WILL TAKE DIRECTION — PLEASE
At no stage in our “Best of the Balkans” planning sessions with our travel agent had the question of language arisen. All other aspects were well covered, including the geographical characteristics of each country and their history; along with what food and drink were typical of the region and what it should cost.
Even our friends who raved about places like Prague, Vienna, Zagreb, Montenegro, Herzegovina and Split never once hinted that communication was a major problem.
We had assumed regions attracting millions of international tourists (evidently 70% of their GDP is sourced as a direct result of tourism) could at least be expected to have a smattering of English.
We suddenly found ourselves communicating with frenetic hand signals and mumbling words, hoping to find some purchase. Only a rude, “Sorry, no Ingleesh”. And as for signage, like street names, most without vowels, made getting to places stressful.
In Vienna, we were told by a hotel receptionist that we simply had to go to Kaerntnerstrasse, the main drag for “vonderfool” shopping. How do we get there? Easy, she said, take the train. Where’s the station? Two blocks away.
So off we went and boarded the first train that pulled in. Then we studied the map, waiting to spot the name of the street we were heading for, assuming it would also be the name of the station. Wrong.
Panic set in, so we jumped off at the next station, assuming we’d be able to get directions. Wrong again. We approached a smartly dressed gentleman, a German with a strong accent. He was helpful and asked the right questions.
The problem was that our answers were wrong.
Like, “What station are you heading to?” Dunno,” I answered. “From what station do you come?” Drat. “What place are you on your way to?” Our collective brains suffered rigour mortis. We were unable to recall the name of the shopping street. Dunno, I answered.
Still keeping his cool, he said, “Let me understand. You don’t know where you come from?”
Ja, I mean, no. “And you don’t know the station you are to go to?” I nodded.
“And you don’t know the place where you are on the way to?” Ja, I whispered. He looked us up and down and vigorously shook his head. I believed he muttered “Dummkopf” before disappearing among the other passengers boarding the train, leaving two lonely souls stranded on an island.
Thankfully, this would not be for long. A lady train conductor appears on the platform and my Heidi flew at her.
“You must help us. We’re lost. My hubby is old and I’m blonde,” she said.
It did the trick. With a giggle, she asked, “What’s the name of your hotel?”
“Donauwalzer!” we chorused. She pulled out her cellphone and googled the hotel, its address and nearest station.
Home and dry, we were spotted by the receptionist.
“How was your shopping?” she asked.
“Vunder fool!” I replied.
Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photo of yourself.