Milan, Italy. I was standing in line at McDonald's slowly becoming frustrated at how long the particular line I had chosen was taking. I was in line behind a gypsy. Quickly the cashier asked her, "What will you take?"
"The menu (equiv. to a combo meal in the States)," she responded just as quickly.
"Which menu?"
"The menu," gypsy lady responded again. By now the cashier was frustrated.
"Which menu? Which sandwich? We have cheeseburger menu, hamburger menu, BigMac menu." The cashier was now looking at her customer with raised eyebrows and hands on her hips. It was by now that I began to pay closer attention to their conversation. Gypsy lady glanced quickly up at the menu then blankly at the cashier her mouth now open slightly. Her body language was obvious that she didn't know what else to say. In a revolt, the cashier dug for something underneath the counter. She produced a packet of plastic silverware.
"Do you want this?" said the cashier rather sharply now using the packet as a pointing instrument. She pointed to the cheesburger. "Do you want this?" She pointed to the McToast. "Do you want this?"
"That!" the gypsy said.
"Which? This." the cashier pointing back to the cheeseburger.
"No, the one below."
"The McToast?"
"Yes. I'll take three." The cashier quoted the price. Took her money. And shouted the order in the microphone.
I was stunned at this interaction. The gypsy lady was happy with what she got, but it was nothing like what she asked for in the first place, a menu. It was a sandwich. And, she asked for one menu at the start, but now she asked for three sandwiches. I could only come up with two answers: gypsy lady had never been to McDonald's or worse, she was illiterate.
Later, in the seating area, I saw her sitting with what looked like her mother and younger sister. All three of the munching happily on their three McToasts. I noticed the innoculation scar on her left shoulder. I wondered where she had been born. Someone loved her enough as a baby to give her a shot so she wouldn't get sick.
Istanbul, Turkey. The night was quickly turning into a "man's night." No, it's not what you think. My friends and I had heard of some outrageous (according to an American worldview) foods in Istanbul and had challenged each other to eat. Our foods of choice this night: spicy pickled beet juice and goat's stomach. We were up for the challenge and mowed down on both.
It was on our way back to the boat dock that I saw her. A sweet little girl bounding towards us. I have been missing my nieces and nephews these past months, so it was always a delight when I could exchange a smile with a young one. As she came closer, however, my smile turned to a look of confusion quickly followed by sheer sadness. She wore no shoes and only two-thirds of a dress. Her legs were filthy with dirt which also matched the dirt on her now smiling face. She was like a precious little princess playing in the mud during a raid on the castle, unaware of the situation around her, just content to be playing again.
She offered me a packet of tissues. She offered it like it was something so precious to her but she wanted to give me some, too. I looked around, praying that some sort of guardian could be found. An older man or older woman sitting on the nearby corner holding a dish begging please. But, there was no one. No one.
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