No Foot in My Mouth

In August, The German and I spent two weeks visiting my hometown; we devoured American food, visited our favorite locales, and celebrated our recent nuptials with family and friends. One morning during this stay, my mom and I hopped into the car and headed to a nearby nail salon to get pedicures. As I got out of the vehicle and swung the car door shut, I began my routine of preparing for an interaction.

First, what was about to occur? My feet would be pampered and my toe nails painted.

Second, what vocabulary did I need to accomplish this?

Die Füße – the feet.

Der Nagellack – the nail polish.

And then it hit me. I wouldn’t need any of these words—at least not in German. I was in my hometown where the people spoke my native language. A sense of relief washed over me. I would actually be able to have a normal interaction with a service worker: no stammering, no vocabulary shortage, no confusion. I walked into the nail salon with an extra spring in my step and the knowledge that if the situation became awkward, it at least wouldn’t be due to the German language.

Foreign Language Freak Out

While living in a foreign country and learning the native language, there are many obstacles to overcome in order to achieve fluency, such as sheer laziness, complex grammar, or limited contact with natives. Since relocating to Germany, I’ve developed two major frustrations as a student of the German language:

1. Accommodating locals, who respond in English.
2. The utter uselessness of Hochdeutsch in practical application. Hochdeutsch can literally be translated to “high German” and refers to proper, standard German which is taught in language courses.

While visiting the zoo last week, both of these frustrations were triggered.

At 2:30pm, my friend and I eagerly awaited the elephant feeding time. To our excitement, a zoo worker rolled out a wheelbarrow of carrots and invited onlookers to feed the elephants. We raced the other zoo patrons—two very young girls—to the proffered food and snatched up handfuls. We fed the elephants, giggled madly, and took numerous photos. Basically, we stood out like the pair of foreigners we were.

My friend wanted to know the elephants’ names, so I approached the friendly, middle-aged zoo keeper and asked—in German—the names of the elephants. Without blinking an eye, he responded in English. In the control room located deep within my brain, the tiny workers began angrily smashing buttons and fighting each other for control to formulate my response: would I rationalize the zoo keeper’s behavior or throw a full-blown tantrum?

The zoo keeper’s response in English is easy to rationalize. After observing two noticeably American women interact for the last five minutes, he was certainly just trying to be nice and perhaps, wanted to exercise his own foreign language skills. However, the unreasonable workers in my brain’s control room were loud and boisterous—stomp your foot, narrow your eyes, and throw your hands up in exasperation. It’s impossible to improve if you’re always treated as an “English Speaker”!

Luckily, the first response won out. I thanked the zoo keeper for the information and returned to my friend. However, annoyance still lingered within me.

The second frustration—the uselessness of Hochdeutsch—presented itself after the penguin feeding demonstration. Standing outside of the water-filled enclosure, the 20-something zoo keeper who gave the presentation was available for questions from visitors. We had come directly from a Madagascan exhibit, where guests can enter the enclosure and potentially interact with the animals. Sadly, the ring-tailed lemurs were locked inside their house. After reading the available signs, we were unable to determine if the lemurs were only allowed outside periodically.

I approached the young zoo keeper, greeted him, and asked—again in German—if he knew anything about the lemurs (German: Katta). Without a word, his response was universal; his eyes grew wide and his face clearly read, “I do not understand a single word of what you’re saying.” I took a deep breath and repeated myself. The zoo keeper’s continued expression told me that I might as well have tried to communicate with him using my armpit to make fart noises.

At this point, panic sirens were blaring in my head and the control room workers were hammering each and every button within their reach. My mouth vomited an explanation, while my hands gestured madly—“The animals with the long tails. Black, white, black, white.”

Nothing.

Much to my embarrassment, words continued to spew out of my mouth and ended finally with, “Ist mein Deutsch wirklich so schlecht?!” Translation: “Is my German really so bad?!” Thankfully, a helpful onlooker then offered the word “Katta” to the bewildered zoo keeper and realization dawned on his face. After several excruciating minutes, he answered my question about the lemurs and I thanked him.

The situation was painfully embarrassing and regretted my inappropriate outburst. However, there were so many questions and insecurities raised by the situation. Is my accent so strong that native speakers can’t understand me? Or was it my limited vocabulary? Or my grammar? Perhaps it wasn’t any of these things, but simply that the German which is taught in language courses isn’t the language which is spoken on the streets of Germany. Most likely, the poor zoo keeper was overwhelmed by my limited German in combination with the absurdity of a word-vomiting, arm-flapping American.

Ten years of language courses and a bachelor’s degree in German later, I still cannot communicate with native speakers. What am I doing with my life?

Lesen Sie diesen Blog-Post hier auf deutsch!

Climb Every Mountain

There are good and bad days of learning a foreign language. Since moving to Germany, my journey to become fluent has been filled with both. There have been overwhelmingly good experiences: receiving compliments from strangers on my abilities, speaking German for an entire afternoon with The German’s parents, and successfully completing my first call to a business.

However, there have also been absolutely terrible experiences: asking a question and not understanding a single word of the response, failed exchanges with neighbors, and in general, becoming completely overwhelmed by the conversations of native speakers. On these bad days, it feels like the German language is suffocating—tearing against my throat, abusing my ear drums, and congesting my vision. The sheer distance between my current level of German and fluency doesn’t seem daunting, but impossible.

On bad days, a complaint or two to The German will usually lift my spirits. On the really bad days, a good cry might be just what the doctor orders.

But at the end of the day, the most important thing is that I pick myself up, brush off the bad feelings, and continue along the rocky, steep path of becoming fluent in a foreign language.

Lesen Sie diesen Blog-Post hier auf deutsch!

This comic comes from Itchy Feet.