“He ignored me at first. No words other than our first terse, “Hello,” passed between us until I ordered a drink from the flight attendant. My seatmate turned to me and said, “You’re Dutch.” I smiled politely and nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.” He said, “I didn’t pick it up from the way you speak English. It’s something about the sounds that form around the words. It’s hard to explain to someone who isn’t a linguist. Anyway, I did business in Amsterdam for many years. I’ve known a lot of people from your country.” I said, “Most people don’t notice, or they assume that I might be Swedish when they see my hair.” He nodded and asked, “What enticed you to cross the Atlantic? Was it vacation time? I’m assuming that you live in Europe.” “I do. I was visiting my sister. She married an American and lives in Chicago. It was my first visit since she left home.” I knew that an extended conversation was on the way when the man reached a hand toward me and said, “I’m Harold. It’s good to meet you. I usually stick to myself on flights, but this is a long one.” “I’m”