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expats

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The In-Between World of a Toronto Reader in Slovenia

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Five years ago, in a café, in a town called Izola, by the rippling waves of the Adriatic, I settled into a comfy wicker chair on the sun-drenched patio, ordered a cappuccino, and complimented the waiter on his nipple. He was less happy than I felt he should have been. I later replayed the exchange to my wife, Alenka, and we got to the bottom of things. Join us mid-conversation: “So, you’re saying...