Foreign Accents

You know, when you think of England, you don't really conceptualize it as a foreign country. Be it the common language, the common history, the "special relationship," England just seems like a little outpost of Anglo-American culture over there next to Europe. Emphasis on the "Anglo," of course. Sure, it has its quirks, like driving on the left hand side of the road, the Queen, tea, and softcore porn on page 3 of readily available newspapers. But on the whole, not too far from America.

I think for me, this was especially so, given my history with this place. But in walking around the past month or so, I've come to be explicitly reminded that this is a foreign country. And for all that I try to blend in, I am explicitly and immediately recognizable as a foreigner. I think a good example of this came yesterday at a coffeeshop before class.

Me: I'll have a small skinny mocha please. To take away.

Lady: Milk?

Me: No, mocha

Lady: You want a glass of milk? (incredulous look)

Me: No, I want a caffe mocha

Lady: Oh, mocha. Cream?

Me: Sure, whatever

I ended up with a ceramic mug of mocha, topped with about 5 feet of whipped cream. And not redi-whip, I mean thick whipped cream. Mind you, I had to be in class in 10 minutes. I was in no mood to draw more attention to myself, and there was a huge line behind me, so I just threw it back like a champ and walked to class. Consuming that much sugar and caffeine in about 2 minutes is never a good idea. I kind of had these tremors going on for the next two hours, and it surely wasn't because investment dispute resolution is riveting.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I kind of have a prozac-ish/Garrison Keilor voice going on. It's not exactly amenable to yelling at people, which probably explains the daily trials I have in noisy coffeeshops or bars. But I think I speak fairly clearly. Hell, I even have a hint of a British twinge in some of my pronounciations. But a hint doesn't cut it here. The second I open my mouth, I may as well have planted a giant Perkins size American flag on my head. And as you can imagine, those giant flags do impede communication.

Also, in fairness, the woman at the coffeeshop sounded like she was eastern European. But I also think it's fair to say that a lot of our trouble came from my apparently ridiculous American accent. Two countries separated by a common language, that is a true statement.

What is really hilarious is hearing European folks trying to do an American accent. I mean, American speech sounds so bland in comparison to all these different accents, but of course, that's because I speak it. We met these two Irish guys at Ye Olde Trip in Notts last weekend, and we all attempted our best Irish accent for them. In return, one guy gave us his American accent, which consisted of him bitching out an imaginary flight attendant.

"Where is my blanket? I asked for that blanket 10 minutes ago! I want a coca-cola and a hamburger!"

I wish I made that last sentence up, but I'm pretty sure it happened. Needless to say, it was pretty damn funny. And pretty good, I must admit.

Anyways, in about 8 hours, I'll bring my traveling roadshow of mangled Franglais to Brussels, capital of Europe. A responsible traveler would probably bring a French phrasebook. Myself, I'll just rely on the French that I last studied four and a half years ago. I really do regret the deterioration of my French skillz. I had really hoped to become fluent. But I think Madame Deer would humor my attempts. Hopefully Belgique will do so too.

If all else fails, there is always the fallback phrase: une biére, s'il vous plait. It worked in Austria.