There is a bin with some really nice fedora style hats. Browns, grays, plaids. I spy a nice earth toned pattern, which seems to fit the landscape, and with a few Italian words strike a deal. Nothing extravagant. Just enough to get by. I am about to leave when the merchant asks if I am Brazilian. It is a compliment, but not accurate. I tell him no, and he says, "Oh. Your Italian has a Brazilian accent."
I wasn't aware such a thing existed.
Sorry. I am a farce. Not Brazilian.
If not, then what?
Travel has a way of challenging who we are in every aspect. If it doesn't, then it's not really travel. Knowing where you come from is one thing, but to see yourself through the eyes and knowledge of others is another story. You're not your parents, nor are you how your best friends see you. To the stranger on the road. The marketplace merchant. The beautiful Slavic woman. The gelato waiter. You are only what they know.
I am a cowboy. My life is an enduring parody of Walker Texas Ranger. Not quite. I am Jim West as portrayed by Will Smith in the 1999 film, Wild Wild West. I can still hear the theme song's lyrics ; Wild Wild West, Jim West, desperado, rough rider, no you don't want nada.