Stereotypes are Efficient

Scooter and I have landed in the big, bad ´ol city of Berlin (and by "big and bad," I mean that the damn city is roughly eight times as large as Paris.) I´m guessing this ain´t gonna be no walking tour city. As you may have noticed, my English grammar has taking quite a nosedive of late - I can attribute this solely to the extreme stress placed upon both my tongue and brain by the verbal calisthenics of "getting by" in Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, Austria, the Czech Republic, and now Germany. Unlike all of the Aussies, Canucks, and Brits that I´ve met, who seem content with the fact that most Europeans speak at least some English and therefore see no use in embarassing themselves with poor tildes and umlauts, I really have tried to learn at least one phrase in every language I´ve encountered and to use that phrase at least once (to be fair to myself...I tried learning multiple phrases in every language but Czech, where I only learned how to say "Mluvite anglicky?" aka "Do you speak English?").

My attempts at sounding suave in the romantic, germanic, and slavic languages have produced a wide variety of responses, depending on my navigational position at the time. By far, the most common response to my verbal utterings was to respond to me in English. In Spain, I could comfort myself with the notion that the general populace simply didn´t like my Mexican Spanish, and preferred to speak to me in English, despite the fluidness and grace of my pronunciation. During the rest of my trip, however, I could claim no such delusions - my tongue is evidently more talented in my mind than in actual practice. The French, true to stereotype, were by far the most rude about my lack of proficiency in their country´s language - almost every English interaction was preceded by a less-than-amused smile or grimace on their part. I would perhaps feel slightly guilty about my lack of communication, except that I observed a French woman today asking a Czech man, in French, where she could find the bus to the airport. When he appeared to not understand her inquiry, she repeatedly yelled it at him...in French. Any compunction I may have had to bother with learning French pleasantries has now vanished completely, only to be replaced with a desire to state something arcane and utterly indecipherable the next time I run into a Frenchie (Perhaps, "I need más Anglicky shingles for your weinerschnitzel. Cuanto korunys bitte?).

(Helpful sign, but I could use the help more after I leave the American sector, thanks...)