Coming so soon after the Beijing Olympics, a time when I regularly admired the excellent English language skills of many of the athletes, I understand that if you’re successful on a world sporting level, it would undeniably be useful to speak good English. A lot of media interviews will be in English, and it’s become the international language by which you communicate with people from other language backgrounds too. But that’s a long way from making it a requirement to success in your sport.

The biggest outcry against the LPGA policy has come from Korea, because a lot of South Korean golfers have become successful in recent years and are on the LPGA circuit. Some of them speak great English, some only a bit, and use an interpreter for many media interviews. So what? I ask. Do any of the foreign journalists think to speak to them in Korean instead? Of course not, because the number of native English speakers who have been able to successfully learn to speak Korean is tiny!

I really dislike the arrogance of the English native speaker who thinks that everyone else should learn English. Most of these people don’t speak a second language themselves and have no idea how difficult it is. And it would be difficult enough for them to learn Spanish, or French, say, languages with lots in common with English. Imagine if they had to learn Korean, with an entirely different writing system, no common vocabulary and an utterly different grammar system. It would be a struggle.

So in answer to the title of this post - my opinion is a strong NO! I appreciate that it would be an advantage for international sports professionals to speak English. But until all the English speakers are prepared to learn another language now and again too, it seems completely wrong to me to expect that of others. Just my loud and angry two cents worth.

When I wrote Teenie’s name on the whiteboard, adding her to the list of all the other students in the class at that time, I unwittingly made a faux pas that I didn’t discover for several weeks. It’s often the case in our school that blue and black whiteboard markers are out of stock, and I end up with only a red marker for a week or two. And so it happened that I wrote Teenie’s name in red.

Teenie comes from Hong Kong, and there, as in many other Asian cultures, you should never write anybody’s name using red ink. As far as I understand it, it’s connected to death. I’d vaguely heard this custom before, but obviously hadn’t remembered it when I wrote her name up that day. The only reason I found out was because another Asian student politely mentioned it to me; when I asked the usually outspoken Teenie about it, she politely told me that because I was her teacher, she wasn’t able to tell me. Another cultural norm - high respect of teachers - leaving the problem unsolved for a long time. Poor Teenie! I apologised profusely and immediately rewrote her name in another colour, and in the future I’ll definitely be more careful about which pen I’m using.

As far as I can tell, these tours are informal arrangements that are promoted by bloggers posting about their experiences and backpackers telling other travellers. When there are so many beautiful places to see in Colombia, why would you want to see where cocaine is grown and made?

I’ve got quite a few Colombian friends here in Australia, and I’m constantly hearing from them that when they meet new people and say they’re from Colombia, inevitably someone will mention drugs. It’s such a pity, because all the Colombians I know are really proud of their country, and ashamed of the bad reputation it’s working to fix.

Fortunately, the news.com.au article does end with another opinion, and this is the one I hope any reader here will remember if they even consider for a second going on a cocaine tour. It’s the opinion of owner of the Platypus Hotel in Bogota:

The production of cocaine significantly damages the environment of Colombia. And money spent on cocaine goes directly to support groups fighting in Colombia’s internal conflict, leading to assassinations, massacres and one of the world’s largest refugee problems

My first memories of Zwiebelkuchen are from outdoor parties like the annual wine festival where local vineyards sell their products and a few food stalls help soak up all the wine tasting. As you’d expect, there are plenty of onions in Zwiebelkuchen, along with a cheesy, cream-based mix that holds the onions together inside a doughy pastry. I promise you that it’s utterly delicious and worth a try if you’re ever in Germany or in a German restaurant that offers it. It’s particularly a specialty of the south-west region of Germany.

Eating Zwiebelkuchen has more than a culinary effect on me. It’s one of those feeds that seems so tied up with the cultural experience I first had while learning about it that I feel transported back to evenings in Germany every time I eat it. It’s hearty and filling, typical of most German meals - I’m not sure why German cuisine is like that, but it’s definitely good for winter, and in fact any time I feel I’m lacking a bit of strength I’ll get a craving for a good serving of German food.

From her perspective, there was no particularly good reason to allow someone without any money (and perhaps in some trouble either medically, politically or otherwise) to come to live in our country, and support them. Taking in refugees is something I’d just grown up with and never thought twice about - it’s just what wealthier nations do to help people who’ve really got nowhere else to go, although of course we never taken everybody who wants to settle here and certainly have our problems with the whole issue, too - I’m not saying Australia’s perfect.

In any case, using the ever-useful resources of Wikipedia, I discovered that there are less than 20 countries who regularly accept refugees from refugee camps (meaning they are usually from Africa, the Middle East, and for a while there, former Yugoslavia). These countries include what I’d call the usual suspects like Australia, New Zealand, the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Ireland, the Scandinavian countries and the Netherlands, and a few more surprising inclusions like Benin, Brazil, Burkina Faso and Mexico.

When one of my Korean students reported the news that the rate of increase of Koreans becoming millionaires was just announced to be the fourth highest in the world, I suggested that Korea might be ready to take in a few refugees. I didn’t get any takers but I guess that just like my (opposite) thinking on the subject, they need some time to think about it. I’m constantly surprised by the assumptions I make about what’s normal in the world and I have to keep reminding myself that nothing’s really normal, anywhere!

Like me, Hamish Beaton - “Mr Hamish” to his students - went to Osaka to teach English. Unlike me, he already spoke good Japanese, and was hired in the JET programme which puts native speakers in Japanese schools to assist local English teachers. He ended up in a junior high school in Kanan town, south-east Osaka. With a great attitude and a willingness to try new things and meet new people, Beaton had three years of joy in Japan, and reading his account of it really took me back to my Osakan days too.

Describing life in Japan from the point of view of a foreigner is a tricky business. There are all manner of what seem like unusual rituals and habits there, but to describe them without making any judgement takes a special art, and Beaton does this well. The contrast to what I call a “bad foreigner” is evident when Beaton mentions another teacher who arrives from England and refuses to try any of the local food or indeed make any effort to fit in. Beaton, on the other hand, is ready to embrace all things Japanese and as a result makes countless friends and is taken on plenty of special excursions, dinner outings and even camping trips.

Above all, what I noticed in Beaton’s book is the same eagerness to help the foreigner that the Japanese people I met always showed. A Japanese person doesn’t just point out the direction you need to go if you ask where the bank is - they take you there and introduce you to the manager. They don’t buy you a bunch of flowers for your birthday - they find out which major electrical appliance you don’t have and order one for you. There’s a generosity of spirit that is hard to match.

For those who haven’t spent time in Japan, Beaton’s book will be both interesting and hilarious - take, for example, an uncomfortable dinner with his student’s family when the father demands to know more about Beaton’s tastes in pornography. And there are the usual foreigners’ antics with late nights in downtown Osaka, too much alcohol and ending up asleep on a train that ends up the other side of the city.

With thousands and thousands of native English speakers heading to Japan every year to teach English, this isn’t the first book I’ve read on the subject - but it’s the one that’s captured the experience most accurately.

These days, despite the fact that Moscow’s become one of the most expensive cities on earth, the local authorities can’t keep up a supply of hot water all year. Each district of Moscow experiences a shutdown of the hot water system for around three weeks (sometimes shorter, the authorities say …). Of course, when I come from a country where each house must choose its own method for creating hot water - here in sunny Perth, I’m happy with my solar heater, but that mightn’t work so well in Moscow - it’s odd for me to imagine the hot water being controlled by the state.

When I <a href=”http://sameskymagazine.com/2008/06/staying-with-locals-in-russia/”>homestayed</a> in Vladivostok a few years ago, my guidebook told horror tales of electricity failures even in the far east’s long winter, and I distinctly remember the incredibly thick fur coats my host family kept at the door ready to deal with minus forty degree (Celsius) temperatures. It made me start to appreciate that Soviet-era infrastructure might not be the most reliable. I must have been lucky during my two summer stays in Moscow to be in the right district at the right time, as I always had hot water. If not, perhaps I would’ve been invited to a shower party - apparently it’s important to have friends in different districts and then they’ll invite you round for dinner and a hot shower.

Homestay Hosts - Widows and Families

In my experience, a majority of homestay hosts across Russia are middle-aged widows who host foreigners to make a small income. Apparently a lot of Russian men die relatively young, and that’s left a large number of widows who find it hard to make ends meet. Enter the job of homestay host - get some income, meet some foreigners, be less lonely.

I’ve also stayed with several families, who seemed to be hosting tourists for similar reasons - a little side income, and sometimes introducing their children to foreigners, or having a chance to practice English.

Staying with Valentina in St Petersburg

One summer, my mother and I spent some time in both Moscow and St Petersburg. Our second stop was to stay with Valentina, a long-term St Petersburg resident who lived just across the bridge from the center of the city. Like my previous experiences, we ended up sleeping in a converted study on less-than-comfortable sofa beds, but Valentina met us every morning with a cheery cup of tea and Russian-style pancakes for breakfast.

She spoke a little English, and my mother a little Russian, and between them they found out all kinds of facts about each other. Valentina had a male friend who visited a couple of times, although we weren’t formally introduced - but my mother did find her excuses to walk out to the kitchen and get a glimpse of him.

The best part of staying with Valentina were the tips she gave us. Without her, we never would have found our favourite St Petersburg lunch spot, the Laima Bistro. It was mostly filled with locals and had fantastic food at a cheap price - we got addicted to the garlic rye toast there, so we had to try to avoid breathing over anyone the whole time we were in St Petersburg.

Valentina was also pleased when we spent some hours touring round the incredible rooms of the Hermitage. And I was jealous when she explained that she goes there every couple of months, on foot, to enjoy some paintings and see a different part of the gallery. Since I read that it would take several lifetimes to properly look at every item in their collection, even Valentina hasn’t seen everything, but she’s lucky enough to have seen more than I ever could.

Pros and Cons of Homestaying in Russia

My two cents worth on homestaying is simply that it’s a must. Not every homestay flat will be pretty or even that clean, and not every host will be as wecloming as Valentina. But the potential for getting to know the local ways is a thousand times more than if you stay in a hotel. Add to that the fact that it’s usually cheaper and includes breakfast (and sometimes dinner!) and for me, there’s no other way to stay in Russia.

I thought in Europe, things would be easier. But I was in for another surprise, one that I was chatting with my students about earlier today. It took me nearly 30 years to discover that not everybody uses “.” for a decimal point.

Yep, imagine my surprise when I discovered that if something costs nearly two Euros in many parts of Europe, it’ll be marked 1,99. But wait, it gets worse: big numbers can be clarified by using what I think is a decimal point, so a million can be written 1.000.000. The same applies in South America where the Spanish and Portuguese speakers use a similar system.

If this is a suprise to you too, the good news is that most of the time the context reminds you of what the number really is. If we’re talking about the population of a country and it’s written as 5.000.000, it’s pretty clear we’re talking millions. Similarly, a price per kilo label for oranges that says 4,32 is obviously 4 Euros and 32 cents. If you’re measuring a room, though, and it’s 4,326 metres long, you might do a double-take when you see that on a plan.

Whoever I speak to, they always argue the point (no pun intended) that their version of using points or commas is the most logical. It’s another case of nobody’s right: it’s just how you were brought up. Well, that’s my $0.02 worth anyway. Or is that my $0,02?

The problem with invite is definitely best illustrated by the bad experience of a bunch of German students I used to teach. They were on a business trip in Brazil, meeting some management counterparts in a factory the German company had just acquired. They were all speaking English with each other, since Portuguese and German weren’t languages they had in common.

On the last evening, the Brazilian managers invited the Germans out for dinner. And they used, in English, a phrase like “We’d like to invite you out for dinner.”

The Germans heard one key word, invite, and translated it to the German, einladen. In German, that means that the Brazilians were going to be paying for the dinner. The Germans were excited, because it was a really expensive restaurant. They went along and ordered copious amounts of food and alcohol.

Then the end of the night came. One of the Brazilians collected the bill from the cashier and then told the Germans how much their share was.

You can imagine the surprise. The Brazilians had correctly used the word “invite” in English, where we don’t necessarily think that anyone is responsible for paying. The Germans had to scrounge around with credit cards to pay their share of the meal (and had trouble claiming this big expense back from their company!).

I often tell my students this story and teach them phrases like “It’s on me,” or “It’s our shout.” Anyone who speaks another European language tells me that invite in their language means that whoever invites has to pay. It’s funny that there’s this extra meaning to the word - but it wasn’t funny for the out-of-pocket Germans in Brazil.