“Are we taking Harold?” The question came.
We could tell that Nelson wasn’t sure about three reasonably normal adult people traveling with a stuffed critter in another country, where they might not get the joke. It’s true, we make a bit of a sight, hauling our big fat American luggage along, computer bags and duffels over our shoulders, with Harold comfortably bungeed to the back of Bridgett’s backpack.
But everywhere we’ve been, Harold has made friends and started conversations, some consisting only of smiles and pats, which cross all language barriers. Children in airports have walked over to introduce their stuffed animals to Harold. Elderly folks have waved sweetly as we passed. Harold is our introduction, our passport, our letter of “we-come-in-peace.”
Traveling without him would seem awful formal and lonely.