From what I’m seeing on Canadian social media, we seem to have returned to a time when American tourists in Europe are trying to pass themselves off as Canadians. This was prevalent during my first trip to Europe, in 1989.

I actually got into an argument on a train with a British woman who was accusing me of being an American disguised as a Canadian. I railed on about how Thatcherism had harmed the UK, while enabling Reagan to do the same to the US, then spieled off a list of what made Canada better than those two. She got the hint that I wasn’t just a Canadian, but a pissed off and combative, if not informed, one.

But that wasn’t the only incident on that trip. Later, near the end, I went Luxembourg. It was memorable for many… shall we say ‘learning opportunities.’

The first was learning opportunity was ordering diner in a restaurant. Somehow I was in the classy, diplomatic side of town and that wasn’t cheap. The only restaurant that I could find open, and which apparently a bunch of other backpackers could also find open, was upscale and rather upscale and the waitstaff wasn’t happy about our presence.

I sat alone at my table, struggling with a menu that was in French and a waiter who was not going to help me understand it. I know enough French to know the difference between poulet (chicken) and poisson (fish). I ordered the chicken. I got the fish. When I tried to complain, the waiter argued with me. Others found it humorous. No one offered any help, not least of which the young family sitting two tables over.

So I ate what I could and avoided the fish.

While eating, I saw that the youngest child of that family was watching me intently. So I winked at him. He screamed! He pointed at me and screamed repeatedly at me, in French. His mom couldn’t get him to stop. Defeated, embarrassed, I paid, too much for what I didn’t get, and went to my hostel.

I’m at the hostel, sitting in a relatively quiet TV lounge, reading my guidebook and avoiding the ruckus coming from the game room, when I hear the same kid screaming again. I spun around, expecting to see him pointing at me. He wasn’t. Some other backpacker had triggered him this time.

The screamer’s dad took him away. The mom stayed and apologized to the other guy, and then to me, too. She also said that at the restaurant, she and her husband had talked about whether to help me order, and felt bad they hadn’t.

We did a little introduction, they were from somewhere in France I hadn’t heard of, I’m from somewhere in Canada that they hadn’t heard of (Hamilton, which I later learned to describe as ‘between Toronto and Niagara Falls’). Then I got the usual, if you’re from Canada, why don’t you speak French? I’m not from that part of Canada, I didn’t at that time know any French-speakers (francophones in Canadian parlance).

She went off to her family and I went back to reading.

Not ten minutes later, she’s back. “You’re from Canada?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a rude American over there who insists he’s Canadian. We know he’s not. He’s lying to us.” She was really upset that he was lying. People were demanding to see his passport, which he refused to show (rightly, I think, but also, I think a Canadian would have).

Ok, I’m up for this. I’ve had a shitty day, been embarrassed once or twice, I can channel some of that anger and give some back to the universe.

So I go to the game room, and there’s this crowd around a loud American guy (with a heavy New England accent). Someone calls him an arrogant American.

He replies, “Oh yeah? I’m Canadian.”

Well, that’s my cue. “Me, too. Where’re you from?”

“Nova Scotia.”

“Me, too.” I feigned rising excitement. “What city?”

“Lunenburg.”

“Me, too! What high school did you go to?”

“Aaaaaaaaahhh…”

“Yeah. If you were from Lunenburg, you’d know my accent is Toronto. Just like how yours is Boston.”

What happened next? I don’t actually remember. I guess I either went back to the quieter TV lounge to read, or went to bed. Maybe I hunted down some snacks because I was surely hangry by then. What happened to him, our Bostonian? No clue.

Oh, and the next morning, I saw that little kid do the same point and scream at a third man.