I have had issues with shoes since I was young. Not Imelda Marcos issues, just no-shoe-really-fits issues. Long, skinny, duck-like feet without the webs. In all of New York, only two stores carried my size. San Francisco, one. Tokyo? What was I thinking?

Except for the fact that I had to wear crepe sole nurses’ shoes in junior high, the real story begins in Tokyo. I was a very lucky junior in college selected to go to the “Far East” with the State Department and the USO with a performance of Brigadoon. My first trip abroad, what to pack? This was before I knew the importance of shoes and I brought one pair of heels for special occasions, one pair of flats for all that walking. I did realize that shoes should be comfortable so the flats were old. I recollect that my toe was making a small hole but the trip was only for six weeks. They should last that long. Didn’t. The pale blue flats needed to be replaced. A shopping trip on the Ginza was in order.

This is a 9 1/2 narrow foot. I am in Tokyo. There is no such thing. When I walked into the shoe store, four charming young women in kimonos greeted me. What did I need? What type? What color? What size? My downfall. After much searching in the stockroom and much tittering behind fans (really, this was 1960!)their conclusion was that the only thing in the store that might fit would be the shoe box. Sadly, not an option and I left the store without the necessary shoes. Fortunately, I was able to shop at the military base stores so found something serviceable. Not stylish like my little blue flats, but shoes that almost fit.  So the flats were tossed into the trash basket, new shoes were on my feet.

End of Tokyo shoe story? Not quite. As the group was boarding the bus preparing to leave, I looked out the window and spotted the little man who cleaned our rooms. He was happily running across the parking lot, blue flats flapping at his heels as he ran.

Recycled.

I now know that shoes largely determine the success of the holiday.  Uncomfortable and you are always seeking the next bench.  The right shoes and you can walk forever.  The search for the perfect travel shoe has continued throughout the world. Forget Asia, too large. A travel mate in Vietnam ordered ten pair of shoes because her feet were so tiny. Sigh. Forget Europe, too skinny. Even the Ferragamo shoes don’t fit when I am in Italy.

So, now I just take photographs of shoes, wherever I find them. I am constantly amazed at how many lost shoes are out there. Who wore them last? Why were they left? Where is the mate?

Where is the happy little man running across the parking lot in my discarded, fantastic, not-so-little blue flats?