Confessions of a Monoglot
"Spaghetti," I said, with a very saucy Italian accent.
"Marilyn Monroe," was the old man's reply.
"Mamma mia!" I said, tossing my hands and head into the air.
"Yes, no, one, two, tree," he returned, slowly and proudly.
By now we'd grown fond of each other, and I whispered, secretively, "Molto buono, ravioli."
He spat, "Be sexy, drink Pepsi!"
Waving good-bye, I hollered, "No problema."
"Ciao," he said, smiling.
The point is: 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.
When all else fails, a notepad can work wonders. Words and numbers are much easier to understand when they're written rather than spoken (especially if you're mispronouncing them). My back-pocket notepad is my constant travel buddy.
As dominant as English may be, it's just good manners to know common polite words in the local tongue. The top 10 words in any language -- mostly niceties like "please," "thank you," and "excuse me" -- are more important than the next 200 words combined. Things go easier if you begin each request with the local "please" ("Bitte, toilet?"). Even a rudimentary awareness of the native language wins the respect of those you'll meet.
My fundamental key to communication is to treat most problems as multiple-choice questions. I make an educated guess at the meaning, and proceed confidently as if I understand. 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.
With this approach I find that 80 percent of the time I'm correct. Half the time that I'm wrong, I never know it, so it doesn't really matter. And 10 percent of the time, I really blow it. By assuming I understand what's going on, my trip becomes easier -- and sometimes much more interesting. Vaulting over that pesky language barrier is always worth the leap.
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(Rick Steves (www.ricksteves.com) writes European travel guidebooks and hosts travel shows on public television and public radio. Email him at rick@ricksteves.com and follow his blog on Facebook.)
(c)2016 RICK STEVES DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC.
