The most nerve-wracking aspect of travel? Speaking a foreign language

The most nerve-wracking moments I have when travelling to a country that is not English-speaking is trying to speak with a local person. I’m in a dilemma. Do I try the few words I know of Spanish, German or French – and risk making a fool of myself – or default to English since chances are they will have better English than I their language? Sure, tour books and travel experts suggest speaking in the local tongue. Easier ‘said’ than done. I have long been studying French, German and Spanish (Duolingo). But when I get to Spain, Germany or France (or even Quebec) my mouth clams up. Partly it’s being thrown into a situation where I have to dredge up a language vocabulary on the spur of the moment and try to remember the words. It induces panic. And after fumbling with one or two words I default to English or, just as often, the other person converts. Then after a few minutes and away from the scene, I remember perfectly well what I could have said. So, despite at least a knowledge of several dozen words and phrases each in French, German and Spanish – and about five in Greek! – the only ones I tend to remember are very basic ones but at least deliver for the most common interactions. “Excuse me”, for example, is “Entschuldigung” in German and “Discuple” in Spanish. "Good day" in German is “Guten Tag and” “Buenos dias” in Spanish. “Breakfast” is “Frühstück” in German and “Desayuno” in Spanish, not to mention “Petit dejeuner” in French though a Quebec friend says that’s not the term used there. The most Spanish I have spoken was recently in Mexico City where surprisingly very little English is spoken. It forced me to recall as much Spanish as I knew. My hotel room shower didn’t have cold water so it was, “La dircha (should be ducha) tiene solo agua caliente.” It really got the point across and I congratulated myself on speaking a complete sentence. In fact, I love it when someone doesn’t speak English since it makes me use that country’s language. But I still feel uncomfortable even using extremely common terms like “have a good day” - in French “Bonne journée.” My Quebec friend makes goodnatured fun of my lack of French. One time I tried to speak in full sentences and he burst out laughing. So, as you see, you can’t win in the “language wars!” Finally, I feel guilty when it’s the other person always having to default to English, as if I’m a privileged English person who doesn’t have to do any of the mental work. I have one friend who waltzes into countries and never tries to speak one word of a foreign language and I think how rude. But maybe they've concluded it just isn’t worth the hassle. Rick Steves suggests always have a vocabulary of a dozen or so words and foreigners respect when you speak their language. I agree. But the difficulty, embarrassment and anxiety of trying to speak another language is something never discussed in travel guides. For me, it’s always been the most awkward aspect of travel. 

- Ron Stang, Windsor Ontario Canada, a frequent traveller 

Canadian disabled facilities a joke compared to the UK

Just returned from London and the contrast between handicapped accessibility facilities in the UK and back at home is remarkable. For some reason, North Americans never got the accessibility thing right. Bathrooms are hindered by heavy doors, stalls at the end of the stalls row, low toilets, inadequate or distant grab bars, too high sinks and soap and hand dryers too far away for someone to reach in a wheelchair. And no consistency. Every “handicapped” bathroom - whether in service stations, restaurants or hotels (ONroute has now labelled them "Inclusive" as incl different genders) – seems different, with varying levels of thought or not, put into them. Hurray for the UK, where consistency rules and we found the best in accessible toilets (photo). Whereas in North America officials appear never to have consulted anyone who’s actually handicapped in Britain these rooms had to be designed by those most astute in disability issues and that would be “disabled” people themselves. Toilets are of sufficient height, sinks low (in the National Portrait Gallery a sink could actually be moved up and down at the push of a button), and all accessories like paper towels within easy reach. But there were more - red call strings for emergencies, sometimes trapezes to provide safe transfers, even cushions (photo) to add comfort. On the street, even our iconic London black Cab had an extended ramp to accommodate wheelchairs. Amazingly, our hotel’s bathroom was perhaps bigger than our main room! It astounds us that North American restrooms are so poorly designed, despite decades of supposed handicap awareness and endless streams of government propaganda touting their accessability bonafides. It’s all BS! Another great thing about Britain is the attention to public infrastructure like sidewalks, where curb cuts are almost all universally seamless or flush with the street pavement. Generally, there seems to be more awareness in Britain about disabled needs. At the Tate Modern art galley signs beside elevator (lift) doors indicate “not all handicaps are visual.” Even pubs had small floor lifts to go a few feet from ground to mezzanine. After returning from Britain our first forays into accessible facilities in Canada were laughable. Our Holiday Inn Express pretty much did live up to its accessible description (though still not as good as Britain and my partner couldn’t reach the soap) but service centres along the 401 were jokes. Besides inadequate or poorly positioned grab bars there were next to no raised bars on the other sides of the toilet that could be lowered for more support. So next time you hear a politician brag about the progress in handicapped facilities, ask someone who is actually disabled. (A newspaper letter writer suggested a better term is “diffabled” so the “able boded” community gets the hint.) 

Speaking of accessible hotel rooms, Booking.com gave us a bum steer stating the Quality Hotel near Montreal’s Dorval airport would have an accessible room. We got to Reception and they had nothing on record indicating that. So we went next door to the Hilton Garden Inn. Nope, no rooms. I got on my phone and called the Sheraton which was associated with Hilton Garden. They found us the last accessible room – at the same hotel! However, there was a $15.99 booking fee. The hotel room itself was $342.37. Breakfast? “At that rate there is no breakfast,” replied the dead faced Reception clerk. By contrast for $281.88 at the Holiday Inn Kingston West we got a sprawling room and one of the best hotel breakfasts incl impeccably cooked scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages.

- Ron Stang, Windsor Ontario Canada, a frequent traveller