"Are you American?"
The question came from behind me spoken by a man obviously not waiting for the train to Monaco as I was. For a moment I thought maybe I should reply no, that I was French Canadian working on my American newscaster voice hence the lack of an accent and contempt for everyone else on the planet. Instead I responded truthfully, "Yes, I am from California." I learned quickly that while overseas after you declare your citizenship to the United States the first question is quickly followed by "where in the...", so it's best to just volunteer that information.
The man somewhat hunched over stood up slightly. "Oh bless you. The French are so arrogant and won't even speak to me they think I am ill," he said. "but I am not mad, I have a doctorate! But my illness causes me...I am an intelligent man. I speak four languages! You see that I am intelligent, I see it in your eye." And so this half of a man, this one-man Oakie caravan heading for a better life, rambled on. He was not clean but not filthy and had the look of many years living here or there but not under a singular roof. I replied that I could see he was not from France and this lit a fire in his eyes and gave him the energy to move onto the next act.
"I am not from here, I am from Switzerland you see. I am trying to get home to see our doctors, I have a condition that causes my eyes...they think I am not well but I am an intelligent man! I have been to university but they just think I am stupid!" He gripped my arm and held it for the rest of the conversation. It was then I knew that knew with certainty that I was not talking with just one man but an entire group of friends, a salon in this vagrants mobile world.
"If you would be so kind I need to get back to my country so I can see the doctors who can fix me," he reached into his pocket to retrieve a few coins not adding up to much, "it will only cost me six Euro but as you can see I am running short. And..." But before he could finished I pulled out my only coin and gave him twice the asking price.
"Bless you sir! I knew you were a gentleman", he exclaimed while patting my arm still gripped by his other hand. "You are indeed a sir, a sir knight! Yes you are a knight just like Sir Jones, Tom Jones you see. And she," he pointed to the Rocket Scientist, "she is the queen. Yes, she is the queen and you," he turned his arm into an imaginary sword and tapped my shoulders and forehead, "are a noble knight!" He chuckled at this while I was still working out which of his personalities I was talking too.
I took his hands and mine and gave him a friends hand shake. "You take care of yourself and be well," I said with a short smile. He turned, walked through the stone gate and with that my audience with the Duke of Switzerland, for that is what I have since named him, was gone.
The next day we went to Italy.
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oh how i miss the loons at the train stations...
I see you are making good use of those hallucinogens I gave you. Now get off the couch and take out the trash.
Ah, the ramblings of the over-indulged and self-absorbed.
So he took the cash and bought another bottle of cheap pastis.
I think he was lying, and is financing a revolution.
I think he was lying, and is financing a revolution.
Damn, if I'd known that I would have given him a lot more.
Street scammers are so much more interesting in Europe.
You sir, depict your experiences with magic. It's been a while since I've gone on vacation, but the 30 secs of reading your post has been the closest I've been to Europe.
And I thought F. Scott Fitzgerald was dead!
Your optimistic approach to that situation inspires me. I must admit, in my travels abroad, I have learned to not like the question "Are you an American". Not for poltiical reasons, or security reasons, or even nationalistic reasons...simply because it has always, in my experience, been followed up with a request for money.
I am as benevolant as the next fellow, but for some reason being approached by a stranger on the street is not my cup of tea.
However, your approach and demeanor was nice...
Not a bad Hunter S. Thompson impression :)
Nobody is every really "American".
Once in ol yale town, new haven it be, as i walked the streets after a late evening meal, on being approached by a feller in search of some drink cash, i was besieged for some donation to his cause, and i obliged by placing in his palm a "toonie" , and upon closer inspection of the shiny coin, he spoke out - "shit man, what i am gonna do with this.... i need some real money!"....
I guess beggars can be choosers.
Some day I'll have to tell you about my run in with a probably sane, but very drunk, angry, Swiss guy in a train station in Berne. I just about got in a fight with him. Didn't have to give him any money though.
And so this half of a man, this one-man Oakie caravan heading for a better life, rambled on. He was not clean but not filthy and had the look of many years living here or there but not under a singular roof.
Ugh, Steinbeck just rolled over...
A few years ago, a similar bloke in Tara Street Station in Dublin declared me to be the Wizard of Duke Street. I liked it so much I've kept it as a website title and occasional nickname where things that long are allowed.
One evening when out with friends in SF, I was approached by a gentleman who was "trying to scrape together BART fare to get across the Bay" because "it was his day to visit with his kids". I gave him a buck, and joined my friends in the drinking establishment.
A few hours later, I encountered the same gentleman again, and asked him how his kids were. He just smiled at me, knowing he'd been caught. I politely requested my dollar back, and as he pulled a rather large wad of bills out of his, I suggested that compensation for my time was in order. He shrugged, sighed "Easy come, easy go", and handed me a five. We shook hands, and went our separate ways.