When I was 13, my uncle was in the Air Force, stationed in Germany, and I was lucky enough to tag along with my grandparents and be able to visit him for a month. I didn’t appreciate Germany nearly as much as I would have if I had gone as an adult, but I did enjoy myself. I remember loving the cobblestone roads, and knowing, even then, that they had way more character than our paved roads. Of course, the cobblestone roads are narrow, which made driving difficult, but they were pretty.
One time, my grandfather was cooking something, and they sent me to the store for mayonnaise. It was no big deal because almost everyone speaks at least some English (and I didn’t speak a word of German). When I went to the store, I couldn’t find the mayo anywhere, so I asked someone.
The word doesn’t translate, and I eventually figured out that they don’t have mayonnaise in Germany, or at least they didn’t back then. I remember going to the store and feeling like it was a big adventure, but then being so frustrated when I couldn’t seem to make myself understood. That was my first taste of what it felt like not to speak the language, and it was a humbling experience.
Prompt brought to you by the Daily Post.