Once when Becky and I had gone to London, the Muslims were protesting in the street that we were on.  They had formed into a marching group--kind of like a parade--and were carrying really explicit anti-American signs.  "Try not to look like an American," she told me.

Now how do you do that.  American tourists just look like Americans.  The first give away is a fanny-pack.  We left, but had to be rerouted a couple of times by the police because there were protests in other areas.  It was interesting.  I had never seen anything like that.  I'm used to parades being nice things.  This wasn't.

Another time, when we were taking a train from France to Czechoslovakia, (which was after the Velvet Revolution) the Czechs and the Germans had a train they "shared".  It stopped at the border and the Germans got off the back of the train as the Czechs were coming on the front in uniforms (and with guns) asking for our passports.  That was unnerving.  I was really sick with a sinus infection--probably a little bit delirious-- and I wouldn't give them my passport.  "I want a receipt," I told the man with the gun.

"Mom," Becky kept telling me, "Give him your passport."  But I didn't want to do that.  I didn't think I should have to do that.  "In God have I put my trust:  I will not be afraid what man can do unto me."  Psalms 56:11  "Give him the passport," Becky hissed.  I finally did.  The gun and the crossed arms of the soldier finally convinced me.  Maybe a little afraid is okay.

Becky has been overseas 3 or 4 times a year for the last 28 years and sometimes I went with her so we could take one of her boys while she worked (for Conoco) and the boys and I played--hopping trains, exploring castles.  But all good things come to an end.  The last time we were in Rome, I told her that I was never going to Rome again.  The cobble stone streets were too hard to walk on.  I am glad I had the opportunity to do all that.  It was fun.