As a general rule on the road, Carol and I don’t engage strangers in conversation. I studiously avoid it; Carol merely doesn’t seek it out. In this, it is more or less the position we maintain at home. In the going on five years we’ve lived in our mobile home community, I still don’t know the names of my immediate neighbors, while Carol has forged at least a nodding acquaintance with same.

   And so it was on our second stop of an impromptu evening pub crawl on our first full day in Nice that we were engaged in conversation with a very pleasant Swedish couple on their annual holiday to escape the grip of one of their harsh winters.

“At one point she (and no, I never got their names; so much for my journalistic skills) asked if we would recommend them visiting the United States. I shook my head. “No, I can’t recommend that. Too much anger and two many guns.” (So much for my role as ambassador for my country.)”

   Carol, of course, led the way in holding up our side. Our tables were small and close together, so carving out a credible distance to justify not participating in the conversation was out of the question for me. I sized up the situation as a chance to be an ambassador for our country, and I dove into the exchange of pleasantries and small talk with impressive (for me anyway) enthusiasm. 

   They’d been together for 46 years, but married only for three. He was retired, and she still enjoyed working as a nursing teacher. He had just about drained his beer, but her half glass of wine remained untouched. I sensed a coming to an end of the harmless tete-a-tete, and I thoughtlessly ordered a second glass of wine, which prompted him to order up another tall beer. My bad. But Carol seemed to be enjoying the conversation, so I soldiered on.

   At one point she (and no, I never got their names; so much for my journalistic skills) asked if we would recommend them visiting the United States. I shook my head. “No, I can’t recommend that. Too much anger and two many guns.” (So much for my role as ambassador for my country.) She agreed, saying that’s what they’d been reading and seeing from their news outlet, but wasn’t sure if the news was accurate. I assured her it was accurate and probably understated, as is our own reporting of the daily carnage as a result of our gun lunacy. “Whenever I travel abroad, I consider seeking asylum,” I told them. (Does leaving one’s country sharpen one’s perspective or does it further distort it?)

   The change in tone from pleasantries to a soap box told me I had just about exhausted my quotient for genteel conversation. I excused myself to the WC, and when I returned, I indicated to Carol it might be time to look for a restaurant. We exchanged polite goodbyes and shook hands. Later, over a dinner of thick, delicious burgers at an empty restaurant, Carol asked if my abrupt departure had something to do with a perception of their politics. “Not at all,” I said. “In fact, I thought they were both staunch social democrats,” (They nodded when I “dissertated” on the importance of competent government as the third leg in the three-legged stool of a just society.) “I was just out of things to say, and things I wanted to listen to,” I said, taking another juicy bite out of a Nicean version of a good old American burger.

   I hope those Swedes enjoy the rest of their holiday from their own country. I’d like to think I helped them from wasting their money on making a trip to mine.