Return of the Native 

I'm not much for languages, certainly not the linguist like some of my friends and colleagues. But Danish must have struck a genetic chord.

On my first tour, in Copenhagen, I was assigned to cover the youth wings of all the political parties. I was 29 or so, and the "youth" wing goes up to 30 in most cases.  In 1990, I was invited to the 70th birthday party of the Social Democratic youth organization.  When I got there, I discovered I was not only the only diplomat present, but pretty much the only foreigner. So I switched to speaking Danish. And circulated, ending up in a group where I knew no one from before.  

The conversation (conducted all in Danish, but noted here in English):

Dane 1:  So, I am Jens Jespersen.

Dane 2:  And I am Helle Knudsen.

Me:  Delighted. I am Alan Carlson.

Jens:  Ah.  So, where do you work?  [This is considered an entirely appropriate question, even just after meeting.]

Me:  Oh, I work at the American Embassy.

Helle:  Really? What's it like working for the Americans?