I am not a tourist

That strange feeling I got when I was on the base in Bitburg came back when the TGV spit me out at Marne-la-Vallée, otherwise known as Disneyland. My friend Kara (another Fulbright teacher) lives in a town not too far from there and after she met me at the station, we stuffed my one-wheeled suitcase in the trunk and walked to the restaurants on the outside edge of the park. We felt like salmon swimming upstream as the weary tourists poured out and headed back to their various resort hotels. We decided to eat at Annette's Diner, a 1950s inspired restaurant that was packed with tourists from England, Spain and the States. As we waited in line behind an American family of six plus what I can only assume was a nanny, I wanted to scream, "I live in France! I'm not like the rest of you!" But as I chomped into my hamburger (100% bovine française, thank you very much), I couldn't help but feel like those who travel all this way just to eat food like they can find back home. Six months without a good burger, though... that's a lot to ask. I think Kara and I deserved them more than anyone else in the restaurant.