Crossing the language barrier

[Dave7]

Another one springs to mind.
In Germany on business the supplier and others took me to a very expensive restaurant. The menu was only in German and I only spoke enough to find my way around.
For starters I asked for wild mushrooms in sauce. It was good but REALLY big portion so I left some.
Now I thought I knew what I had ordered for mains but when it came guess what........a BIGGER plate of mushrooms !!!!!!
The guy asked "you like mushrooms yah".....I felt so stupid but had to say yes.

 

[JtB]

I arrived at Santiago airport 35 years ago in the Spanish region of Galicia to visit a Spanish girl who lived about 50 miles away in a town called Pontevedra. We’d met for the day 2 years earlier in her home town and since then we’d regularly written to each other. But because she couldn’t speak English and I couldn’t speak Spanish then I’d needed the help of a Panamanian friend to translate the letters from and to Spanish.

Anyway, Galicia is a region of Spain where very little English is spoken so luckily an English speaking couple I’d met on the plane gave me a lift to the main bus station in Santiago de Compostela. Armed with a phrase book I then managed to say to someone in Spanish that “I go to Pontevedra, where is bus?” whereupon he guided me to the bus and I guess instructed me to get on.

When I’d visited Pontevedra for the day 2 years earlier with my Panamanian friend I’d remembered that Pontevedra wasn’t that big, so as I was traveling along through the Galician countryside on the bus I kept keen watch for the road sign indicating my arrival in Pontevedra (I didn’t want to miss the Pontevedra bus stop). What I didn’t know however is that Pontevedra is not just the name of the town but it’s also the name of the province. So when the bus eventually passed the Pontevedra road sign and I stood up to get off at the next stop, unknown to me the bus had only just entered the province while the town itself was still 30 miles away. Anyway as I was standing up, there were 2 nuns sat a couple of rows behind and they were both shaking their heads at me so I sat down again. At each subsequent bus stop I looked around and the 2 nuns both shook their heads at me. Eventually the bus arrived at the central bus station in Pontevedra and when I looked around this time the 2 nuns were both nodding, so I stood up, said “Gracias” and got off the bus. How they knew where I was heading I have no idea because the only word that passed between us was my “Gracias” as I was getting off the bus.

Nice one @JtB. How did you get on with the girl?

I found a taxi at the Pontevedra bus station and waved the address of this Spanish girl at the taxi driver - luckily he knew where it was and he took me straight there. Now when I'd visited Pontevedra for the day 2 years previously with my Panamanian friend we'd walked this Spanish girl back to her mother's apartment block so I had a vague recollection of what it looked like. Unfortunately it looked nothing like the place I was standing right now which was a narrow cobblestone row of shops. Then panic entered my mind that maybe I'd been writing to the wrong girl for 2 years because there had been another girl in the group that day. But then I thought to myself that it was the girl I'd been writing to for 2 years that I'd grown to "like" regardless of who she was and so I made my way to the end of the street where I waved the address at a lady in one of the shops. All of a sudden there was such a commotion as this lady and several of her friends all talking and laughing dragged me to the other end of the street and pushed me into this shop where I saw standing behind the counter the girl I'd remembered from 2 years ago but even more lovely. It was at this point I suddenly thought - I don't know a single word I can say to her.

I later found out that the lady who had guided me (along with all her laughing friends) to my final destination was the owner of the local flower shop, and it just so happened that it was her who had delivered my (Interflora) flowers and message the day before, so she already knew who I was.

 

[Dave7]

I found a taxi at the Pontevedra bus station and waved the address of this Spanish girl at the taxi driver - luckily he knew where it was and he took me straight there. Now when I'd visited Pontevedra for the day 2 years previously with my Panamanian friend we'd walked this Spanish girl back to her mother's apartment block so I had a vague recollection of what it looked like. Unfortunately it looked nothing like the place I was standing right now which was a narrow cobblestone row of shops. Then panic entered my mind that maybe I'd been writing to the wrong girl for 2 years because there had been another girl in the group that day. But then I thought to myself that it was the girl I'd been writing to for 2 years that I'd grown to "like" regardless of who she was and so I made my way to the end of the street where I waved the address at a lady in one of the shops. All of a sudden there was such a commotion as this lady and several of her friends all talking and laughing dragged me to the other end of the street and pushed me into this shop where I saw standing behind the counter the girl I'd remembered from 2 years ago but even more lovely. It was at this point I suddenly thought - I don't know a single word I can say to her.

I later found out that the lady who had guided me (along with all her laughing friends) to my final destination was the owner of the local flower shop, and it just so happened that it was her who had delivered my (Interflora) flowers and message the day before, so she already knew who I was.

Surely there is a "happy ever after" ???

 

[ColinJ]

My mum was from the West coast of Scotland, near Oban. When she was growing up her family spoke Gaelic at home, but were all gradually making the transition to English. By the time she was an old woman, she had pretty much forgotten Gaelic, no longer having older relatives and friends to speak it with.

One day I was asking her about it...

Me: "Mum, when did you stop speaking Gaelic?"

Mum: "Garlic?"

Me: "Sorry, Gaelic!"

Mum: "Garlic?"

Me: "Aaaaaaargh - Gaelic!"

Mum: "That's Gallic - to do with France!"

Me: "Gaelic!"

Mum: "Garlic!"

Me: "Gaelic!"

Mum: "French!"

In the end I gave up. I couldn't hear the difference between the way that she pronounced the word and the way that I was doing it. It must have been somewhere between the two extremes but I just couldn't get it right.

 

[Levo-Lon]

2 beers..fingers and point...sorted..
If you can't speak English I'm not interested

 

[Profpointy]

On a family holiday we were staying in a large caravan park in a village in the Vosges and visited the local restautant one night for dinner. The waitress provided menus in both French and English, but the most expensive item on the menu had not been translated. As the proud owner of an O grade in French I decided that ris was rice and veaux was veal. I like veal, notwithstanding animal welfare considerations, and you rarely see it in Scotland so I ordered it.
Very nice it was too, though there wasn't any rice and the rest of it didn't look like veal. After scraping some of the sauce off it and inspecting the surface of it I thought it looked like brains. This was in the early 2000s when BSE was still rife in the UK. Too late I remembered that vaux is a calf. On further reflection I thought that as I'd now contracted variant CJD I may as well clear the plate, firstly because I'm too mean not to and secondly because it was quite tasty.
On the next visit to one of Henri LeClerc's larger emporiums I made a bee line for the boucherie department to inspect the offal counter. You could buy calf's brains, which did look vaguely similar to what I'd been eating but they were really cheap. Then I spotted them at the expensive end of the counter - in packs of two, naturally.

When I go cycling I'm always in the countryside and pass many fields full of farm animals. For a long time afterwards I felt that every bullock I passed I was looking accusingly at me.

Time to retell the tale of a rather fine meal. In my best schoolboy French ordered charcouterie starter, then an andouliete (a tripe haggisy thing) and thinking that'd be enough offal for one sitting duly ordered the Agnieaux. Waiter in impecable English kindly warned me "you do know that's brains Sir". Obviously I couldn't lose face in front of Johnie foreigner so said "yes, that's fine". It was perfectly OK but don't think I'd have it again, and 3 whole brains on a plate were a bit daunting.

Some friends took "truipe D'or" to be "golden trout" but it wasn't fish at all, and was horrible by all accounts.

 

[Profpointy]

Another was a day trip to Frankfurt for work, and I needed to get a train back to the airport. I didn't speak German but had spotted on signs that "flughaven" was airport, so I went up to the ticket booth and said "flughaven bitte" feeling pleased with myself. The ticket lady, in perfect English replied "to get to the airport you need to buy a ticket from that machine over there. You will need 5 marks in coins. Would you like aome change" Fair play !

 

[Joey Shabadoo]

Time to retell the tale of a rather fine meal. In my best schoolboy French ordered charcouterie starter, then an andouliete (a tripe haggisy thing) and thinking that'd be enough offal for one sitting duly ordered the Agnieaux. Waiter in impecable English kindly warned me "you do know that's brains Sir". Obviously I couldn't lose face in front of Johnie foreigner so said "yes, that's fine". It was perfectly OK but don't think I'd have it again, and 3 whole brains on a plate were a bit daunting.

Some friends took "truipe D'or" to be "golden trout" but it wasn't fish at all, and was horrible by all accounts.

You need to go to the classier restaurants abroad like wot I does. They always have pictures beside the foreign words

 

[Joey Shabadoo]

2 beers..fingers and point...sorted..
If you can't speak English I'm not interested

Now I disagree with that. I enjoy at least trying to speak the local language and get an inordinate feeling of pride when I get it right* to the point that the person I'm speaking to doesn't grimace.

*Not too often mind you.

 

[s7ephanie]

In Greece the word for w*nker and soft are similar, many times i asked for w*nker bread also the word for fill up (car with petrol) and f*ck me are similar - yep you guessed it !
In France i said to old chap je suis chaud instead of j'ai chaud, wondere'd for ages why he kept giving me veg and even a dead skinned rabbit one time

 

[ColinJ]

2 beers..fingers and point...sorted..

Not necessarily ...

A group of colleagues were on a skiing holiday in Andorra. They'd drunk several bottles of wine with their meal and wanted more so one chap beckoned a waiter to their table.

He waved a hand at the empty wine glasses and said to the waiter "Same again, por favor."

The waiter just stood there with a blank look on his face...

Colleague points at the glasses - "Same again, same again!"

The waiter nodded and went off to the bar, returning a few minutes with several bottles of chilled San Miguel!

 

[Levo-Lon]

Not necessarily ...

It does work...

 

[Dave7]

1982.....our first visit to France. We visited a lovely restaurant in the hills. Waiter spoke no english....we spoke no french (still dont ).
We were pointing at items and shrugging our shoulders like real French people.
The BRILLIANT waiter crouched down and hopped across the floor FROGS LEGS. For the next one he started grunting.... jambon.
We had them both and enjoyed them.
Over 35 years later we still talk about that.

 

[Levo-Lon]

Now I disagree with that. I enjoy at least trying to speak the local language and get an inordinate feeling of pride when I get it right* to the point that the person I'm speaking to doesn't grimace.

*Not too often mind you.

I do try, but i fail miserable....

 

[Tin Pot]

I’m not sure if this is supposed to be about successful communication, but the tale that springs to mind is when I went slightly off the tourist track in Bangkok and had lunch in a place filled with locals in military uniform. They all stared at me as I used my Lonely Planet to order rice and chicken.

What arrived was a watery bowl with things floating in it. I prodded them around, asked the waitress again for the rice which came. Tried to ask if this was really chicken, and got reassuring noises. Everyone was still staring at me so I figured I should eat some. I have no idea what it was, something bobbing about looked a bit like how I imagine lung would look. Another bit possibly brain matter. Everything was very “organ” looking. I ate the bits that could have been normal meat but I just couldn’t contemplate the lungs.

I still have no idea. If it was chicken, it was like someone had taken all the tasty/edible bits, thrown them away, and served the rest as a soup.

Gross.