"Oh no, Momo! Get out of the highway! Highway means: Pass, pass, there's nothing to see. It's for the fools who want to go fast from one point to another. We don't do geometry; we travel. Find me nice places that show what is worth seeing."
"How does it seem that you're not driving, Mr. Ibrahim..."
"Let me tell you, Momo! If you don't want to see, take the plane like everyone else."
"Is this place poor, Mr. Ibrahim?"
"Yes, it's Albania."
"And here?"
"Stop the car. It smells. What do you smell? It smells like happiness. We are in Greece. People don't rush around, they look at us passing by in their leisure, they breathe deeply. You see, Momo, I will spend my whole life working, but working slowly, at my own pace; I didn't care about making a lot of money, or having customers lined up. That's the secret of happiness: slowness. What do you want to do when you grow up?"
"I don't know, Mr. Ibrahim. Or rather, I do know: Imports-exports."