Secluded little cafes are the soul of Zagreb. Perfect places for discussing daily topics, global politics, and personal interests. So my Croatian friends and me, sit, drink and talk. Sometimes yell. All in good spirit, our heated arguments, a sign of friendship and not of divide, the legacy of our southern mentality.
First, politics. We analyse Trump, then switch to Hillary. Someone digresses with Bernie Sanders, followed by a discussion on Ron Paul’s legacy. We daydream about Kucinich becoming the president and then get upset about the gerrymandering. There are some Slavic curses involved. Another round of “coffee” is ordered.
Second, Oscars! Man, what a scam, someone screams. What is happening with the industry? And so many superhero movies, they are dumbing us down, thank God for TV. How did you like the ending of the new Twin Peaks? Is it better than the Sopranos ending? The new Fargo is great, but is it better than Breaking Bad? Man, I miss the Wire. And then the debate about the new Star Trek starts, and everyone is yelling their opinion. Another round.
We are getting tipsy, and things are getting offtopic. The first amendment used to exclaim “ Long live the second amendment!” What?! Rights are rights, but no background checks? Some are for, some against, some plead the fifth. We break the eighteenth amendment again.
Nostalgia kicks in. Hanna-Barbera was so much better, man. So much better. What happened to Yogi? Did he go extinct or something? Who won Wacky Races in the end? New G.I. Joes look terrible. Remember “Saved by the bell”, is that guy in jail now? Maybe died in some war? Was Geronimo the bravest? Another firewater.
And so we sit, drink and talk. Sometimes yell. All in English. We have an American friend sitting with us, and we like to include him in our discussions, so we switch to “common tongue”, another legacy of our southern mentality. He is also drinking and talking. Well, talking less and less and listening more and more. Having this strange puzzled and scared look in his eyes. I start to worry that we are boring him or offended him in some way, but then it hits me.
Here he is, on the opposite side of the planet. Thousands of miles away from America. Across seven seas, across seven hills, in the part of the world that some people warned him about with prejudice. Slavs, Balkans, Eastern Block, war–torn mentality. He just wanted to get away from Uncle Sam. Just travel the world, meet new people and their different cultures. Their exotic rituals, strange beliefs, unknown ways. And here he sits. Hearing about the origin of “Yellow Rose of Texas” and why Roger Maris was better than Babe Ruth. What? And who the hell is John Kasich anyway?
And slowly, he understands the horror. All these people are ‘Merican. Maybe they don’t know it, and people back home don’t know about them, but without any bullets fired, territories were conquered. He can go farther away and try to find those exotic cultures, but he already knows it is just a matter of time before all is assimilated. Resistance is futile, all is America, there is nowhere more to run.
Welcome home, pilgrim.
