of us. We were running in the same circles for a couple of years before we got together. Patricia’s brother was one of the students shot at Kent State. Lucky he got away with just a hole in his leg. A whole lot of Americans died to keep the Communists out of Vietnam.”

My father had told me about the United States fighting in Vietnam. I remember how he had to spin the globe to get from America to the far end of Asia.

“Twenty years we’d been stuck in Ohio. Almost our whole lives. Patricia and I wanted to get out and breathe. We hopped on the trail in Istanbul six months ago. Went through Turkey and Iran and then into Afghanistan. Reading. Eating. Partaking. We were supposed to be in Pakistan by now to celebrate my birthday, but we just keep straying off course.”

“Actually, there is no course,” Patricia said. “Have you read Siddhartha? Amazing, really.”

“A couple years back. It is very good,” Antonia replied and then swiftly redirected the conversation. “I’m surprised the coup didn’t scare you off. What made you stay?”

“That was wild, wasn’t it?” Indigo exclaimed. Though I couldn’t see their faces, I saw Patricia lean into him. “A bunch of our friends headed out a couple days after it happened. Honestly, I didn’t know what was going on. Thought they might be holding some military parade or something.”