Penryn Station has no facilities, so train ticketing would have to be done in Truro. On the way, I ponder… do I head east to London and points beyond…or west to St. Ives, home to one of four Tate Museums. I’d been to the other three, so perhaps there’s the answer. At the ticket counter, I pose my pondering to the robust lady with shiny reddish-brown hair complimenting leopard-rim glasses. She answers without hesitation, “Oh luv, St. Ives is full of artists and brilliant. But this time of year are too many tourists and I wouldn’t touch it with a lodgepole!” In exchange for her valuable insight (and word choice), she accepted my KitKat bar.

The train was scheduled to arrive late in the day to London’s King Cross Station; I want time to sleep on a plan. Someone along the way had suggested the Borough of Richmond as a London alternative.

It is only a 30-45 minute tube ride from London, but Richmond feels like another world. The map app traces a direct route from the train station to the hotel through a residential area. Where’s the town?

Hotel reception gives me a map that opens up the world of Richmond. Near the hotel on Richmond Hill, rests Terrace Gardens. High foliage forms a shaded tunnel-like archway and folks are mulling about drinking wine, beer, and champagne. Yes! Open containers!  (O’ my New Orleans!) A short stroll from the gardens is Richmond Park, a 17th century national nature reserve, originally a deer park. It’s the largest of London’s Royal Parks, and abundant with gardens, ponds, trails, cyclists, joggers, and hikers (No deer in sight).

Riverside cafe below Bill’s

In Old Town, along the Thames, riverside cafes are a beehive of activity. Picnics on blankets dot grassy lawns.

Playing accordingly

A busker plays an accordion, transporting listeners to the streets of Paris or Venice.

Richmond has revealed pleasant surprises and I feel good. And grateful. Which is probably what prompted my next move…

On a corner in Old Town overlooking the Richmond Bridge, is a restaurant named Bill’s. I think of my dad and step inside. The terrace is bustling with seated and standing patrons, so the server seats me at a small table inside. As usual, I take out my notebook and begin writing. At the table to my left is a dad, mum, and their son – age nine? wearing thick-lens glasses. My heart softens when looking at the boy. (Do kids still tease kids wearing glasses, calling them four-eyes or such?) Their tone of conversation is lively as they play a game of Uno; they appear to be a happy family. Then Dad leans over and with quiet enthusiasm asks, “Are you a secret food reviewer?” His pleasure with this potential discovery is evident and I don’t want to disappoint — or fib.  “I’m making observations,” I answer truthfully, with a slight grin. He nods knowingly and lets me return to ‘work’.

At the table to my right, the server seats a young couple, late teens? I overhear her tell him that she wished they could have sat outside but she was too shy to ask. They quickly enter their own world — talking, giggling, and touching — emanating romantic bliss.

When the server brings my bill, I direct a glance at the couple while commenting on their preciousness. “You think they’ve ‘done it’ yet?” I ask her playfully. After a split-second of astonishment, she replies with an air of confidentiality, “Oh yes! Look at their hands atop the other, and their legs rubbing each other, oh yes.” “Nooooo, they’re too young and innocent,” I say. We share a playful connection and a hushed giggle, then I discreetly ask her to put the couple’s drink (perhaps the girl will feel luckier for sitting inside!) and the family’s dessert on my tab. She looks at me questioningly. “You know, I’m doing this for me, right? It makes me feel good. Kinda selfish, really.” I make haste and skip away with my secret, feeling like Santa slipping gifts beneath the tree on Christmas Eve.

Makes me wonder: Does pure altruism exist? If it makes one feel good to do for another, is it a selfless act? Then again, if we are kind, compassionate, respectful…and spread some love (with a lil’ humor)… does it matter what we name it?

Now,…where to tomorrow? Gotta sleep on a plan…

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”