Owners Direct, a self catering firm, has recently published a study on language mistakes Brits make abroad. Some of the mistakes are understandable; in Portugal and France, the word for “condom” is “preservativo” and “preservatif” yet some holidaymakers are presumably hoping for jam (and not a life preserver). While “Je suis plein” means “I am full” in French, but when mispronounced as “pleine”, translates as “I am pregnant”. The study also revealed that 95 per cent of Britons attempt to speak some of the local language on holiday, particularly those travelling to Spain or France. The most commonly used words and phrases were "hello", "please", "thank you", "goodnight", "where are the toilets?" and "a bottle of house red".
My friends believe that given a phrasebook and a passport, I will happily embarrass myself in any country, in any language. A couple of years ago, knocked out with a bad case of flu in Venice and hunted out a pharmacy, only to discover that everything was now closed for a siesta. I sat outside waiting for the chemist to come back, too weary to move in case I fainted or could never find it again. When the pharmacist finally came back, I took out my carefully handwritten note in Italian and tried to pronounce it. After several false starts, the Italian behind the counter reached over, took my note, and said "I speak very good English; you don't even speak very bad Italian. Please, please, never ever try my beautiful language again. You are ruining it". He did say it with a grin, and gave me some very strong pills that made me feel close to human again so I couldn't be too upset.
You would think that I would have given up after that, but no, I have attempted French, Japanese, Finnish, Polish, and even on less than memorable occasion, Gaelic. I did once manage to order myself Japanese in Paris; I had been across the road in a cafe where the waiter was determined not to understand me and demonstrate his distaste for anyone not fluent in Français that I finally conceded defeat, and went in search of nourishment elsewhere. My French was still terrible, but my rusty Japanese was passable enough to ask for food, so my first proper meal in France was sashimi and yaki soba.
It does work in reverse though; as a teenager I once found two elderly women who were clearly lost, and I tried very hard to give directions in Japanese, but failed. In the end, mostly because I imagined my own globetrotting grandparents getting lost, I walked them back to their hotel three blocks away. I was mildly insulted to be offered a fiver though - I was doing a good deed, and they thought I needed tipping!
I wish I was linguistically talented, and could master a language quickly, but I can't! Hypnotherapy maybe?
My friends believe that given a phrasebook and a passport, I will happily embarrass myself in any country, in any language. A couple of years ago, knocked out with a bad case of flu in Venice and hunted out a pharmacy, only to discover that everything was now closed for a siesta. I sat outside waiting for the chemist to come back, too weary to move in case I fainted or could never find it again. When the pharmacist finally came back, I took out my carefully handwritten note in Italian and tried to pronounce it. After several false starts, the Italian behind the counter reached over, took my note, and said "I speak very good English; you don't even speak very bad Italian. Please, please, never ever try my beautiful language again. You are ruining it". He did say it with a grin, and gave me some very strong pills that made me feel close to human again so I couldn't be too upset.
You would think that I would have given up after that, but no, I have attempted French, Japanese, Finnish, Polish, and even on less than memorable occasion, Gaelic. I did once manage to order myself Japanese in Paris; I had been across the road in a cafe where the waiter was determined not to understand me and demonstrate his distaste for anyone not fluent in Français that I finally conceded defeat, and went in search of nourishment elsewhere. My French was still terrible, but my rusty Japanese was passable enough to ask for food, so my first proper meal in France was sashimi and yaki soba.
It does work in reverse though; as a teenager I once found two elderly women who were clearly lost, and I tried very hard to give directions in Japanese, but failed. In the end, mostly because I imagined my own globetrotting grandparents getting lost, I walked them back to their hotel three blocks away. I was mildly insulted to be offered a fiver though - I was doing a good deed, and they thought I needed tipping!
I wish I was linguistically talented, and could master a language quickly, but I can't! Hypnotherapy maybe?
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