While I was window shopping along a lovely boulevard in Buenos Aires at Christmas, 1963, a woman passed by carrying a cello. I chased after her and asked stupidly "Is that a cello?" She laughed.
She spoke no English, I little Spanish. We both spoke German, and after hearing that it was actually her husband's cello and exchanging a bit of life history (she was from Berlin, I was from Boston on Wanderjahr) I was invited to her home for supper and to play some duets. Hermann, her husband, loaned me his cello. Both had come out of Germany via Brazil during the Nazi times, and were teaching and playing music in Buenos Aires. I was starved for these sweet sounds and thrilled by their genuine hospitality. Music does cross many bridges.