I hate being hollered at.

Generally, I’m so overwhelmed with being in a different country every few days that I just don’t have the energy to muster up a nod and smile.

So I pretend I’m Chinese.

Pretending to be Canadian, a long held Americans-abroad tradition, isn’t really a good long-term strategy. You’ll be caught out as soon as someone asks you anything. Like, say, who the prime minister is.

So no.

My strategy is to pick a language that none of the locals would reasonably speak, and pretend to be fluent. If you have the inclination to learn a few phrases in said language, excellent. There is very little in life that gives me as much satisfaction as ordering chicken fried rice* at an overeager guy. In Mandarin.

If you don’t have the time to learn any of your chosen dialect, just make one up, and tell everyone you’re from Boswana. This is particularly effective if you’re white.

Case in point (fanfare please):

The Italian Welcoming Committee!

Def: Comprised entirely of aggressively helpful young men in tight pants. On seeing a foriegn white girl, they begin to collect, attaching themselves to her person and clothing much like man-sized wads of mucus. They will then, en masse, accompany her to her stated destination, and, on arriving, attempt to buy her drinks. This will be accompanied by sucking sounds.

Antidote: The female must mention her Big Scary Boyfriend in every sentence, vis:

“Why yes, I am from Botswana. My boyfriend Raoul works in the prison there. He’s meeting me later. With his gun.”´

If the female would prefer to get to her destination sometime this week, a swift punch to the throat is recommended.

*with one egg