In America we live in bubbles.
One bubble rolls its eyes every time the President opens his mouth, wondering where the truth lies.
The other bubble stands and cheers every time he pushes a world leader out of the way.
Outside our borders and beyond our walls the world seems to have made up its mind.
Every time I talk with someone from another country they trip over themselves to find a way to bring up the topic of President Trump. It often begins with: "You didn't vote for him, did you?"
In London they seem mildly embarrassed for us, as if something bad happened to a friend. They mumble something about Brexit, but the tabloids are unforgiving.
At a restaurant in Italy, when they learn you are from America, they launch into a re-telling of some story about Silvio Berlusconi as if to say: "I understand."
In a cab in Croatia talk turns to politics and Washington and the state of our United States.
One bubble rolls its eyes every time the President opens his mouth, wondering where the truth lies.
The other bubble stands and cheers every time he pushes a world leader out of the way.
Outside our borders and beyond our walls the world seems to have made up its mind.
Every time I talk with someone from another country they trip over themselves to find a way to bring up the topic of President Trump. It often begins with: "You didn't vote for him, did you?"
In London they seem mildly embarrassed for us, as if something bad happened to a friend. They mumble something about Brexit, but the tabloids are unforgiving.
At a restaurant in Italy, when they learn you are from America, they launch into a re-telling of some story about Silvio Berlusconi as if to say: "I understand."
In a cab in Croatia talk turns to politics and Washington and the state of our United States.
As the storm raged in Charlottesville and the President wondered aloud whether the KKK or the anti-KKK protesters were at fault, the cabbie's mood brightened when we told him we were from Washington, DC.
He was kind to us, but must have marveled at our astonishing lack of knowledge about a war that occurred in his backyard during the Clinton Administration.
But he wasn't judging us on that.
He was kind to us, but must have marveled at our astonishing lack of knowledge about a war that occurred in his backyard during the Clinton Administration.
But he wasn't judging us on that.
"Trump is a joke," he said in an accent that sounded like Vladimir Putin. "But don't worry, America is still the greatest country in the world."
"Why do you think that?" I asked, "I mean with all that's going on?"
"We learned at an early age that America is the greatest country. The greatest economy and strongest military," he said. "During the war there was an aircraft carrier right out there," he said, pointing to the perfect blue of the Adriatic Sea. "That makes an impression on you."
"And the impression isn't ruined by President Trump?"
"This is a blip," he says. "Trump is not America. One mistake does not ruin your greatness."
Days later a chef on the island of Hvar is, to me, remarkably fluent in the issues of Trump, North Korea and Hillary's email server.
"You have a child running your country," he said. "On election night we were watching and couldn't believe it. Lots of countries are making this mistake, but America?"
"So does this make us like everybody else?" I asked.
"People here were laughing at first" he said. "But now we are worried. Maybe you can't control him."
Croatia is a long stretch of land, including 1200 islands, just the other side of the Adriatic from Italy. A beautiful country of people who spend their summers on the coast taking care of tourists and their winters inland making money.
At a small restaurant on a tall narrow side street a family gathers for lunch. The family includes the restaurant owner, his wife and two grown children, a grandchild, two cousins and some employees. They eat a stew of leftovers, drink some wine and smoke cigarettes. They talk and laugh, and talk and laugh, until they are interrupted by a potential customer.
When the customer asks for a table the owner looks at his daughter, both award-winning chefs, they shake their heads. Better to stay closed rather than interrupt the family lunch.
"It's the Mediterranean way," the old man says, before telling his grandson to put his phone away.
On a recent call with a colleague from Hamburg Germany the discussion turned from business.
"Can we talk Trump for a minute?" he asked.
"Here's what I've learned," he said, "the world forgives."
But it doesn't forget.
Croatia is a long stretch of land, including 1200 islands, just the other side of the Adriatic from Italy. A beautiful country of people who spend their summers on the coast taking care of tourists and their winters inland making money.
At a small restaurant on a tall narrow side street a family gathers for lunch. The family includes the restaurant owner, his wife and two grown children, a grandchild, two cousins and some employees. They eat a stew of leftovers, drink some wine and smoke cigarettes. They talk and laugh, and talk and laugh, until they are interrupted by a potential customer.
When the customer asks for a table the owner looks at his daughter, both award-winning chefs, they shake their heads. Better to stay closed rather than interrupt the family lunch.
"It's the Mediterranean way," the old man says, before telling his grandson to put his phone away.
On a recent call with a colleague from Hamburg Germany the discussion turned from business.
"Can we talk Trump for a minute?" he asked.
"Do you think America can recover from this?" I ask.
"Well," he said after a long pause. "I come from a country where we too were embarrassed by our leader. America will be back."
"How do you know?" I ask.
"How do you know?" I ask.
But it doesn't forget.