I love the small world of international travel – especially in small countries with relatively few international flights. At the coffee finca on Sunday, our tour group consisted of Jennifer, Mark and me, and a passel of British retirees who were all named Sue. (Well, the man’s name may have been John, but there were at least two Sues, which surely is adequate grounds for generalization.). We chatted amicably during the tour, mostly about the weather and everyone’s health (they are British after all, although not one of them had a Mackintosh square or a pretty young ward), and when my lot ditched the coffee-tasting portion of the tour there were fond farewells all round. But when I got on the airplane this morning, lo and behold, there were the Sues all in a row behind me. Naturally, being besties, we reminisced about our Guatemalan adventures and conspired (successfully!) to stake out half the overhead bin for our fragile souvenirs. We parted ways once we got to Dallas — now the Sues are making their aged way to London and I’m waiting for my flight to DC.