In her latest column, Expatica Germany's resident German-language teacher Renate Grasstat continues to detail her efforts to learn a foreign language, Italian. It's a humbling yet rewarding experience, she says.

What was the problem actually with my learning Italian? Was it something many people experience when they deal with a language that involves quite a lot or thinking before you start speaking – provided you want to speak correctly? I think so. My own experience showed that the "overkill" is nothing to be ashamed of - and I learned from it.

When I returned to Berlin and to my class of university students on Erasmus or Socrates scholarships, a young American named Brad on the Friday of the first intensive week course, did not appear. The following Monday he said confidently: "I think four days of intensive training per week would be enough. I enjoyed a long weekend with some DVDs

in English with German subtitles and relaxed." I was not happy about that, I admit, but said nothing.

Still (and this has nothing to do with Brad) English speakers tend to underestimate the significance of learning other languages – and this undermines motivation. But it is also something I understand much better now. When I entered the school in Milan, everything was fine. Pinuccia, at the reception, talked to me in English, and we chatted a bit about language schools and language learning in general. In the classroom, I met two other Germans, a very nice student from South Africa, an extremely witty guy from Norway and a charming girl from Thailand. All of them were amenable and very bright, and all of them spoke brilliant English, which made it easy to exchange information, good advice and even some comfort when the situation was hard.

We spoke English before and after the lessons, during the breaks, and softly during the lessons, when we were unclear as to the meaning of some of the new words or structures. So this is what it feels like, I thought, remembering thousands of students in Berlin who could not stop talking in English, no matter where they came from. I always regarded it only as a lost opportunity of using the language they were actually learning. But now I saw something else: English is the lingua franca, the language that unites people from all parts of the world, thrown together by sheer coincidence, the language that can make you feel at home and reduces the stress of a new environment.

So the risk of laziness arises. Outside this small community, it did not feel the same: It did not feel good to ask at the train station, on the street, at the baker's and at the stationary shop if someone spoke English. Sometimes you met friendly faces, trying to help, sometimes just bafflement or even rejection. In any case it made me feel inferior – not being able to handle things just because of the language. I watched other people acting in an environment completely familiar to them and with perfect ease, while I – again and again - felt completely lost. "Tessera?" asked the woman at the supermarket when I had to pay. No idea. She did not ask if I needed a bag (I knew this word already), and so what else could she want to know?

"Carta tessera?" she asked again, while everybody behind me in the queue was waiting for my answer. Carta…? – Aha, maybe she had asked if I wanted to pay by credit card. "In contanti" (in cash) I answered. She looked at me slightly puzzled and thanks to her politeness, wordlessly took the money. Later I found out that "carta tessera" was a type of customer fidelity card, like we are haunted by in Germany: for example, while buying groceries at Kaiser's, the normal refrain is, "Haben Sie eine Kaisers-Kundenkarte?" (Do you have a Kaiser´s customer card?).

As a result, I tried to avoid this supermarket and stood sweating in the queue of another one, anticipating the same words again – or worse, some different incomprehensible words. And I realised that language is not only a means of communication but also a way to safeguard your self-esteem!

The best reason, though, to learn a foreign language is that it is one of the best ways of becoming familiar with the way people think and feel. When I had a problem with the mini-bar in my hotel room, I did not know exactly how to convey it to the always smiling but only Italian speaking guy who came with an almost annoying reliability every day, usually when I was not in, to take care of the fridge that was elegantly disguised as a wooden cupboard.

The door did not shut if you did not push it hard – which he obviously had not realized so far. So I tried to write a note for him in Italian – and failed. Thank God I met Marina on that evening; Marina, who was Italian, understood both German and English and would know how to put this problem into proper wording.

"What would you write in German," she asked, when I explained the problem, handing me a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote, "Bitte die Tür fest andrücken – sie schließt nicht richtig. Danke" (Please press the door tightly – it doesn't close properly. Thank you.)

For no reason at all, she burst out laughing. "It sounds so – German!" she said. Well, of course, it was German. "Bit-te – die – Tür – fest – an-drük-ken…" she read out loud and paused between the syllables like cutting a piece of wood into several small chunks. "So…- logical."

"So what would you write then," I asked. She took the pen, thought for a moment, and started to write. I saw it started with "Attenzione!" And now I had to laugh. How extremely dramatic! How Italian!

15 January 2008

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