Slovenia was anything but slow. Peter zipped his Kia SUV from Wiener Neustadt to our home base in Croatia, Porec (pronounced “poor wretch”), in a matter of hours.

All we managed to do was to scarf down the largest hot dog we had ever seen, a krofi (stuffed Slovenia donut), and some super strong coffee, the cup of which we still have and was, when I come to think of it, our very first European souvenir.

With Yolanda Be Cool’s “We No Speak Americano” playing in the background for the umpteenth time and as we sat idle in the car, waiting to cross the border into Croatia from Slovenia, I came to an enviable realization. In one long weekend or just for a day, after a quick high-speed train ride or short trip on a plane, we could be in a country where the people spoke a different language, ate different things, listened to a different kind of music. How unfair!

Post Script. Just discovered that the background Italian lyrics on “We No Speak Americano” was sampled from a much older song. No surprise there is it!

More importantly, I think I understood why Peter and Traude had played the song almost ad nauseum. They had found something in common with these two young Americans; it crossed both a cultural and generational divide. Every time it played, I believe it brought two different worlds just a little bit closer. I get a little Verklempt thinking that it is these subtle, not immediately recognizable, acts of kindness between strangers that is sorely missing in our world.