Re-Entry

Los Angeles was suspiciously (sm)foggy when we landed. In fact, It occurred to us that we may have done a big loop and landed back in Beijing. While our return to earth was accomplished without fanfare, we were met outside of customs by a big warm hug from my Aunt Ellen and then another from her partner in crime, my Uncle Jan. They whisked us through the murky streets to their comfortable home where we dropped our bags and hung our hats for one of the last stops before heading to NYC.

We spent five very relaxing days in L.A. We borrowed my cousin Neil's Jeep and tooled back and forth between Rancho Park and the enclave of Montebello, to see my Grandparents, no passports required. My grandpa and my step-grandma also saw to it that we were welcomed back with style, and treated us to some fine dining at Marie Calender's at the Montebello Mall. It was only then that we could say, without reservations, that we were back in the U.S.A.

We stuck out like thumbs on a finger farm

We also met up with Chris, who's family hosted us in his village in Kenya. He and his second wife are living with their two obnoxiously cute children just north of my Mom and Uncle's old high school in Rosemead. It struck me as a rather big coincidence that of all the places in America that these two Kenyan immigrants could have settled down, they chose somewhere so close to my own tribe's sacred ground.

Our visit with Chris and Tito underscored all that we'd come to know on the trip. Though we'd never met in person, we were welcomed in as family. We sat together and told stories of our time in Chris' vilage and our adventures across Kenya. He served us chai, brewed in the Kenyan style, that sucked me through a time/space warp back to the Rift Valley, surrounded by rustling tan grasses and the mud huts of Mary's bomba.

Chris was fascinated with hearing about the other countries we'd visited and asked all kinds of questions about the way people lived all over the world. He asked if anyone ever asked to come home to America with us, and I replied that some might have hinted at it a little in Nepal. To them I explained, America is a paradise, neo-libral cynicism leaking into my words.

"It is." He said..

**

On our very last day we had the honor of attending my friend and client "The Rabbi's" newborn baby's briss. We'd traveled around the world, seen hundreds of different cultures and customs, but at the briss we remembered that here too, in America, certain sub-cultures are thriving. The Rabbi's house was packed with Hassids like himself, ultra-orthodox friends, and many less observant Jewish people. As usual at these events, we stuck out like thumbs on a finger farm, but everyone made sure to greet us kindly and make us feel as welcome as we could feel. After stuffing ourselves with what tasted like the most delicious bagels and lox we've ever eaten, and saying one more Mazal Tov to the Rabbi, we climbed into the white jeep and drove off in black suits.

Halfway down Westwood Boulevard Magda reminded me to take off my yarmulke.