Leaping over the Language Barrier
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| Bounding over that language barrier is the best way to sever cultural boundaries. |
English may be Europe's lingua franca, but communicating does require some skill. If you have a trip coming up and don't speak French yet, don't expect to become fluent by the time you leave. Besides brushing up on key French words, you can also increase your ability to communicate by mastering what the Voice of America calls "Special English."
Speak slowly, clearly, and with carefully chosen words. Assume you're dealing with someone who learned English out of a book — reading British words, not hearing American ones. They are reading your lips, wishing it were written down, hoping to see every letter as it tumbles out of your mouth. Choose easy words and clearly pronounce each letter. (Crispy po-ta-to chips.) Use no contractions. When they aren't understood, many Americans speak louder and toss in a few extra words. Listen to other tourists, and you'll hear your own shortcomings. If you want to be understood, talk like a Dick and Jane primer. For several months out of every year, I speak with simple words, pronouncing every letter. When I return home, my friends say (very deliberately), "Rick, you can relax now, we speak English fluently."
Can the slang. Our American dialect has become a super-deluxe slang pizza not found on any European menu. The sentence "Can the slang," for example, would baffle the average European. If you learned English in a classroom for two years, how would you respond to the American who exclaims, "What a day!" or asks, "Howzit goin'?"
Keep your messages grunt-simple. Make single nouns work as entire sentences. When asking for something, a one-word question ("Photo?") is more effective than an attempt at something more grammatically correct ("May I take your picture, sir?"). Be a Neanderthal. Strip your message naked and drag it by the hair into the other person's mind. But even Neandertourists will find things go easier if they begin each request with the local "please" (e.g., "Bitte, toilet?").
Use internationally understood words. Some spend an entire trip telling people they're on vacation, draw only blank stares, and slowly find themselves in a soundproof, culture-resistant cell. The sensitive communicator notices that Europeans understand the word holiday, probably because that's what the English say. Then she plugs that word into her simple English vocabulary, makes herself understood, and enjoys a much closer contact with Europe. If you say rest room or bathroom, you'll get no relief. Toilet is direct, simple, and understood. If my car is broken in Portugal, I don't say, "Excuse me, my car is broken." I point to the vehicle and say, "Auto kaput."
Risk looking goofy. Even with no common language, rudimentary communication is easy. Butcher the language if you must, but communicate. I'll never forget the clerk in the French post office who flapped her arms and asked, "Tweet, tweet, tweet?" I understood immediately, answered with a nod, and she gave me the airmail stamps I needed. At the risk of getting birdseed, I communicated successfully. If you're hungry, clutch your stomach and growl. If you want milk, "moo" and pull two imaginary udders. If the liquor was too strong, simulate an atomic explosion starting from your stomach and mushrooming to your head. If you're attracted to someone, pant.
Be melodramatic. Exaggerate the native accent. In France, you'll communicate more effectively (and have more fun) by sounding like Maurice Chevalier or Inspector Clouseau. The locals won't be insulted; they'll be impressed. Use whatever French you know. But even English spoken with a sexy French accent makes more sense to the French ear. In Italy, be melodic and exuberant, and wave those hands. Go ahead, try it: Mamma mia! No. Do it again. MAMMA MIA! You've got to be uninhibited. Self-consciousness kills communication.
Figure things out. Most major European languages are related, coming from (or at least being influenced by) Latin. Knowing that, words become meaningful. The French word for Monday (our "day of the moon") is lundi (lunar day). The Germans say the same thing — Montag. Sonne is sun, so Sonntag is Sunday. If buon giorno means good day, zuppa del giorno is soup of the day. If Tiergarten is zoo (literally "animal garden") in German, then Stinktier is skunk and Kindergarten is children's garden. Think of Vater, Mutter, trink, gross, gut, rapide, grand, económico, delicioso, and you can comprender mucho.
Many letters travel predictable courses (determined by the physical way a sound is made) as related languages drift apart over the centuries. For instance, p often becomes v or b in the neighboring country's language. Italian menus always have a charge for coperto — a "cover" charge.
Practice your understanding. Read time schedules, posters, multilingual signs (and graffiti) in bathrooms, and newspaper headlines. Develop your ear for foreign languages by tuning in to the other languages on a multilingual tour. It's a puzzle. The more you play, the better you get.
A notepad can work wonders. Words and numbers are much easier understood when they're written rather than spoken — and mispronounced. (My back-pocket notepad is my constant travel buddy.) To repeatedly communicate something difficult and important (such as medical instructions, "I'm a strict vegetarian," "boiled water," "well-done meat," "your finest ice cream," or "I am rich and single"), have it written in the local language on your notepad.
Assume you understand and go with your educated guess. My master key to communication is to see most communication problems as multiple-choice questions, make an educated guess at the meaning of a message (verbal or written), and proceed confidently as if I understood it correctly. At the breakfast table the waitress asks me a question. I don't understand a word she says but I tell her my room number. Faking it like this applies to rudimentary things like instructions on customs forms, museum hours, and menus. With this approach I find that 80 percent of the time I'm correct. Half the time I'm wrong I never know it, so it doesn't really matter. So 10 percent of the time I really blow it. My trip becomes easier — and occasionally much more interesting.
Updated for 2011. For lots more tips, check out our best-selling Europe Through the Back Door travel skills guidebook, or find hundreds of handy words, phrases and communication tips in Rick Steves' six popular Phrase Books.