One time on an overnight train from Copenhagen to Paris, my passport was stolen. I had only a few days to get to a business meeting in Lisbon, but I oculdn't leave town without a passport; the embassy said they needed a birth certificate or the testimony of an American citizen. Completely out of options I called the only people I knew in Paris, a French family who had once lived in our home town, and they were kind enough to offer me a place to stay while I waited for a birth certificate to be dug up and forwarded.

When I walked into the apartment who should I find but a little silver-haired lady who had once been our town's school principal when I was in second grade; she was traveling around the world by herself nad had just stopped by to visit the same family, by coincidence. She was more than happy to come to the embassy with me and testify as to my identity, and I was on my way with a passport the next day.

I hadn't seen her since second grade, or thought of her in fifteen years.


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