McDonalds Is From Where?

On my way to see my parents from Montpellier. This requires me to take a train ride between 9 to 10 hours total to get to Pisa. Time is loose for me so it was my prerogative to stop off in Torino for a day or two before I make my way. I got on my train around 2 in the afternoon and took my seat next to a scruffy middle aged sleeping man. He was the French version of a American southerner. Midway through the trip he was speaking his gibberish French in his sleep loud enough to gain the attention of everyone in the car. Loud enough to wake himself up and excuse his unknown behavior to the nearby listeners. I ducked my hat low, put my ear buds in and read my book. This disguise did not secure my safety from the awkward interaction that was about to occur.

He focused his gaze on me and began rapping quickly in French with intent on me understanding. I gave the universal look of I don’t understand; pursed lips, squinted eyes, raised eye brows, quick head shakes. He kept talking to me persistently maybe thinking that eventually I would divulged the fact I was actually French. After 20 or so minutes of possible ridicule or compliments he walked to a table just behind me and started talking to a different guy who I assume spoke actual French.

I thought I was in the clear, my book and I would be able to become one again. WRONG. A young girl sat across the way from me and started trying to speak broken English to me. Her first words to me was “you have beautiful eyes”. I said thank you and tried to keep reading. She moved on over to where I sat and began asking nearly every question in the world. “Whats you name?”, “Where are you from?”, “Whats your dog’s name?”, “is there McDonalds in America?”. That last one caught me off guard too. True story, she asked my age and I told her 25. I asked hers back as a sign of curtsey and she responded 20. This threw me off guard mostly because she looked 12. I looked for clues that might solve this mystery. Traveling alone, could be 20. Pokemon back pack, could be 12. Rather good English, could be 20. Obsessed with her video games, probably 12. It was nearly an hour of interview questions. I feel that if Opera where to invite me to her last show, I would be thoroughly prepared for anything.

I was received in Torino around 9 at night. As I walked out of the train station I was surrounded by a city of construction. If felt like every block was consumed with rubble and caution tape. Reading directions given by the hostel was particularly interesting. Catching the right busses that don’t pass by me required a large amount of walking. I knew the general location I had to get to so I decided to make an adventure out of it. If I came to a fork in the road I would use my expert Italian skills to ask the local pedestrian “where is Dora Station?” I still can’t comprehend what Italians say so I had to rely on their cultural need to gesture everything they say. It is my true belief that the first interpretive dancers were just average Italians on stage. An hour of walking through a slummy part of town made me tired, cranky, and less inclined to stay an extra day in Torino to discover what gems it possesses. So now I am sharing a train cabin with two nice old ladies to Pisa. I get to see the parents today!!!

Moral of the story, learn how to say “I speak (insert a language here)” in that language to get out of awkward conversations.