I’ve been on a handful of German book tours, the last one for my travelogue/memoir My Germany. The venues have been varied and the many cities ranged from Bochum in the west to Berlin in the east.
I’ve had gracious, enthusiastic hosts in every city and been showered with gifts of all kinds including CDs, museum catalogues, books, calendar, chocolate, wine—you name it. These experiences were thrilling for the most part and sometimes comical.
Like the time I was in Heidelberg during Oktoberfest where I could sample amazing foods and drinks immersed in a joyful crowd. Back at the hotel my first night, I discovered that my CD player/sound machine needed a new battery. I didn’t have a laptop or a smart phone back then and couldn’t find my dictionary but had managed well enough at every stop.
So I headed to the nearby train station where I’d noted, on arrival, a store selling items for travelers. Approaching the counter, I said hello to the hipsterish clerk in German and continued: Ich brauche eines davon (“I need one of these”). I held up my dead battery. Ich weiß nicht, wie es auf Deutsch heißt (“I don’t know its name in German”)
Now my statement could have been expressed more elegantly, I suppose, but I found all across they country that people never corrected me if I made a grammatical mistake or if my phrasing was a bit off. More than that, they were delighted that I spoke German at all, and with a good accent. They didn’t believe I was American and II was often taken for Norwegian.
The clerk stared at me and replied that he was surprised I spoke German but didn’t know what the word was for what I needed.
I was tired, it was unseasonably hot, I’d had to get the tour organizer to change my hotel to one that had AC, and I was not as patient as I could have been. I said, more slowly and still in German, that my best language was French because my mother was a francophone. She knew German but didn’t speak it at home. I probably sounded cranky.
The clerk stared at me when I finally wound down. Then he said flatly, “Das ist eine Batterie.”
Lev Raphael is the author of 27 books in genres from memoir to mystery and has done hundreds of invited talks and readings from his work in France, Germany, Belgium, Scotland, England, Italy, Israel, Canada and all across the U.S. and Germany. He also speaks some Dutch and a little Swedish.
Image by 🌼Christel🌼 from Pixabay
Great story. Sometimes the simplest words can trip you as you learn a language. I once called a casket/coffin in German a Leichenkiste, literally a body box. The people with me laughed heartily. One then said, "Good try. We call it a Sarg."
And then there are the borrowed words. I learned my Dutch in Belgium (so, Flemish, rather, although it's mostly the same except for the accent) where orange juice is "oranjesap", lo and behold, in Holland, they just say "jus d'orange", with an accent... keep it simple :) !