When I was 17, I was lucky enough to attend an international debate competition in Ploiești (“ploy-esh-tee”), a small-ish town in southern Romania whose chief economic activity is oil production. Odd memories from the trip: a McDonald’s security guard carrying what looked like an AK47; my team and I walking the streets in the dead of night, tired and irritable from the day’s heat, the N-word delivered doppler-style from a screeching car; the bewildered faces of the hotel staff shortly after check-in, when it was discovered one of our rooms had shit smeared all over the walls; the impressive smoking habit of most of the participants at our debate tournament. In other words, the whole trip was