As I end the meal, my waiter asks me if I am from Quebec (the lobster celebration is actually in honor of these same lobster days in Quebec). It must be in the way I lick the last drops of sauce off the plate – I imagine people from Quebec are equally dedicated to finishing every bit of their lobster meal. When I say that I am in fact American, he actually puts the dishes down and does an exaggerated double take, before breaking into a smile at his own joke. Labels. They are of course both serviceable and at times grossly misplaced. In this case, the irony is that both countries use the same one when judging the other. ["All French are arrogant." "All Americans are arrogant."]

One of the best things about the last two weeks was that those traveling with me avoided bringing out the obvious labels in thinking about the countries we were in. Raking in experiences pure and simple, as they are presented, without reservation, without distrust. Liking some things, disliking others, based on how they felt then and there, rather than on how they were supposed to feel.

Okay, the end of the meal, and the end of the trip. Dessert: a simple ice cream, a caramelized mousse, and a farina cookie. With an espresso. Ocean returns tomorrow, from Madison.