Ingrate From The Land Of Dreams

"You're from California?" the girl on the bus says, her eyes wide, her voice thick with admiration. "I've always wanted to go to California! What is it like?"

Questions like this always make me squirm. California is too big and diverse to sum up in one sentence. "Well, my hometown is a lot like this," I say, gesturing at the eucalyptus and pepper trees outside.

"Is Hollywood like this?" she wants to know.

I tell her that Hollywood is hot and crowded, that there are too many cars and too much noise. But I can still see the stars in her eyes.

"You must have been to -- where was it? -- Universal City," she says breathlessly. "What is it like?"

I feel silly. I can barely remember Universal City. "It was very nice."

We pass a sprawling low-roofed house with a tile roof. It's surrounded by a bank of lantana and a bougainvillea with bright magenta blossoms grows up over the arched gateway. If it weren't for the signs in Turkish, we could easily be in my hometown. All of a sudden I feel odd: a little homesick, a little unappreciative. Sometimes I almost feel like I'm throwing away a gift, living abroad for so long when I come from a place that so many people dream of visiting.

I get off the bus and head for my favorite charity shop. The staff here are exclusively expatriate British women and most of the time they ignore me, but today the ladies behind the counter are in a talkative mood. "Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" one of them wants to know. I tell her.

"Oh, California! Lucky you!"

Her friend nods. "But I'll tell you where I've always wanted to go: New York."

I blink at this. "I lived in New York for a year."

She wants to hear all about it, so I tell her a little about the noise, the fantastic restaurants, museums, and shops, the incredible energy, and the three case-hardened locks on my steel-framed apartment door.

The woman who thinks California is swell frowns at that. She says that another place she'd really love to visit is Las Vegas.

At this, I have to smile. "Umm, I once spent a summer in Las Vegas actually."

The woman looks a little skeptical. "Really?"

So I tell her about the big, flashy casinos, the dazzling neon lights, how I was too cheap to gamble, but was thrilled with the all-you-can-eat breakfasts for less than two dollars. Both women narrow their eyes at this. If you could put a thought bubble over their heads, it would read What kind of idiot spends a summer in Las Vegas and never gambles?

"You never gambled at all?" the first woman asks in a voice tight with incredulity.

"Once, but I felt cheated when I realized I'd blown fifty cents, so I never did it again."

They laugh, wrongly believing this to be a joke. "But the Nevada desert is really beautiful," I tell them.

The first woman shakes her head. "If I ever go to Las Vegas, I'll never see anything but the inside of a casino!" she assures me.

Another British woman has been listening to our conversation. "You know the city I've always wanted to visit?" she says breathlessly. "Miami!"

At this, I almost burst out laughing. If I were back home, I'd be looking out for the man from Candid Camera.

"Ooh, I know why -- Miami Vice!" one of the other women coos.

"I've never seen Miami Vice," I tell them, unable to help myself. "But I spent a year in Miami when I was a teenager."

I don't blame them for the quick looks they traded back and forth. If I were them, I wouldn't believe me either.