Every Volcanic Cloud Has a Silver Lining

Let's be honest, my Spanish pretty much stinks. I mean, considering the amount of time I spent in Spain (although to be fair, I spent most of my time with other English speaking foreigners), I feel like I should be further along than I am. Don't get me wrong, I can get by. I can communicate my questions, find myself to la aeropuerto or whatever but don't expect me to discuss why the United States doesn't have decent health care around a lively dinner table. I, apparently, am a slow learner when it comes to languages.

So for the past few weeks, I've been trying to make myself sponge-like, picking up a few German words here and there. Yet, for all I know, when my German friends speak in their native tongue, they could be having a whole conversation about what a dolt I am. I have no clue. Being surrounded by a language that renders one helpless (and oftentimes, hopeless), it's hard not to want to sometimes shut down completely, especially when your mind is somewhere else, like how to secure a (*@&%! Anmeldebestätigung.

So the other day, I was a bit caught off guard when a couple approached me near Museum Island, asking me in English, where the Pergamonmuseum was. (Incidentally, as a person who is not a huge fan of museums, this one is kind of awesome.) Not clear on my own location, I stammered out where I thought it might be. As I watched them stare at my mouth and listened to them slowly repeat back what I was saying, I couldn't help but notice the Spanish accent. I also realized that English was not their strong suit. As Spanish is for me, English was just better for them than attempting any German. So I switched.

"Vamos a ver....creo que necesitan cruzar el puente y entonces..." and I was off. I was screwing up my verb tenses. I was using the informal "tu" instead of "usted" but I could tell from their faces that I wasn't offending. They were just thrilled that I was making their lives at all easier. And I realized just how much this mattered when they explained that they were stuck in Berlin longer than planned, due to the ole' volcanic ash problem. (Talk about a phrase I never thought I'd use in my life, "the volcanic ash problem.")

I also realized how good it felt to communicate in a foreign language, to actually be able to use basic vocabulary and articulate my point. I suddenly did not feel horribly embarrassed about my elementary Spanish.

"Well then," I said, "Espero que te gusta Berlin!" For a brief second, I shamed myself for the grammatical errors in that sentence but as they smiled and waved goodbye, I knew it really didn't matter. I also was reminded that it's not impossible for me to learn another language at this stage in the game. (Sometimes, I convince myself that my brain is simply not open to such new information). Granted, it has taken me years to be able to hand out some basic directions in Spanish but I guess there is some hope for me in learning a bit of German. I mean, I do stare at the pink post-its every day. And I just learned how to say, "That's a shitload of butter" when my roomie and I were baking yesterday. Useful phrases, no?

Day by day, phrase by phrase, curse word by curse word, I might even be able to give some German tourist directions to the museum someday. Now that's being hopeful.