As we sit down to chat, I am struck by the Americanness of his features (he looks like he has 64 teeth instead of 32) and demeanor (he is charmingly obnoxious). He is sporting a purple and gold synthetic fabric shirt. “LeBron James,” he says, hand on his chest, “love that dude.” [A/N LeBron James is a player from a local basketball team called The Los Angeles Lakers] – it is not uncommon, even to this day, for Americans to retain old-fashioned values and beliefs such as sport idolatry. His American accent is very thick, almost unintelligible, but his humorous nature transcends any language barrier, at least until we delve into the topic of his tragic childhood. “We had no bidet,” he admits, his blushing cheeks betraying his embarrassment, “and we used to eat frozen croissants and store-bought ragù bolognese.” He looks somber now, the ancestral sorrow visible on his American face. “It was just really hard,” he says after a short pause, tears now welling in his eyes, “to grow up without the privilege of underage smoking and tramways like all the European kids.”