I wait at the bus stop in a half-hearted drizzle, both hands full of shopping bags, looking without much expectation for the 47. I listen in to a conversation about plans for the next day; no school, no work, maybe some time with a friend. Eavesdropping is an integral part of my language practice, and I am a diligent student.
Panting down the hill comes a well-dressed, middle-aged woman asking me about whether such and such bus has come. I don't know, I say, in Serbian. She asks again about the bus route, and I repeat, I don't know, letting her hear my American accent.
- Oh! She says. You don't speak Serbian! (She says with genuine shock) But you look Serbian!
- Thank you!
- Where are you from?
- I'm from Chicago.
- How do you like it here, in Serbia?
- I love it, I say.
Maybe it was the jean jacket. Or the leggings. But being mistaken for a Serbian made my day.
Panting down the hill comes a well-dressed, middle-aged woman asking me about whether such and such bus has come. I don't know, I say, in Serbian. She asks again about the bus route, and I repeat, I don't know, letting her hear my American accent.
- Oh! She says. You don't speak Serbian! (She says with genuine shock) But you look Serbian!
- Thank you!
- Where are you from?
- I'm from Chicago.
- How do you like it here, in Serbia?
- I love it, I say.
Maybe it was the jean jacket. Or the leggings. But being mistaken for a Serbian made my day.
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