I could write a solemn thesis about how my travels are shaping my view of my homeland, but my worst nightmare is accidentally becoming a sanctimonious travel blogger, so instead let me leave you with a brief list of probably-awful American things that I miss in spite of knowing better.
The Italian girls in my Danish class are beside themselves that I've left New York. “Jeg kommer fra New York,” I say, hacking up the “fra” like it's 2003 and I'm in the front row of French I with Madame H________. Better to sound French than to sound American. “Then why are you here?” asks… Continue reading hej hej to all that
"D'ya want [incomprehensible noise]?" "Um, I'm sorry, what?" "D'ya want [incomprehensible noise]?" "I'm--um--sorry, one more time?" "D'ya want [incomprehensible noise]?" "I... no. No, thanks." I am in London, in a cafe on Charlotte Street, where I learn in short order that drip coffee is an American thing, and there is something else that I could… Continue reading american idiot