Between Two Early-Morning Trains

Friendship, Moonlight, and Unexpected Connection in Provo

By DeAndre, Duke of Hanumanteshwar

I arrived in Provo, Utah, early Sunday morning at approximately 4:30 a.m., and now, as I write this, it is just after 5:00 a.m. on Thursday and I am aboard Amtrak beginning the long journey toward Chicago. There is something almost perfect about those two early-morning moments framing my time here. I arrived before sunrise and I am leaving before sunrise, yet so much happened in the days between that the visit feels much larger than the few days marked on a calendar.

I came to Provo to spend time with my friend Steeven, someone with whom I happen to share the same birthday. I have always found that little connection between us amusing and meaningful at the same time. Some friendships develop through years of shared history, while others seem to carry a certain familiarity from the beginning, and spending these days in Utah gave me the opportunity to see Steeven not only as my friend, but also through the people, places, and community that make up his everyday life.

Travel changes when someone opens their home to you. A destination stops being simply somewhere you visited and begins to feel personal. You start remembering the kitchen, the conversations, the drive down a particular road, the people who walked through the door, and the ordinary moments that could never have been included in an itinerary.

That is what Provo became for me.

A Sunday Dinner That Became Much More

Only hours after arriving Sunday morning, we were heading to Salt Lake City for dinner.

Before I ever reached Utah, Steeven had promised me that the dinner would be nightshade-free. Anyone who lives with serious food restrictions understands that this is not a small gesture. It takes thought, attention, and a willingness to plan differently. Rather than making my dietary needs feel like an inconvenience, Steeven and our hosts made them part of the hospitality of the evening, and everything was homemade.

The table included purple rice with pomegranate, a fresh green salad, and Moroccan citrus chicken as the main course. Dessert was a homemade lemon pie with a pecan crust. There was champagne for the table, and I enjoyed a tequila-based drink that had been prepared for me.

The food was wonderful, but what stayed with me was the intention behind it. There is a difference between being invited somewhere and truly being welcomed. When people take the time to understand what you need and then create an evening where you do not have to worry about whether something is safe for you to eat, that care becomes part of the memory.

Steeven had also planned another surprise.

He had purchased copies of A Royal Commitment: Ten Years of Marriage and Activism and gifted one to each person attending the dinner.

I had not expected that.

There I was, in Salt Lake City, only hours after stepping off a train in Provo, opening copies of the book Manvendra and I had written and personalizing each one for someone I had just met.

That experience meant more to me than simply signing books.

A Royal Commitment tells the story of a life Manvendra and I have actually lived. It carries years of marriage, activism, difficulty, growth, love, and public responsibility. When Steeven chose to place that story into the hands of his friends, he was doing something very personal. He was introducing part of my life and part of our journey before I had even had the chance to know everyone around the table.

As I signed each copy, wrote each name, and added a personal message, the book became something different for every person who received it. A published book can travel anywhere, but once you write someone's name inside it and hand it directly to them, it becomes part of an individual connection.

That dinner became one of those evenings where food, friendship, storytelling, and hospitality all met around the same table.

It was a beautiful way to begin my time in Utah.

Monday and the Question I Had Not Planned to Ask

Monday was quieter.

After weeks of traveling and constantly changing surroundings, I welcomed the chance to catch up on work. One of the things I have been doing during this journey across the United States is continuing to develop the H1927LLC IP Library, moving writing and scholarship into a more permanent home where pieces on history, culture, constitutional thought, advocacy, lived experience, and personal reflection can be preserved together.

Travel does not stop the work. In some ways, it gives me new space in which to see the work.

But the most interesting thing that happened Monday did not begin at my computer.

It began during meditation.

I had not come to Provo intending to research LGBTQIA life in Utah. It was not something I had placed on my schedule before arriving. Yet while sitting in meditation, I found myself thinking about the LGBTQIA community around me.

Where did people gather?

What did community look like here?

Were there places where gay men and other LGBTQIA people simply came together as friends?

Those questions stayed with me, so I followed them.

That simple act of asking led me to discover something I never could have planned: a gathering that happened only once a month, and it was taking place that very evening.

Even more remarkable, the house where it was being hosted was just down the street from where I was staying.

That experience became important enough that I wrote about it separately, but it also belongs in the larger story of my days in Provo because of how naturally it happened. I did not go searching for a grand LGBTQIA institution or some carefully organized tourist experience. I asked a question, followed where it led, and discovered community almost literally around the corner.

It reminded me that LGBTQIA life is not limited to the places people traditionally associate with queer culture. Community does not belong only to major cities. It exists wherever people create room for one another.

Sometimes that happens in a center.

Sometimes around a dinner table.

Sometimes inside someone's home.

And sometimes you find it simply because you were curious enough to ask.

Tuesday Under the Utah Moon

Tuesday brought another unexpected moment.

That evening I met Dana, and we went up along the side of the mountain to take in the view.

Utah has a way of making you pay attention to the landscape. The mountains are always present, and when you look down from above the valley at night, the scale of everything changes.

The lights below seemed to sparkle across the landscape, almost like someone had scattered stars across the ground. Above us was the moon, and between the moon, the mountains, and the lights of the valley, there was very little that needed to be said.

I simply stood there and took it in.

So much of travel is movement. We think about trains, planes, schedules, arrivals, departures, reservations, and the next place we are supposed to be. Yet some of the moments I remember most are the ones when movement stops.

You stand somewhere unfamiliar.

You look around.

And for a few minutes, there is nowhere else you need to be.

That was Tuesday night for me.

Wednesday, the White Jeep, and the River

Wednesday was my last full day in Provo.

I spent part of the day doing what has become a familiar part of this journey: working on H1927LLC and continuing to move previously written articles into the IP Library.

There was something satisfying about sitting in Utah and building an intellectual archive that reaches across so many different parts of my life and work. Some of the pieces deal with constitutional history. Others explore culture, advocacy, royal history, travel, accessibility, LGBTQIA experience, and the stories we sometimes overlook because they do not fit neatly into one category.

Building the library is not simply about publishing more material. It is about preserving a body of work and giving it structure.

Eventually, though, it was time to close the computer.

Then came the White Jeep.

Gino, Rocky, Steeven, and I headed toward the river.

That outing was simple, and maybe that is part of why I enjoyed it so much. There was no elaborate program. We went to the water, walked, talked, and enjoyed being together.

I found a place to sit in meditation.

After days of conversations and introductions and hours spent working, sitting beside the river gave me a different kind of space. Water has its own rhythm. You do not need to instruct it. You do not need to manage it. You simply sit nearby and allow it to move.

After meditating, I walked with my friends.

Those are the moments that remind me friendship does not always need an event attached to it. Sometimes it is simply getting into a White Jeep together, going somewhere beautiful, walking beside one another, and allowing the afternoon to become whatever it becomes.

A Final Dinner and the Sweet Potato Challenge

When we returned, I wanted to cook dinner for Steeven on my final evening.

After all, he had welcomed me into his home, helped make sure I could safely enjoy our Sunday dinner, introduced me to people in his life, and shared several days of Utah with me. Cooking for him seemed like a simple way of returning some of that hospitality.

Then Steeven told me something I considered highly questionable.

He said he did not like sweet potatoes.

😀

So I made twice-baked sweet potatoes.

I have learned that when someone tells you they do not like a particular food, sometimes they simply have not yet had the version that will change their mind.

By the end of dinner, Steeven's relationship with sweet potatoes appeared to have improved considerably.

It was a small, funny moment, but I want it in this story because travel should not become so serious that we forget these are the things that actually make a visit feel human.

Not every memory has to carry a profound lesson.

Sometimes you simply make dinner for a friend and discover that he does, in fact, like sweet potatoes.

At least when I make them.

Somewhere Between Arrival and Departure

And now it is Thursday morning.

I am on the train.

Utah is beginning to fall behind me, and Chicago is somewhere ahead.

After Chicago, the journey continues.

But as I sit here thinking back over these few days, what stays with me is how much can happen in a relatively short period of time when you allow yourself to be present.

I think about that Sunday dinner in Salt Lake City, the purple rice with pomegranate, Moroccan citrus chicken, homemade lemon pie with its pecan crust, and the copies of A Royal Commitment being passed around the table for me to sign.

I think about sitting in meditation Monday and asking a question about LGBTQIA community that unexpectedly led me to a gathering just down the street.

I think about Dana, the mountains, the moon, and those thousands of lights sparkling below us on Tuesday night.

I think about Wednesday, the White Jeep, Gino, Rocky, Steeven, the river, meditation beside the water, walking with friends, and eventually returning home to make dinner.

And yes, I think about the sweet potatoes.

These are not things that could have been planned into a traditional travel itinerary.

They happened because people opened doors.

Because conversations started.

Because someone invited me to dinner.

Because someone bought books for friends.

Because meditation produced a question.

Because we got into a Jeep.

Because we went to the river.

Because I cooked.

Because we had time together.

That is increasingly what I value about travel.

The destination matters, but the real story is usually what happens between arrival and departure.

I arrived in Provo before sunrise on Sunday morning as a traveler coming to visit a friend.

I am leaving before sunrise on Thursday carrying the faces, conversations, laughter, landscapes, and quiet moments of people who made Utah personal for me.

To Steeven, thank you for opening your home to me, for making space for my complicated food requirements without ever making them feel complicated, for sharing your friends and your community, and for allowing these few days to unfold exactly as they did.

There is something fitting about two friends who share a birthday also sharing this little chapter of the journey.

Until next time, Provo.

And Steeven, when that next time comes, I already know one thing that will be on the menu.

The twice-baked sweet potatoes.