The Ugly American

- "I haven't been to Mexico. We get enough of that as it is."

Flying out of Norfolk would be a joy, I thought. Small airport, short security line, friendly airport staff. Well, it might have been a joy had my flight not been cancelled. I hustled, calling American Airlines and working out an early (really early) morning flight out of Richmond so that I could still make it to work the next day. Jen offered to wake up at the crack of dawn and drive me all the way there. Thanks, Jen!

On our way back to Jen's place, we decided that this turn of events called for a night of wine, cheese, and Zoolander.

The following morning, running on nearly no sleep, I boarded my Richmond flight and found myself sitting directly behind a man who brought the caricature of the "ugly American" to new, dare I say artistic levels. He was in high spirits, talking jovially to the man seated next to him, who politely laughed at a joke or two and nodded a lot but mostly kept quiet. Once my brain was awake enough to process the chatter, nothing seemed more important than jotting it all down for posterity, so I reached for my phone and began typing vigorously into my Notes app. Below are some of the actual words that came out of this man's actual mouth. Verbatim:

Emilia-Romagna Is for Eating

How much would life suck without the existence of the following foods?

• Parmigiano-Reggiano 
• Bolognese sauce
• Mortadella
• Balsamic vinegar
• Tortellini 
• Tagliatelle 
• Lasagna alla Bolognese
• Prosciutto

A lot! Life would suck a lot. To the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy, the birthplace of these culinary wonders, I say grazie.

How I Argued with a Grumpy Old Frenchman and Won (sort of)

- "Look, monsieur, I don't know who you're talking about, but I booked a room for two."

Grand Hôtel du Loiret is a classically Parisian budget hotel -- small, quaint, locally owned, and centrally located. After checking out the official website and reading mostly positive reviews on Trip Advisor, I decided to give this hotel a shot. I booked over the phone and then emailed the hotel to request a confirmation. Below is a translated and heavily abbreviated version of that email exchange:

Not Doing Things in Porto

We arrived in Porto, a picturesque city in northern Portugal, ready to sample tons of port wine. As soon as we checked in, we took a cab across the river to Vila Nova de Gaia, where all the wine cellars are. We insisted on beginning our tour at the wine cellar that also sold cheese and crackers because we were famished. Thing is, our cabdriver was capable of finding any wine cellar but that one. He drove round and round, practicing his French with me, talking about keeping up with French news and keeping in touch with French friends and loving all things French. He also spoke extensively about Porto -- pointing out the architecture and providing a detailed history lesson -- all in French. This was amusing, but we were hungry and wanted our cheese right now. Now! At long last we found the cellar, bid adieu to our Francophile Portuguese cabdriver, and ate some freaking cheese. We managed to tag along on two wine cellar tours and sample four ports that afternoon. Success!

Fado and Falling for Coimbra

To me, there's no better souvenir from a foreign country than a CD. I like to pop into a record store, grab some music off the shelves, plant myself at a listening station, and go for the ride. Usually, I feel like I gain insight into a culture by listening to its traditional and popular music, even if I can't understand the lyrics.

Portugal is famous for fado, a musical genre that typically features mournful lyrics and an emotional, expressive singing style. I tend to find beauty in all things melancholy and was therefore eager to learn more about fado. On a hop-on-hop-off bus tour of Lisbon, I discovered Portuguese fado singer Cristina Branco, whose songs played between historical anecdotes on my headset. I learned the singer's name from the bus driver and now own one of her albums. It turns out that Cristina Branco is one of the most popular current-day interpreters of the fado style. Below is a taste.

Allies

- "In New York, people don't throw up on the streets"

I spent New Year's Eve in the UK with a small group of Americans and Londoners. After a few drinks, the friendly conversation turned into a full-on debate. The topic? New York vs. London. This might've become quite combative were it not for the fact that the Americans favored London and the Londoners favored New York. The argument went something like this: