There is one aspect to travel that can be both insightful and unbelievably frustrating. Being understood is something that every one of us takes for granted every day. When you travel to a destination where the main language isn’t your native tongue that security blanket of understanding is unceremoniously yanked away and you’re left out in the cold. At times this can be a culturally immersive experience where you get tapped into the groove of a culture by having it flowing all around you. On the other hand not being understood and not understanding is bloody frustrating and hard work.
Today while I was eating lunch at a rather posh golf course I experienced, or at least observed this phenomenon first hand. Seated at the table adjacent to me was a young Japanese couple who spoke not a word of English. The waiter didn’t possess an ounce of understanding or compassion for their situation – he just used the time honored tradition of just increasing the volume of his voice as a means of interpretation. They sat and looked more and more confused every time the waiter said, “Cesar salad, CESAR SALAD, C E S A R S A L A D!!!” I had particular empathy for them as the last place that I traveled to where I couldn’t be understood was in Japan.
The irony – it was a Japanese restaurant.
Aloha,
Sk
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