Mom is Hungarian by native language but Serbian according to where the border was on the day she was born (as a child, she used to have to climb to the roof to see what flag the bank was flying to find out whether school would be in Hungarian or Serbian that day, I kid you not). Anyway, we were on leave from Dad's post in West Africa, going through Italy, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, and so on over to Turkey. We were supposed to take the Orient Express to Istanbul for the last leg. We show up, 2 parents, 2 teenagers and one small child (me), and lo and behold, no seats, no available tickets. The conductor is very apologetic. Mom instantly recognizes his accent as Serbian, and speaks to him in that language, saying nothing more than Hello and What a shame. Suddenly we are being hustled into a couchette for 6, filled with a whole lot of Turkish soldiers and one poor lone English scholar. The conductor tried to throw them all out, even though they did have tickets, but the Englishman held fast. The poor Turks allowed themselves to be hustled out and, as far as we knew, right off the train. I don't know if we paid for tickets or just a bribe, but in the hubbub of shuffling all of us in and most of them and their rifles and machine guns and whatnot out, the book I'd been clutching fell behind the radiator. The Englishman is still a firm friend of the family (this happened nigh unto 20 years ago now). We never heard from the Turks again. I think Mom exchanged $mas cards with the conductor till he finally died a few years back...it was one of those Isn't it nice to run into a fellow countryman things that can make traveling so interesting!

And I am looking forward to somebody digging up the title of that book!