Passport Dreams, Popcorn Economics, and a Very Opinionated Cat

Some Thursday mornings begin with deep philosophical questions. Others begin with my hair.

This week’s Lunch started exactly where many of our lunches seem to start: with Mr. Mayor questioning whether my morning hairstyle truly deserved to be called a lion’s mane. For more than two years, he reminded me, I have been promising to show him the legendary wild version of my curly hair. According to him, what appeared on screen was nowhere near lion territory. Fruitloop kindly defended me and assured everyone that my hair looked perfectly fine. I was grateful for the support, although I suspect neither of them fully appreciates the challenges of waking up with naturally curly hair.

From there, our conversation wandered—as all good Lunch conversations do—through school schedules, airport runs, exam season, and Mr. Mayor’s surprisingly firm belief that children should simply remain locked in school until all administrative problems disappear. Fruitloop, speaking as the only responsible parent in the room, pointed out several flaws in this plan. The Mayor remained unconvinced.

The first real question of the day was about travel. If I could spend an entire weekend anywhere in the world with my family, where would I go?

For me, the answer came immediately: Gramado, in southern Brazil.

I described it the way many Brazilians do—as a place that feels almost European. Beautiful streets, kind people, wonderful food, and hot chocolate that seems designed specifically for happiness. I have been there before, many years ago, and I still remember how magical it felt. Some places stay with you long after you leave them.

When the question expanded beyond Brazil, my imagination immediately jumped to France and South Africa. As a former travel agent, I spent years helping other people discover beautiful destinations, and many of those places remain on my own wish list. Sometimes travel begins long before the journey itself. It starts with stories.

Mr. Mayor surprised us with a completely different answer.

Given unlimited possibilities, unlimited money, and unlimited freedom, he would stay home.

Not because he dislikes travel. Quite the opposite. After living in France for twenty years and visiting countries all over the world, he has reached the stage where staying put feels luxurious. While many people dream of distant destinations, he finds himself dreaming about enjoying summer weather, working on future projects, preparing the next Pineapple issue, and appreciating the place that has become home.

Listening to him, I realised that travel changes meaning over time. When you have seen very little, you dream about seeing everything. When you have seen a great deal, sometimes you dream about nowhere at all.

That did not stop him from sharing future dreams. He spoke warmly about wanting to visit South Africa one day, to see the country through Fruitloop’s eyes. He spoke about Brazil, India, and the possibility that one day our strange little international project might become successful enough to bring people together across continents.

Big dreams, perhaps.

But Lunch has always had room for big dreams.

Fruitloop’s dream destination turned out to be Zanzibar. Not for a weekend, she clarified, but for at least a week and a half. She also spoke about visiting Lesotho during winter to experience snow and skiing. The discussion quickly became less about travel and more about thermal clothing. According to Fruitloop, proper preparation requires thermal socks, thermal pants, thermal everything, and probably an entirely new budget.

Mr. Mayor argued that thermal underwear hidden underneath normal clothing would solve the problem.

The discussion deteriorated rapidly after that.

As many excellent conversations do.

Our next topic explored a world without movie theatres.

I admitted that I would miss them. Although I do not go as often as I once did, I still enjoy the experience. Watching a film at home is convenient, but it is not quite the same. Besides, I have a friend who replaced his television with a giant projector covering an entire wall, which is admittedly a strong argument for staying home.

The real challenge, however, is cost.

Movie tickets are expensive. Popcorn is expensive. Parking is expensive. Theatre performances are expensive.

Everything is expensive.

Fortunately, being a teacher gives me discounted tickets, which occasionally makes these outings possible. Otherwise, a simple evening at the cinema can feel like a serious financial investment.

Mr. Mayor responded with one of the strangest cinema stories I have ever heard.

Years ago, he attended a live opera broadcast from New York that was shown inside a German movie theatre. Everyone watched, everyone enjoyed it, and then everyone quietly stood up and went home. No applause. No standing ovation. No flowers. Just silence.

He said it felt deeply unnatural.

Even stranger was his story about watching Rocky during a flight to Tokyo in the 1970s. Due to a technical failure, the English soundtrack disappeared, leaving only the Japanese version.

According to him, Sylvester Stallone somehow became a more convincing boxer when speaking Japanese.

I am still not entirely sure whether he was serious.

Fruitloop contributed her own cinema memories, recalling drive-in movie theatres, packed picnic baskets, family outings, and childhood memories of watching films from the comfort of a car. Listening to her, I realised that sometimes we do not miss the movie itself. We miss the people we watched it with.

Then came perhaps the most wonderfully ridiculous question of the morning.

What if all animals and insects suddenly learned to speak?

What would they complain about?

My answer was simple.

The animals would complain exactly like humans.

They would complain about being lazy. They would complain about being hungry. They would complain about chores.

Apparently, even in imaginary worlds, nobody enjoys cleaning the house.

Mr. Mayor immediately thought of his three cats.

In particular, one cat named Friday, who already communicates quite effectively without words. According to him, Friday’s first spoken sentence would almost certainly be, “You never feed me.”

This accusation would apparently be delivered immediately after receiving breakfast.

The resulting conversation expanded to include mice, hunting expeditions, philosophical discussions about food chains, and the complicated relationship between predators and prey.

Meanwhile, Fruitloop’s pet tarantula would apparently say only one thing:

“Leave me alone. I am warm. I am fed. I want to sleep.”

Which, after some reflection, sounded remarkably human.

As our time together came to an end, the conversation drifted back toward ordinary life. School pickups. Future meetings. Weekly routines. The familiar rhythm of people living in different countries but sharing the same table for a little while.

And that may have been the real theme of the morning.

We spent an hour talking about places we want to visit, movies we might never watch again, and animals that do not actually speak.

Yet somewhere between France, Zanzibar, Rocky in Japanese, and a tarantula demanding peace and quiet, we were really talking about something much simpler.

Home.

Sometimes home is a city.

Sometimes it is a country.

Sometimes it is a movie theatre.

And sometimes it is a Thursday morning conversation with people who live thousands of kilometres away but somehow still feel just around the corner.