The summer 1995 trip would take our church’s chamber choir to three places in Germany.  Before we left, one of our members, fluent in German, tutored us on some basics that might be useful.  The first stop was Cologne, where we really didn’t need any German.  I stayed with a couple who were quite fluent in English.   The wife spoke it clearly though with a German accent.  The husband taught English.  He spoke it with a British accent.  I had every reason to think the experience in our third stop, Bonn, would be similar, which did prove to be true. 

In between, though, we would be in the village of Gerolstein.  I reasoned that spoken English could be less prevalent there than in the larger cities.  Surely enough, I was assigned to stay with a couple who did not speak English, though our German-speaking choir member stayed there, too, and conversation was no problem. The first day, I went to the little post office to mail two postcards.  One was to my family; the other was a thank-you to my Cologne hosts. 

After careful rehearsal, I laid the cards on the counter and asked for stamps. ”Bitte. Ich möchte eine Deautshmark und eine zwei Deautshmark.”  

The clerk pointed to the card going to the US and asked, “Do you want this one to go airmail?” 

I wish I could say I answered, “Ja, bitte,” but I fear I chickened out and went with, “Yes, please.”

I’ve been told that “they” appreciate the effort when you try to speak the local language.  This guy at least didn’t seem put off by my effort.  He didn’t seem offended that I might have assumed he wasn’t conversant in English.   This contrasted with an experience in Austria on another trip.  My wife and I were in the hotel bar with traveling companions.  I said to the bartender, “Bitte, ein großes bier und ein Kleines bier.”

Maybe he was just confirming when he responded, “One large beer and one small beer,” though the tone could have been interpreted as meaning, “Yeah, I know English, you patronizing American.”

One time I was sure the effort was appreciated was during a visit with friends who live in Switzerland.  Early on, one served me a cup of coffee.  Knowing they were German-speaking Swiss, I cordially said, “Danke.”  His appreciative reply was, “bitteschön.”   I soon observed, however, that they routinely said “Merci.”

That brings to mind another experience in Germany.  As we sat down to eat a meal, my Bonn hostess said, “Guten Appetit.”   Then she asked me, in English, “Do you say, ‘Good appetite’ in America?”  She was surprised at my answer: “No, we say ‘Bon appétit’.”

(At another time, the same person asked if I drove a large American car.  Another surprise: “No, I drive an Audi.”  And they themselves drove a Fiat. Not big, but not German either.  But I digress.)

One time I observed someone trying to make the effort though with mixed results.  We were on a group tour in South America.  At every stop, one specific woman in our group attempted to communicate in Spanish with local hotel clerks, servers, etc.  Neither my wife nor I know a lot of Spanish, but we were able to observe some obvious errors in her well-intentioned attempts.  I had little trouble imagining several people thinking, “Bendita sea su corazón.”

As far back as I can remember, too often when I’ve said a word or phrase in some language other than English, someone or another has quickly corrected and/or been amused at my pronunciation.  I’ve gotten in the habit of trying hard to avoid saying such words and phrases.  I’ll just give the English equivalent or maybe a description.  In restaurants in other countries, I tend to point to items on the menu when ordering.  Well, also in restaurants here at home when they list items only by names that are not English.  Don’t expect me ever to read this essay aloud.

Yet, I seem to do OK singing – at least with a group – in other languages.  Of course, I enjoy singing in Latin, as well as Italian and French.  But also, I find German very singable.  During the German choir trip one evening in Bonn, we guests sang along with our hosts during a social gathering.  With printed words and music, I was going all out.  My host, standing next to me, leaned over and whispered, “John, do you read German?” 

Near the beginning of that trip, I was talking with my first hosts about our itinerary.  I shared a story of a college friend who had once gotten separated from his traveling group and been left behind in Cologne.  He looked at train schedules and managed to catch up with them.  In telling the story, which he often enjoyed doing, he would conclude, in rhyme, “I was alone in Cologne.  So, I went on to Bonn.”  One of my hosts noted that if I wanted to mix in a German word, I could say about my next stop, “I was allein in Gerolstein.”

I would not really feel alone in Gerolstein but found a way to use the suggestion.  When I sent the above-mentioned thank-you postcard, I wrote, “Ich ben nicht allein in Gerolostein,” before penning in my mother tongue my thanks for their hospitality.