Speak English Please!

Even as a young boy, the idea of traveling the globe, meeting different people, and exploring unknown places fascinated me. As I got older, I crisscrossed the U.S. and Canada, taking in all each country offered. My wandering spirit was insatiable. Europe was next.

I’m what some might call a timid explorer. I was ready to travel across the pond, but not ready to deal with Europe’s multiple languages. England seemed a safe place to start. We share a common language and I would feel as if I was traveling in the U.S., just on the opposite side of the road. After doing some research, my plan was to rent a car. I would follow a route that took me through big cities and picturesque countryside. Reservations made, flights booked, and an international driver’s license attained, I was ready for my grand adventure.

The flight to England was long, boring, and uncomfortable. I watched the animated plane crawl slowly across the seatback TV screen until I reached London. Clearing customs tested everyone’s patience, but eventually, I was finally free to roam the country.

I knew the overnight flight would leave me exhausted, which is why I planned for an early check-in at the hotel. Picking up my rental car was a bit more daunting than I expected. The rental car agent completed all the paperwork and directed me to my vehicle. She told me it came equipped with Sat-Nav and a spare tire in the boot. I was too tired to think clearly and responded, “Where?” She gave a good-natured giggle and replied, “I believe you Americans call it a trunk.” Feeling a little embarrassed, I thanked her for her help and headed for the car.

Knowing everyone drives on the opposite side of the road and actually doing it are two different things. With my luggage securely positioned in the boot, I opened the right-hand door and slid behind the wheel. Everything felt out of place. Fortunately, I had the foresight to book an automatic transmission so I wouldn’t have to shift gears with my left hand. I punched in the hotel address into the GPS (Sat-Nav), repeated my mantra, “The shoulder next to the door belongs in the middle of the road,” and I was off.

Thirty minutes and only one near miss later, I arrived at the hotel parking lot. The Holiday Inn looked like many of the others I’d stayed in around the U.S. so I felt right at home. I checked in, went directly to my room, and within twenty minutes fell asleep. The alarm woke me the next morning. I was famished.

I walked into the hotel restaurant and became immediately overwhelmed by the smell of breakfast foods cooking in the kitchen. The greeter brought me to my table, where my server took over. She poured me a coffee and asked what I would like. I replied, “What do you recommend?”

The server replied, “If you’re hungry, have the full English breakfast.”

I was hungry and decided on that. The server then asked how many rashers and bangers I wanted and how I wanted my eggs cooked.

Baffled once again, I asked, “Bangers and rashers?”

“Oh, American,” she replied. “You can have sausages (bangers) or two or four slices of bacon (rashers). How do you want your eggs?”

I told her over-easy. After a pause, she said, “We can do fried, poached or scrambled.”

“I see. How about scrambled eggs, four slices of bacon, and a biscuit instead of toast?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t normally serve biscuits for breakfast. You can buy a package of Oreos or chocolate chip biscuits at the front desk.”

Patience running thin, I replied, “Toast is fine.”

I finished breakfast with no further linguistic gymnastics and hit the road. My Sat-Nav guided me out of the city and on to a winding two-lane road with rolling hills and grazing cattle and sheep. The car needed gas, and I needed a pit stop. Before I could find a petrol station, I spotted a sign that read, Diversion Ahead. I was curious to see what the diversion was. Maybe there was a medieval castle or a manor house. It turned out to be road construction. I now know that a diversion is what we call a detour.

The diversion was a brief one and my next stop was a quaint pub across the street from a petrol station. The Horse and Hounds was constructed in 1635, according to the plaque over the door, and it didn’t look like it had changed much. I entered and took a seat at the bar. The blackboard mounted behind the bar had the lunch menu written in chalk. My choices were: Toad in the Hole, Gammon with chips, or a Ploughman’s. The dessert of the day was Spotted Dick with custard. Once again, I needed a translator.

The bartender told me gammon was a ham steak. By now I knew chips were French fries. I didn’t dare ask what spotted dick was. I ordered the ham and asked for a soda. I got soda water which I returned for a coke. The meal was delicious. After I paid, I asked where the restroom was. Now it was the bartender’s turn to look puzzled. A look of comprehension slowly crossed his face. “In England, we call it the Gents or simply the toilet.

I returned to my car, shaking my head. Now I understand the old saying, “The United States and Great Britain are two countries separated by a common language.”