My round of farewell dinners began last night. We went to one of those restaurants that has a few pseudo-Western dishes. Every person at the table pointed out the American steak on the menu, and since they’d chosen the place for me, it seemed kind of grumpy and bitter to explain that I don’t really like huge slabs of dead cow.
At dinner, someone commented again on how funny it is that I look just like Audrey Hepburn and I’m going to have a Roman Holiday. (We look alike in the sense that we both have fair skin and dark eyes)
“I went to Rome once, on business,” the man on my right told me. “I didn’t like it,”
“Really? Why not?” I asked, wondering if there was some Chinese-Italian prejudice I’d missed.
“There are no Chinese restaurants in Rome. None. For ten days I had to eat Western food!”
“I hope I can manage,” I said.