Where Are You From?
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Bangkok, which, a little counter-intuitively, feels much more crowded than anywhere we went in China. After the terrible blow Thailand’s tourism took during the pandemic, this city is back! We’re staying away from the tourist sites and mostly doting on BOTH of our offspring (the youngest just corrected me—I’m being doted on by them). I’m just glad they both live here now—it’s so much more convenient for us!
Where Are You From?
One of the very best things about our lifestyle is that Lee and I can talk to most people we meet about who they are and where they’re from. People feel seen when you acknowledge their culture, their food, their identity.
While we were in Paris last spring, we ate at a trendy Lebanese restaurant called Kubri. It was delicious, and exactly what I’d expect from an upscale Lebanese place in Paris—the best of Levantine food made with excellent ingredients and French techniques, with a soupcon of creative innovation. The menu was printed in both French and English, which made ordering particularly easy. I like it when I recognize all the words.
In this particular circumstance, I actually (for once!) knew extra words. One of my favorite middle eastern dishes was on the menu, but only by a long, wordy description. I didn’t know how to pronounce any of it in French, but I do know it by its proper Arabic name—mjadrah—so when I ordered it, that’s what I said. It seemed easier. A slightly befuddled shadow crossed the server’s face, so I pointed to the menu item.
Yes, of course, he said. I’m Lebanese. I know what mjadrah is.
Oh! I said. We love Lebanon! We were in Beirut a few years ago.
His face lit up, and we were off and running. Lee and I told him all about where we’d been in Lebanon, where we’d eaten (one of the most memorable meals of our life), how amazing all the food was, and how warm the people are. Later, our dining partners commented on how positively the server had responded.
It happens to me all the time, because I spend a lot of time watching and listening, being quiet, and trying to figure out where people are from. The patterns of human movement and migration are fascinating to me, and the more I pay attention, the more I find I can relate to people in all walks of life.
Tell any Filipino you meet (and you have met a Filipino, I promise—they are the largest diaspora group in the world) you’ve been to Boracay, and loved it, and they’ll absolutely vibrate with pride. I never miss a chance to have this conversation—it’s incredibly satisfying.
Once in Sicily I struck up a chat with a fruit salesman at the market, and it turned out he was from Sri Lanka. It was just after an election, which I mentioned, and he looked utterly stunned that I knew what was happening in his country.
We’ve had long conversations with Indian people about all the places we’ve been in India, and we always come away with tips and suggestions for where we should go next time—I keep a list, and it just keeps getting longer.
Some days I think it’s the most important thing the last nine years have given me—an ability to relate to and appreciate almost anyone, anywhere. I often like to chat with service workers—those whose labor often goes unnoticed in wealthy nations. Many, especially in Europe, are immigrants from Asia and Africa, navigating a world far from home.
I love asking the questions, hearing the answers, and watching as their eyes light up when they think of home.
Take care,
Lisa
P.S. Thanks for reading, and feel free to share. If you have feedback, I’d love to hear it. And if someone forwarded this to you, thank them for me, and go to https://bookwoman.com/ to subscribe.