Sophia

So, I first met Sophia in my ancient Greek history class at university.  Apparently, I would enter the class by dancing down the aisle (I don’t recall it, but don’t deny the possibility) and she thought I must meet that girl. As the world would have it, we lived on the same floor in the dormitory.  Eventually we would share an apartment off campus. 

Sophia was tall and strikingly beautiful.  She was Greek and looked like an ancient statue come to life.  She was intense, looked intimidating but was a kind and golden soul. We were very different people but had much in common.  She was getting her degree in art history and I loved art.  I was getting my degree in history and she was fascinated by it. She took a modern Japanese literature course and I read every single one of the books. When it was her turn to cook dinner, she did it with a zeal usually seen in conductors of great symphonies.  A towel thrown over her shoulder, her hair in an eighteenth century bun and the chopping, peeling or brazing would commence.  The meal was always an event.

When Sophia came to visit one summer, I had the brilliant idea of introducing her to Alana, a friend from home. I thought they’d be fast friends, after all they had so much in common.  Both specializing in the same period of art history, they read the same books, liked the same music and so on.  The setting was my bedroom.  The dislike for each other was instantaneous.  I tried to get the party started, playing favorite songs, reminding them of conversations we had, but they weren’t interested. An hour was eternity.  It was a life lesson, just because everything points to friendship doesn’t mean it will happen.

One very cold snowy night (this describes every night at school) we were comfy in our apartment when Sophia got a phone call.  Professor xxx was coming over.  She grabbed me and said, “Do not leave the room.  You stay with me.  Promise!”  I promised.  Ostensibly he needed to go over Sophia’s senior thesis.  All three of us knew otherwise.  He came over and was chatty and chatty.  Time passed. He got less chatty. Sophia went to make popcorn.  The professor glared at me.  I was taking his class at the time.  He was a prominent art historian and his Modern Art class was a must.  I’m thinking, he’s going to fail me!!!  The night stretched on and on.  It was a battle of wits.  I never left Sophia’s side.  Eventually we wore him out and he left.  We both aced our classes.

 

Upon graduation Sophia married her childhood sweetheart and moved to Chicago.  We lost touch. A few years ago I went to run the Chicago marathon, and I thought how nice it would be to connect up with her.  I discovered that Sophia had passed away from the same cancer that killed my mother.  I ran the marathon in Sophia’s honor.  It hurts to think of her.  She provided a mooring in my life when things were rather untethered.  I will always be grateful.  Golden Sophia.

Piglets In A Basket

So, many years ago I rode my bicycle in Vietnam.  It wasn’t a tourist bike group with van support; it was two girls with panniers and a map.  This was long after the war and just at the time that Vietnam was beginning to open up. 

This friend I went with had ridden her bike all over the planet.  It was she that got me into endurance sports.  She was all about the basics.  She mocked fancy equipment.  All you needed was spit and guts.  So for a long time I felt the same. Vietnam was a country of bikes and our mountain bikes attracted a lot of attention. 

Vietnam at that time was one of the poorest countries in the world.  Upon arriving I was shocked at the level of the poverty.  I had been to poor countries but not on this level.   It was beautiful and the people were very kind.   I began to understand that people who have nothing give everything.  It’s when you get some worldly goods that you clutch onto them.  Camel and the eye of the needle and all that.

I had many adventures, but for now I will tell but a few.  We rode south from Hanoi, there was one main road and we’d pass through many towns.  It seemed everyone was learning English and would like to practice on us.  Hello!  Where are you from!  Often people would ride with us.   People would be on their way to market, and sometimes you’d see piglets in a basket.  One time a guy had a large hog strapped on the back of his bike.  He rode a little too close to me.  I wanted to say, “excuse me sir, your pigs nose is rubbing against my thigh.”  I didn’t, I tried to create space but he wanted to ride with me.  Fortunately it was a small town.  

Frequently, schoolboys would want to race me.  I’d say, “guys, I’m happy to ride with you, but I’m going another 40 miles and I’m not racing you right now.”  They might not have understood the exact words but they understood the sentiment, and seemed to content to ride alongside me, each waving as they made the turn to their homes.

We landed in a small beautiful fishing village and stayed for a bit.  One day I went to the market with my bike just as kindergarten let out.  Instantly, 50 little children surrounded me, each wanting to touch my bike.  I smiled and let them.  And then it was time to go.  They weren’t letting me.  I said, please, please, please.  They answered back in high-pitched voices, please, please, please.  I said, lam on, lam on, lam on (please in Vietnamese).  They answered back, lam on, lam on, lam on (okay they probably didn’t know I was trying to speak their language, but they were very good mimics).  I tried, I must go.  They responded, go, go, go.  This went on for a bit.  I’m not sure how I managed to untangle myself.  They were very cute, but wow, the power of multiple 5 year olds!

It’s a wonderful country and a fabulous trip.  Perhaps I shall write more about it.