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When my husband and I first began our European trips we traveled by car without reservations and looked for "nice", moderately priced places to stay each nite. In Denmark at the end of one day we saw a lovely (but not elegant) place. My husband left the car to check availability saying: "I hope we can afford it." I wondered why he was laughing as he returned to the car.<BR>"Nice place" was an Old Folks Retirement Home.<BR>(They'd probably take us today.)
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Dear Daphne<BR><BR> We went on tour 5 years ago to England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland. Our bus drove onto a ferry in Fishguard Wales and Traveled to Ireland. We had an old Fellow on the trip who was about 82 years old. His name was Ned. We were told to head back to the bus when the Captain gave the orders to do so. Then all the vehicles would drive off the Ferry and we would be on our way. Well the tour director noticed Ned was missing. We had to drive off the ferry anyway. We had to go to the parking lot while the tour director went back on the ferry to find Ned. When he came back with Ned in tow he was laughing. He said, would you like to know were Ned was? He was on the deck of the Ferry taking pictures of the Vehicles leaving the ferry including OUR BUS. Ned was a well traveled fun guy. We enjoyed many a pints with him on the tour.<BR><BR> Peace, Robbie
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topping. great stories
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In a small town in Germany, my friend and I had to use the toilet so we found a nice little restaurant with a sign post by the door. We opened the door nodded to the patrons sitting in the dining room (who looked a little startled) and my friend went right into the bathroom by the front door while I waited for her. A few minutes later it dawned on me that this was someone's home, not a restuarant, I started knocking on the door for my friend to come out, because I thought if I spoke I would collaspe laughing. <BR><BR>After I knocked a bit, the woman at the table held up her hand that it was ok. When my friend came out, the lady ushered me into the bathroom and then went back to the table. The "patrons" all waved goodbye as I left. My friend didn't know until we were down the street, what had happened, a friend told us that it was the homeowner's name by the door.
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One of many...<BR><BR>At the small market in the next village they have an impressive array of fresh and deli meats available at the meat counter. Germany has some really fantastic bacon, but it's usually sold in slabs instead of sliced. I saw a slab there that was about 80% meat and decided to get some. I asked for 12 slices and the girl asked me thick or thin, to which I replied very thin. Well, apparently my German is not as good as I'd hoped because I ended up with 12 slices that totalled almost 4 pounds! To thick to cook as bacon and too thin to reslice. In the end, it turns out it wasn't even smoked bacon like I thought and I ended up giving it to the neighbours.
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I was a teenager traveling through Germany in the 1970s with my mother and grandmother. When we got off a bus, a man spoke in an excited but hushed voice to my mother, but none of us understood a word since it was German. He became quite agitated and finally sputtered to my mother, "Vunderful Voman. Vunderful voman!" I was appalled and tried to physically protect my mom from his advances, while my mother was thrilled to receive the attention. Now that I am in my 40's, I understand her elation!
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My boyfriend and I decided in the absence of our French host parents to have a spaghetti dinner for our new local friends. We bought all the goods from the local supermarche, cooked up a storm and had a wonderful evening. Our guests politely thanked us for the nice dinner, and headed off. The next day I related everything to my Fr. mom, and mentioned that the only disappointment had been the sauce; while it tasted delicious, oddly enough there were pieces of bone and gristle in it. She went to the waste basket and retrieved the meat packaging...we had used the ground up refuse marked for animal use only! Yuck!
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Back in the early seventies I passed one New Year’s Eve in Saint Malo (France). I was alone but some French people staying at the same hotel dragged me along to a massive local party held in some sort of Municipal building. At midnight my fellow hotel guests welcomed in the New Year by kissing very enthusiastically everyone standing nearby -including me. In my fairly basic French – remembering that I had read at school a book by François Mauriac called “Le Baiser au Lépreaux” which means The Leper’s Kiss – I tried using “baiser” as a verb and asked whether I should “baiser” everyone in the room. Everyone burst out laughing – when used as a verb “baiser” is a somewhat impolite word meaning to make love! I then received a second round of kisses from everyone nearby on my exceeding beetroot red cheeks!
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Standing side-by-side on a corner in the Embassy district of Tokyo waiting for a signal to change:<BR><BR>There's a man from Africa probably 6'8" tall.<BR>There's me: 5'10"<BR>And an Japanese lady: 4'<BR><BR>The diversity of the human race never ceases to delight and amaze, and yes, sometimes humor me.
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A few years ago in Barcelona, we just missed the train to Montserrat and had a little time to kill so I decided to go back up to the square above the station. As I emerged an Oriental young man asked me - presumably in Spanish - for the time. I speak to Spanish so he used the universal gesture of pointing to my wristwatch. I held it out for hime to read and after he had done so I was amazed to see his open palm moving to my face.<BR>He gently touched my nose, smiled, said something and went his way. After quieting my heart, I remembered from an article in the New York Times that this was a way of saying "Thank you" in some Oriental cultures. Hardly to be expected in Barcelona.
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Great thread to be revived!<BR><BR>My addition: When I was living in the UK I broke an ankle and while recovering received an invitation to go to a cousin's wedding in Germany. I wanted to attend and made advance arrangements with airline etc. to travel with my leg in a cast. At both Stanstead and Frankfurt airports I was put in wheelchairs and assigned an "assistant" to get me through customs etc. and to the plane. The Stanstead experience was unremarkable but on my return journey in Franfurt I was assigned a trainee. This meant that her supervisor followed as well, and we acquired a third person at some point (still dont know why). They were all lovely people, but between incidents of the wheelchair not fitting into the duty-free shop and having to send one of my attendants through to buy the perfume I wanted, trouble getting the handicapped elevator to work, having the wheelchair x-rayed to make sure it didnt contain contraband (THEIR wheelchair!) and just the general experience of having a crowd of 3 uniformed people trailing after me (one pushing the wheelchair) trying to be helpful, I gradually started to feel I was in a comedy set-up. They got me to my flight safely, though!
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While living in Germany, my husband and I took a trip to Davos, Switzerland. Wanting to look like a local, I bought a very cool ski jacket. We were waiting in line to board the gondola and a very stylish woman was tapping me on the back, much to my dismay there was a huge pricetag hanging from the arm of my jacket. My husband was more embarrassed than me!
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My husband and I were booked into a VERY posh French chateau B&B. We'd driven a really long way, it had been a very hot day, and we were sweaty, dirty and wearing filthy shorts and T shirts, and we apologetically arrived rather late after getting lost. The very proper owners, French aristocrats, asked us if we would like a bite to eat, so we said yes please. We thought they just meant a sandwich, so followed them - into a palatial dining room with about 20 people in evening wear, dripping with jewellery, sitting around a huge table covered with engraved crystal, monogrammed china, silver cutlery, dozens of candles etc etc....so we sat there and ate about 8 courses looking like something the cat had dragged in! Everybody was far too polite to say anything. As if that wasn't bad enough, I proceeded to concuss myself on the way out by crashing my head against a low doorway. I don't think we'll be going back...
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We were in Trier, Germany staying in a hotel up in the hills above the town. We had the TV on Public Broadcasting to catch the news in the morning as we got ready for the day's touring. The view from our room was beautifull and looked over trees and brush down the hillside below the hotel. A program came on the TV about the Second World War and I caught bits and parts of it as we got ready. There were several scenes which showed massed tanks in attack somewhere in Europe. I didn't pay much attention, but glanced at it from time to time. I was more interested in the view. Suddenly, as I looked out from our balcony, I saw tanks, at least a hundred of them moving through the trees and the brush on the hillside below. "What the heck is this?", I said out loud. My wife came over and was just as amazed. "This doesn't make sense". What's going on?". Finally it dawned on me. The tanks were on flat bed train cars and because of the trees and brush, the flatbeds were not visible. All we could see were the tank turrets and cannon. Because of the way the tracks wound through the uneven hillside, the tanks did not appear to be in a straight line, but rather, appeared to be in some kind of attack formation. We were not under attack and we were not seeing the beginning of World War lll. But, it really gave us a start for a few minutes. Power of suggestion from the TV Program? Hmmmm.<BR><BR>This is a great thread. So many really funny ones. Keep it going.
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We were a group of four women visiting Rome. My friend, Sandy and I wanted to use the toilets in the back of the Colussium lot and our other two friends were going to wait for us outside while they checked maps.<BR>When Sandy and I finally got to the front of the slow line to the toilets, the man in charge saw we were impatient so he pointed out that we could use the men's side of the facilities because the women were taking so long. He gestured that no men were in there and that we should go on in, so we paid him and went into the men's stalls.<BR><BR>When I opened the floor to ceiling metal door to my stall to leave I was facing the backs of a long line of men at the urinals so I shut it again to wait for them to leave. Just as it was closing Sandy opened her door and we looked at each other and closed both doors. We kept doing this for a long time (at least about 20 mins) hoping the time would come when there were no men at the long line of urinals, so we could dash out. It was pretty intimindating because it was a long way to the front door.<BR><BR>In the meantime our friends outside were getting concerned, they had watched us enter the main door, but we never came out again. One of the friends went up to the same attendant and was trying to get the point across that two women never came out and that she wanted to look for us (on the ladies side of course). They went in and called our names and when we didnt answer they panicked and demanded that the attendant do something, he shrugged. <BR><BR>In the meantime, we are opening and closing our steel doors at regular intervals.<BR><BR>Our friends waited until all the stalls had been opened at least once, but a suspicious stall door never had opened, so they demanded that it be opened (it was well into the half hour point by now). At last the attendant became concerned himself and pounded on the closed stall door, the other patrons had gathered around waiting to see the outcome. Finally the attendant got a key and opened the door only to face a understandbly shocked nun who came running out.<BR><BR>Our friends said everyone just came to a standstill in the ladies room and there was dead silence. Then Sandy and I came running out of the men's side laughing hysterically.<BR><BR>The attendant yelled alot, but we didnt know what he said, good thing.
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Father and son (in his 20s) travel together to Crete. By the time they finally arrive at their small hotel in a little town outside of Khania, they are both exahusted and father has an acute case of traveller's diarrhea. Son, forgetting his Greek phrase book, manages to get someone to take him to a pharmacy which is full of locals eager to help - but no English. "Kaopectate, please" says Son. "Ka-o-pec-tate." "KA-O-PEC-TATE!". Thinking that this is a generic name that must be more or less the same in any language, son repeats it loudly in various pronunciations: "KAA-OH-PEK-TA-TAY" "KEY-AA-PICK-TITE" "KOY-OO-PEEK-TAY-TIE" "Kah-OH-pec-tat", and begins pointing to his butt, sticking it out and bending over, making agonizing moans and sighs. "Ah!" The villagers suddenly begin discussing among themselves. It's clear what medicine is needed now. With a big smile and an understanding hand clasp on Son's shoulder, one of the villagers instructs someone else to get the needed product. Triumphantly it appears from the back of the store, from the owner's private supply, it seems: a roll of toilet paper!
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Message: In 2001 we were driving From Cinque Terre to Florence, four of us in the car. Just outside of Florence was a toll booth, so we stopped at the gate. We looked and looked and could not figure out what to do. Meanwhile, cars are gathering behind us. A voice (in Italian, of course) comes out of the toll machine. I am sure he was telling us what to do. Unfortunately, because of our limited expertise in the Italian language, none of us could figure what he was saying. As the cars piled up behind us, a sterner voice and sounding exasperated(in Italian, of course) once again came on. Once again, we could not understand. Finally after a few minutes and about 30 cars later, a ticket magically appears and the gate opens. As I reach to grab it, a voice (this time in perfect English) says in a tone I will never forget, "Take the ticket and go away!" We laughed continually for about ten minutes, and that line was used throughout our trip. It is a line that lives in infamy, and still makes us all laugh just as loudly today.
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Up we go... this shouldn't stop!
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After a long day, I took the train back to Interlaken Ost station, which was the end of the line for that train. I had fallen asleep and didn't get off with the others. The conductor insisted I not try to disembark while the train was moving (although it was moving more slowly than I walk). So I ended up riding through the "train wash" - just like a giant car wash. They returned the train to the station to start the route again, and I got off in front of some very curious people wanting to know where I came from. I thanked the conductor for my "private" train ride and tried to walk out with my held up although I was dying with embarassment inside.
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My sister, cousin, and I took a 3 wk tour to Europe in 2001. We were in Paris and heading back to our hotel on the metro. At our exit-which we werent sure of, we got off- after walking a few steps, I saw a sign that said sortie & pushed my sister and cousin back on-then we immediately jumped off again realizing that sortie meant exit in French. This all took place in about 5 seconds. We were hysterically laughing because I thought sortie was the name of the stop. :)
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