It was a rare sweltering day here in Belgium and the restaurant was a hotbox— but it’s one of my favorites, so I took a deep breath and plunged in. It was empty, save a small side table hosting a pair of women chattering away.

I sat, my thoughts turned inward, until I picked up on their accents, realized I could follow along with what they were saying. I looked up, noticed the logo for Virginia National Bank on the back of her shirt, a Brooks logo on the sleeve. A race shirt. Was she from DC?

The other woman, not American, got up to pay, and the race-shirt-wearing woman glanced over at me. “Is that a race shirt?” I asked politely.

“Yes, it’s from Charlottesville,” she replied, smiling.

“I’m from Charlottesville!” I gasped (and yes, it was that dramatic).

Cue the UVA conversations, me fumbling to explain what it is I’m doing in Belgium, big smiles, acknowledgements of how beautiful Belgium is, an invitation to dinner.

Yet another reminder that this grand old world really isn’t so big.