They heard me speaking English to the waiter while trying to understand what peppersteak “easy” was exactly and even after having eaten it, I am still unsure. But that’s getting ahead of myself, as usual, so I’ll get back to the two young women, one smoking a cigarette and holding it like it might bite and the other one, the one who does most of the talking, keeps playing with her hair and adjusting the shawl the establishment has draped over the chairs in an effort to alleviate the cold. And she asks, as I’m trying to locate the pieces of black olives in my Greek salad, “Where are you from?”

“New York,” I say, as I always say, thinking of myself as a NYer first and an American second, then add, “But I live in Istanbul now,” and don’t add that I’m looking to relocate.

It’s then the one with the shawl tells me she lived in America for nine months while taking some courses at NYU and living with her sister in Fort Lee, New Jersey. “Funny,” I say, “you don’t look Japanese,” and watch the joke sail over their heads which reminds me once again to keep one’s audience in mind when trying to be funny.

She goes on to tell me about America while I try to eat without appearing rude,her friend remaining quietly absorbed in her cigarette and I do my best to nod, ask appropriate questions, give nonverbal signals to demonstrate how attentive I am, and manage to find what appears to be remnants of what was once black olives.

Then she becomes the expert on America as so many people who have had what can only be referred to as limited exposure to the country seem to be. But she is not critical, in fact almost in awe, as she says, “So many people from all over the world living in such harmony.”

“Only in New York,” I say, then add, “and San Francisco,” and try not to think of all the problems immigrants face daily in so many places in between. But she goes on singing America’s praises and my mind drifts off beyond the salad and “easy” peppesteak to an America I know all too well. It’s then her mostly silent friend says, “You have the saddest eyes.”

And suddenly she becomes more interesting than she was before, except I think there’s not much to build upon beyond what is most likely just a casual observation.

And the conversation, or rather monologue of the expert on America continues until I pay my bill, wish them a good evening, and take my sad eyes back to the hotel bar and then eventually to bed.