Fun With Language

I visited London often in the 1970s and early 1980s, always eating as often as possible in Indian/Pakistani restaurants. On one of my very earliest visits I encountered a server with a thick accent (no doubt my NC-by-way-of-Michigan English sounded equally odd to him). When I didn't understand the server, I just smiled and nodded, thinking I was handling the situation well. When my food arrived, it was accompanied by a very large pitcher of beer. I hate beer. I do not drink beer. But there was no doubt in my mind that I had in some manner ordered that beer.

In 1978 when I was visiting my future husband in Croatia, I found myself home in the apartment alone. He was still living with his parents and was at university for the afternoon. I answered the phone and in my best Berlitz Croatian conversed with the person, a friend of his father's. The caller in turn called my father-in-law at his office and told him his son had a female (I believe he said prostitute) at home pretending to be an American. I was both flattered because I had a short conversation in Croatian, and appalled because we were engaged. We still laugh about that day.

Barbara, that's hysterical!

Paris about 25 years ago.....I returned to my hotel and stopped at the front desk to get my key. Those were the days you left your key at the desk when you went out and picked it up upon return. No one at the hotel spoke English but I could make myself understood in French.

The clerk asked me if I spoke English. When I said yes, he asked me to help a couple standing across the small lobby who were holding an unfolded map. They needed directions and he couldn't make himself understood.

I asked where they wanted to go, he told me, and I said it was no problem as I knew the location.

I walked up to the couple, and asked where they were from. "Texas," they said proudly and this was their first time out of the U.S. I showed them on the map where they needed to go and gave them specific directions.

When I was done, the woman turned to me and said: "We didn't understand one word that clerk said but we understood everything you said."

"There's a reason for that," I said. "I'm an American."

"American!" the woman blurted out, "But you spoke French."

"Yes," I explained "There are some of us who can actually speak a second language."

Near Glasgow our family was looking for a cemetery where we hoped to find some ancestors graves. We asked 2 teenage boys for directions and they rattled off some information and gestured as to which direction we should head. Husband and I and our sons are all listening intently and nodding. We thanked them and after they walked off we each expected that someone would know where to go. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. None of us had understood a word they said!
We told a hotel clerk in Edinburgh of our experience and he said he couldn't understand his own relatives from Glasgow. It made us feel a bit better.

My BF/travel buddy likes to tell the story about the time (in 1978) that we arrived in Venice on an overnight train and were at the left luggage window. The attendant took her bag, and turned to me and spoke. I looked at him and automatically said, "I am sorry, I don't speak Italian." My buddy looked at me and said, "He was speaking ENGLISH !" YESTERDAY, she was telling the story again while we visited with a third travel buddy, and this time she added that the attendant was from Texas. I had not heard that part before. But, hey, maybe it excuses me a little for not correctly processing what I heard, which I do admit is a frequent failing with me.

Once, in Montreal, I was at a cafe that served Asian cuisine, and the server was Asian, also. He spoke French with a fairly strong Chinese accent. I speak a little French, but undoubtedly with a North American accent, and the French I learned was Parisian and not Quebecois, anyhow. Anyway, we were muddling through him taking my order when it dawned on us both that we both spoke English, so we switched to that.

On that same trip, I wanted to ask the driver the frequency of the bus, but I couldn't think of how to phrase it, so I ended up asking when the bus walks. Fortunately, the driver knew what I meant and answered my question.

I do better in Paris, since I find that accent easier to understand. In fact, after a week, I had become so used to using French that, when I saw a family trying to figure out how to exit our apartment building, it somehow didn't register with me that they were speaking English until after I said to them, "Il y a un bouton, là," as I indicated where the button was. It was only afterward that I realized I had automatically spoken in French, when I should have used English.

Oh, and in Hong Kong, we went for dim sum at a popular place. The hostess was handing out cards with numbers on them, and people were waiting on chairs set up for that purpose. When we got our card, the number was in Chinese characters, so we had no idea what the number was, nor could we understand what numbers were being called out, anyhow. We noticed that the characters repeated, and we waited until the people who had been there before us had been seated and the hostess called out something that sounded like a repeating word. We stood up, and we were seated, so either we figured correctly, or the hostess was being polite.

This is not so much a language thing, but at that same place, which had a dim sum menu instead of serving carts, we ordered an octopus dish. We knew what we were ordering, as there were English translations (of sorts--e.g. "cock balls" for "chicken balls"), and we just pointed to the menu items we wanted. However, we never received our octopus, and we wondered afterward if the server believed we didn't know what we were ordering and, as Westerners, probably didn't really want that.

We have a couple: In 1969 we (both of Portuguese heritage) were visiting my husband's parents in Brazil and we decided to take them to a Chinese restaurant to introduce them to Chinese food. When we were seated the waiter came over and began to speak. My husband and I looked at each other in amazement, both thinking the same thing: how did this waiter know we lived in the US as he was speaking English to us?? At the same time, his parents and the waiter were looking at us in confusion - what was wrong with us? The waiter was not speaking English at all but speaking Portuguese with a Chinese accent which, since we understood him, we assumed was English with a Chinese accent. It took a few seconds for us to realize our mistake. It is strange what tricks our brains can play. It was even stranger that we both had the same reaction!

More recently in Italy I tried to help a guest at the B&B where we were staying who said she spoke French and English but not Italian. I speak a bit of Italian (fairly easy learn a bit if you study as it's similar to Portuguese) so I was trying to translate from her little English to my little Italian. The next morning we sat with her at breakfast and were conversing in English when she began describing her youth. It sounded as if she was describing a location in Brazil. In Portuguese I asked if she was Brazilian. She was and had lived a few blocks from where my husband had grown up. Speaking in Portuguese, we had a good laugh at our struggles of the previous afternoon.

When I first moved to Germany, went to the post office and thought I was asking to buy 5 stamps. Seems I asked to buy 5 mail boxes, which the clerk informed me with a withering look.

Later that year, went to get my first monthly train pass which at that time had a form to fill out. Was doing well and had the whole thing filled out, being quite proud of myself till I got to these 2 words: Männlich Weiblich each with an X under them. Try as I might, couldn't figure out what this meant. Went to the counter and asked the woman. Again, that famous withering German Look, while she asked me in German, did I not know if I was a man or a woman?

File this under--It's important to remember what country you're in...

Travelled by train from Germany to the Netherlands. Wanted to buy the tickets for our next train trip when we arrived in Delft. Walked up the counter, asked the man working there "Sprechen sie English?" "Well," he said, with some bemusement, "that's German, but, yes, I speak English."

To complement Ms Jo's Comment
First time my sister came over to visit me in Switzerland. We were in a restaurant, and she disappeared to find the toilets. 30 seconds later she came back with an embarrassed look on her face, and asked "Bruv, am I a Damen or a Herren?". It was one of the few that didn't have silhouette symbols on the doors.

One of our group in Wengen had the same confusion but with his U.P. Michigan accent, the choice was obvious. "That one is for da men, and that one is her'n."

These stories are hysterical! Thanks for starting a fun topic! I am terrible at replicating accents and remembering new words, so I have a lot of trouble learning new languages and let my husband do the talking. He, on the other hand, has a gift for accents that gets us in trouble. In France and Germany he learned only a few phrases but speaks them so well that the locals assume he knows the language. They responded in rapid-fire French or German, leaving us totally lost. In Tours he was having trouble ordering dinner because our French is almost non-existent and the server didn't speak English. But they discovered they both speak passable Spanish, so we used that. I guess you never know what will come in handy!

When visiting relatives in a small Newfoudland outport, strangers will often say hello because it is obvious that we are "from away." On my husband's first trip, we stopped to chat with an old retired fisherman that we met on the road. After our brief conversation, as soon as the man was out of earshot, hubby asked, "do you have any idea what he just said?" My reply was, "he invited us over this afternoon to see his model boats. He lives in the white house over there by the cove across from the church." Hubby just stared at me.

The bathroom signs reminded me that last month I was in a Chinese restaurant in a Chicago suburb, and I hesitated when the sign was "Queens."

Regarding Glasgow. I served in the Washington State Legislature with a woman from Glasgow. She had the faintest hint of an accent until you started talking to her about Scotland, then the accent roared back to life. She hated her accent so, of course, we had fun asking about her childhood and other things about Glasgow to get the accent rolling.

I was doing an exchange with the German Air Force and had crammed for months on the language before the trip. When I first got there, I'd speak German to people and they would reply in English. After a couple of weeks, I decided I was doing pretty well when I'd speak to people in German and they'd respond in German. I was at a train station in Hamburg and a couple with a heavy Houston accent were asking a German for directions. I assumed he couldn't make out their accent, so I asked him what they asked in German. He responded in German and I turned to the couple and gave them directions in English. The man turned to his wife and said, "Look ma, he speaks English just as good as an American."

I Bacharach, a group of Americans at a table next to me were getting ready to order. One asked the other, "How do you say beer in German?"

Buying a coffee in London at Starbucks (OK, I know, I should have bought one at a real coffee house) and the person making the drinks kept asking me a question. I had absolutely no idea what she was saying. One of the other employees walked by and said "Oh, that's Emma, don't feel bad, no one here can ever understand her, she's from Wales!" (She was asking how much room I wanted in my cup.)

Thank you to everyone who has replied with such great stories. The Scottish and Welsh stories reminded me of my very first time in Europe.

On a one tack rail line in Wales where there are only two tracks so trains can pass each other at stations my husband, mother and I had a long chat with the conductor about his frustration with Americans who asked if this was the station he had just called. We didn't dare tell him that between the English tendency to compress place name syllables,Welsh, and the crappie sound equipment, we were navigating by counting the stations, not by listening to what he was saying.

That same trip in Edinburgh, I climbed The Sir Walter Scott Monument by myself. As you climb, you exit the stairs onto balconies or maybe just one balconynbefore returning to more stairs. It's been 30 years and I can't remember whether that happens once or several times. But I do remember the entrances and exits are designed so as not to show from below. Going up spotting the stairs up from the balcony was no problem. Coming down I couldn't find it on one level. It was almost scary, like I'd entered an Echer drawing in which you could only go up. After going round three or four times without finding away down, I met a young Scotish woman of about my own age. She too couldn't find the way down. She too was almost frightened. We joined forces, but we couldn't understand a word the other one said. Good will and mutal alliance we understood. I found the exit first but only because I saw a boy coming out of it. I waited to show it to her, but she didn't understand how I'd found it. We laughed all the way down the stairs and she, Mother, her boyfriend (possibly young husband) who had come down before her and then worried and I all had ice cream from a cart together. Lots of good will but no real communication. I might have understood German better. Laughter and embarrassment is universal. That we all understood.

In Mexico: one time in Monterrey we called for room service. My husband thought he asked for 2 cokes with ice. It took forever. When room service finally arrived, we got 2 cokes, no ice and 2 strawberry sundaes. Apparently husband #1's Spanish wasn't as good as he thought.

In Paris: I tried to order for my friend and myself. Finally, the waiter lost patience and said in English, "You're trying very hard, aren't you?" We did manage to get fed.

Also in Paris: I managed to warn a woman that the guy who'd just stepped onto the Metro facing her was trying to get something out of her purse. She caught him before he got anything and he stepped backward out the door before it closed. She thanked me profusely for warning her. I asked her what to call someone like him. The answer? Le pickpocket.

In Montreal: I had a harder time with my pathetic French than I did in France. But I was able to understand our charming waiter when he told me that he had personally used a bow and arrow to shoot the caribou I was going to eat. BTW, that was the best steak I have ever eaten.

In Massachusetts: we went into the wrong area to park for an event. The cop directing traffic told my husband (#2) where to park and how to get there because he was the driver. After the exchange, my husband looked at me and admitted he couldn't understand a word the guy said. Fortunately, I did and we got to the right place to park.

Especially for the Londoners: I firmly believe that no matter what it looks like, you should stick with the local pronunciation. But tell me again how to properly say Southwark. I never got it right.

When I moved to Paris, I could speak French, but did not yet have a very extensive vocabulary.
I went to the butcher shop, and watched as someone ordered slices of cooked roast beef. That looked really good to me, too, so when my turn came, I piped up and asked for "Six tranches minces de rosbif cuit, s'il vous plait."
The silence was deafening as the butcher glared at me.
Though the shop was packed full of customers, he took the time to explain that what I really wanted was "six tranches fines", because that was the correct word. He explained that "mince" meant "skinny", not "thin", and if I wanted to remain "mince", it would be better not to eat quite so much roast beef at one sitting.
This from a man who resembles the Michelin Man and who has only one tooth in his head - but I have remained faithful to my very kind butcher for 9 years!

These were all very amusing, thank you! I think some of my fondest memories of travel are trying to communicate with someone in another language.

I tried to buy a bottle opener in a Croatian market, but having no idea what it was called, I grabbed a bottle of soda from a shelf to use as a prop to pantomime the act. A clerk walked by, saw me, took the bottle from me, reached behind the counter to grab a bottle opener tied to a string, opened my bottle and handed it back, smiling. I didn't really want the soda, I wanted a bottle opener, though, but it was funny.

Daughter and I were on a train in Spain. Come lunch time we headed into the dining car. One small problem, unfortunately our knowledge of Spanish both written and spoken was limited to two words. hola and gracias, not ideal for ordering lunch.
Trying to order from the menu was quite a challenge. We pointed to something, shrugged our shoulders, initmating to the the poor waiter, we had no idea what it was. He looked at us and flapped his arms up and down. We went with it and still to this day, we don't know whether we ate, chicken, duck, pigeon or turkey!!!!

One very late night in Spain I visited the bano while at a large restaurant. There was much drinking beforehand so I was a bit wobbly. But, I knew men's from women's, especially mujeres which was not familiar to me. I dutifully entered hombres, turned right, then left, into a stall, did my business, found a sink, washed up. But, when I went to leave the only door I could find said mujeres! Minor panic ensued until I realized this was in fact the exit and a pretty good joke to play on the inebriated hombres!

Here's a good reason to learn numbers in a foreign language before you leave home. My husband and I had taken the train to Florence for the day before heading back to Cortona and decided we'd have dinner in Florence. Well time got away from us (surprise it's Italy), and we realized the 8:00 train left in 10 minutes (next one was 2 hours later). Luckily we were close to the station, but ran to the station and looked a the board, and couldn't figure out which track "our" train was on. We already had our tickets and asked a gentleman "dove" and pointed to our ticket and the board. He didn't know a word of English but said "Quindici" and pointed that direction. Luckily I knew Qindici meant track 15. We managed to validate our tickets and board the train with a minute to spare.

My first story comes from when my sister and visited the family farm, The Bu, in Longhope Scotland where my grandmother and grandfather had stayed after their wedding, but before emigrating to the US. Wille and Jeannie Sutherland, my grandfather's young cousins still lived there when Libby and I visited in the mid-70's. We had gone over from the Mainland for Sunday dinner and to meet them. They showed us all around, and at one point we were sitting in the kitchen--no doubt eating as they fed us a lot--and talking Willie turned to me and said something. I looked at him and said, "I beg your pardon?" He burst out laughing as he was asking me if we were having any trouble understanding him. Well, sure couldn't fake that answer!

Many years later I went to see my grandmother's village in Gamblesby near Penrith in England. The TI found me a B&B in Melmerby right next door and my hostess's father-in-law knew my great grandfather! So, the second evening he came over and proceeded to talk about my great grandfather. But his accent was so strong that I missed half of it. I kept looking helplessly at his daughter-in-law, but there wasn't much hope there. I did get this much. When my great grandfather was the schoolmaster in Gamblesby, there were SCHOLARS in the village! So, I guess he would be pleased that his great-grand daughter works for Cambridge University Press!

One final story happened when I visited Scotland in the late 90's. It was the very first of my walking trips and really didn't know what I had gotten into. I had been put up in a B&B with a very proper Scottish Housewife as our hostess. I say our as two of fellow walkers were staying there too. They were two young from Germany--from the East and so spoke no English. Our poor hostess was trying to find out if they wanted a cooled breakfast. It was hysterical. My mind had blanked on any German I had ever learned--it improved after a week of walking with them. But the hostess finally resorted to finding a cookbook with a picture and bacon and eggs. She was quite resourceful.

Pam

"To complement Ms Jo's Comment
First time my sister came over to visit me in Switzerland. We were in a restaurant, and she disappeared to find the toilets. 30 seconds later she came back with an embarrassed look on her face, and asked "Bruv, am I a Damen or a Herren?". It was one of the few that didn't have silhouette symbols on the doors."

Chris:

This is too funny! We were in Switzerland last year, stopped at the Grimsel Hotel for tea in the afternoon. Well, while waiting for our order, we went to the restrooms. (OT: those restrooms are so clean - looked like they were fit for royals to use!)

I figured out Damen and Herren, then DW went and came back looking confused. Seeing her confusion (and guessing the reason), I sought to pull her leg. I said, "D'uh! It is simple to figure out. 'Damen' is for men and 'Herren' is for women. Don't you see? They are short for 'Da men' and 'Her ren'!"

Unfortunately for me, I couldn't keep a straight face through till the end ;-) And it turned out that she had, in fact, used the correct one!

Porcupyn

"One of our group in Wengen had the same confusion but with his U.P. Michigan accent, the choice was obvious. "That one is for da men, and that one is her'n.""

Whoops, looks like Sam's buddy's already been there and done dat!!

The train's preferente carriage included meal service, and two guapa attendants stood at the front and recited the breakfast carta in Cast. and in English, and apologized (in Cast) that they couldn't answer any questions about the schedule or stations because they only knew food words in English, nothing else.

Sincere as it was, that pre-apology was not in English itself, so people kept asking them questions in English, frustrating both them and the English passengers. It made for a Mr. Bean dining atmosphere.

It's a little like having the Braille dots on the drive-up ATM :-)

Many many years ago I sat opposite an American couple on a train out of Dublin heading west. As the stations went by the couple happily marked them off on the timetable until we came to a stop and outside our window was a sign marked: Amach. They go very excited when they could not find the station on the timetable, until I explained to them that Amach means Exit in Irish!

Rome - 2008. We joined one of those skip the line tours outside the Colosseum on the fly. Palantine Hill was also included. Between the Col and PH, they gave us time to rest for 15-20 min. Sitting beside a lady who was dickering with the street vendors over scarfs and started chatting. She asked where we were from. We said Canada. And her reply - I kid you not - was - 'Oh, you speak English up there?!' She immediately realized what she said, was embarrassed and said - 'Well, you know I'm American' . She was from Ohio.

Same trip, we also had two different people think we were Scottish or Irish (must be our Nova Scotia accent) - one Italian lady who said she was a linguist (!) and...a couple from Ontario...lol.

Off-topic. Nicole's anecdote reminded me of the stories the Alaskans told about the American tourists on the ferry boats - like asking if they could use U.S. dollars and what was the altitude of Juneau . . . as they sailed in.

Several years ago our family went to Cordoba and visited the Mezquita. The weather was warm outside, so it felt very cool and refreshing when we stepped into the mosque area. We were wandering inside the mosque/church area and we could smell a faint cedar-like fragrance, so I wanted to know if that was incense or not. Found a man who seemed to be working there and asked him in my best Spanish "Perdoname, que es este olor?" ( Excuse me, what is that smell?") He looked baffled and answered "Mucha gente" (too many people). We were perplexed, and then realized that he couldn't detect the smell since he had been indoors too long, so he thought we were referring to sweat smell from the visitors. We laughed and thanked him, thinking to ourselves what was he thinking? Later we learned that the wood in the enclosed church was being cleaned and polished, so that sweet smell was coming from there. There actually was no sweat smell to our noses!