One of my proudest achievements in Europe was getting the locals to think I was one of them. Usually this occurred when I kept my mouth closed (although the cashier at the gift shop in the Kröller-Müller Museum definitely thought I spoke Dutch), and I got good at saying, “Ich spreche kein Deutsch,” trying to hide my proud smile that they hadn’t labeled me as an American right away.
Still, there were times when my American-ity showed pretty blatantly, as you can see in the following photos:
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| I found this "American sandwich bread" in a tiny corner store in the rural village of Faucogney, France. |
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"Local cuisine in Salzburg? Nah, I'll just nom on this Clif bar I bought at a Wal-Mart in Missouri."
(Also, I bear an uncanny resemblance to my oldest brother in this picture.) |
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I'm sure Europeans get on the wrong train sometimes, too. But they wouldn't stay on the wrong train when
the conductor tells them in German to hop off at the next stop and backtrack. That's an American thing. |
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| Okay, so it's a European food. But WHY DON'T WE SPREAD THIS ON EVERYTHING? |
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| This was my face in Europe a lot. I hope some of the people thought it was cute instead of idiotic. |
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