FREIBURG, Germany — If there is one thing I have mastered on my year abroad, it’s definitely not the German language. I have mastered the art of charades. Unfortunately, a German-English dictionary is not always handy, so I must resort to acting out vocabulary words. No place is too ridiculous for a game of charades. Incidentally, a conversation can turn into a work-out with continuous dramatic motions to act out unknown vocabulary words.
Despite my amazing charade skills, embarrassing and awkward situations are inevitable. While eating breakfast with a roommate one morning, she asked if I wanted more eggs. I replied, “Nein, danke. Ich bin voll. (No, thank you. I’m full).” When Germans refer to being full, they mean full of alcohol. So when she asked if I wanted more to eat, I essentially said, “No thanks! I’m drunk!”
One of the faults I have found in the German language has been its lack of the word “to put.” German is very specific; while an English speaker can just put something on a shelf, Germans have to know how you did it. Germans cannot simply put things places; it must be specified whether you stood it upright, laid it down, hung it up, stabbed it with a stick, whatever.
As a native English speaker, I think this specificity is a royal pain. I thought I had outsmarted the German language when I discovered the verb “platzen.” I thought it was the closest German word to “put”. When my roommate asked me what I did with the milk on the counter, I told her I put it in the refrigerator, using the verb “platzen.” When she couldn’t talk for five minutes due to laughter, I figured out that “platzen” is not equal to “to put.” Apparently, “platzen” means “to burst.” And I said I burst the milk in the refrigerator.
The German language is made more difficult because many words are socially unacceptable because they were used by the Nazis in the Second World War. While certain words are clearly tied to Hitler’s regime, other words are not obviously so. My friend John, an American, was yelled at because he used the word “Krystalnacht.” “Krystalnacht” refers to “Night of the Broken Glass,” Nov. 9, 1938. On this evening, the windows of homes, stores and temples belonging to Jewish people were broken throughout Germany, among other destruction. In American textbooks, the Night of the Broken Glass is referred to as “Krystalnacht.” John, however, learned the hard way that “Krystalnacht” is an absolutely unacceptable term in Germany today. Instead, the Night of the Broken Glass is referred to as “Pogrom,” which implies mass destruction.
Butchering the language is a two-way street, however. Asa, a British friend of mine, contracted an infection from a cut on the back of his calf. When the cut turned a color that flesh should not be, he headed to the doctor. The doctor realized Asa spoke English natively and tried to make things easy for Asa by explaining the problem in English. The doctor should have used German. The doc meant to say that the cut was infected, and the infection needed to be removed. Instead, the doctor told Asa that his leg was infected, and the leg needed to be removed. In a panic, Asa called his father in London, who began to make preparations to fly his son home to England that very evening. Luckily, the doctor switched back to German, and Asa understood. After a very minor surgery, I am happy to tell you that Asa has both legs today.
The moral of my tale is, patience and the ability to laugh at yourself are key to learning a foreign language abroad. At the end of the day, German is like everything else; it’s a lot easier after a few beers.
Joan Cleven ([email protected]) is a junior majoring in English literature and German literature.
