Everybody in Greece instantly knows I’m American before I even whip out my accent. Whenever this happens, I take a quick inventory of my appearance. I’m not wearing a baseball hat, a fanny pack, or a Hawaiian shirt. I don’t have a “God Bless America” pin on my backpack, or my passport strung around my neck And I’m pretty sure I haven’t been humming the Star Spangled Banner under my breath.
I came to Greece from New Jersey fully resigned to my lame end of the cultural see-saw. They have the Acropolis, I have the Short Hills Mall. Sophocles vs. The Sopranos: no contest. That’s why they get tourists and we don’t, which is why I’m here writing for Let’s Go… etc etc.
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