Clueless Americans, Faux Pas, or "Guess Who's Lost As Shit?"

This is the first in a series of posts on the MCLU (Megan, Matt, Me) trip to Europe.

Being sophisticated international travelers (I'd never been outside North America), we opted to start our travels off in London, where the locals at least speak English, and we wouldn't have any trouble understanding them. Sure, there are foreign peculiarities that arise in British English, but having read Bill Bryson's Notes from a Small Island, I at least knew that a counterpane was a bedspread. Which is why I was mildly perturbed when I had some trouble ordering in restaurants.

(at a diner)
Me: Is this cheese sandwich hot?
Waitress: No, it's cold.
Me: Could we make it hot? Like grilled cheese?
Waitress: ...Grilled?
Me: Um, toasted? On both sides? With cheese in the middle?

(at an Irish pub)
Bartender: Would yeh liek ennehthang else?
Me: Would I like an L? [confused stare]
Bartender: Would you. Like. Ennehthang. Else?
Me: Would I...oh! No, thanks. [hastily hands over a colorful non-green bill]
Bartender: Erm...we don't take euros.
Me: Oh, so sorry!
Bartender: Yeh just stepped off the plane, didn't yeh?
Megan: [whispers] Fresh off the plane!

For the most part though, I navigated the British mangling of the English language just fine. Matt, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get people to understand his New Jersey.

Matt: Could I get the mint chocolate chip?
Ice cream vendor: You wanted strawberry?

Matt: Can I get two one-pound lemonades?
Vendor: [hands him two cans of lemonade]

Pity. Well, so long as we don't open our mouths, we blend in perfectly, yes? This is why we were constantly offered unsolicited help. Be it at Barbican Hall for a London Symphony concert or at the Eurostar station, an attendant would approach our friendly flock and proceed to give directions to the American newbs. I was most impressed with the speed at which we were singled out at King's Cross. "Looking for Platform 9 and 3/4?" asked a conductor. "Right this way around the corner!"


Then there were the times when we were actually lost. For one afternoon, we decided to have an independent exploration period, since Matt wanted to see the London Zoo, Megan wanted to see the Freud Museum, and I had no interest in seeing either of those and planned to look for kayaking in Regent Park instead. I was a tad concerned about Megan's lack of directional sense, but she seemed confident enough. So, armed with a book of maps, Megan gamely set off on her half-hour walk to the Freud Museum. Matt and I browsed a record store, took a leak, then began strolling toward Regent Park, whereupon we found a frustrated Megan standing on the corner, fuming "Guess who's lost as shit??" I literally began to ROFL. Several passerbyers began to rubberneck.

All this, however, was topped by our scenic excursion to the East End. We wanted to check out Brick Lane, the Indian-Bangladeshi district on the outskirts of Central London, located in what might be called a more adventurous terrain for tourists. According to the Fodor's guidebook, the Bethnal Green tube stop alighted right at Brick Lane. After surfacing though, a second glance at the map revealed that two Bethnal Green stops were marked on the map, and we were a ways away from the correct one. No matter, it was a fine day for a promenade through the East End, and we had no qualms about taking pictures as a couple BMWs driven by Pakistani drug warlords passed us by.

Later, we noticed that Fodor's warned against traveling through the Bethnal Green and Whitechapel neighborhoods, warning that "muggings are a frequent occurence in daytime" and "tourists should be on their guard." It is a good thing that Matt (toting a camera bag) looks like he'd be tough in a fight.

Less you think we were completely helpless, I shall point out that I managed to give directions in Paris to a tourist looking for Hemmingway's old cafe. And, while looking for the train to Versailles, we inadvertently ended up leading a small group of Indonesian tourists to the correct train.

Hopefully these contributions helped make up for the time that we were admonished with "Silence, silence!" while in our Paris hotel room. I swear, these were the thinnest walls I've ever seen.