I do a special line in language blunders. I’m thinking of producing a sort of Greatest Hits of narrowly avoiding getting smacked in the mouth in foreign countries. There are more, but here’s a taster.
Enjoying a fondue in a charming left bank cafe á Paris, I asked a sophisticated, aristocratic, bohemian, female cafe owner ‘how did your pussy get so big?’ when commenting on her huge tabby cat. Her look of abject horror suggested she was going to punch me. In that instant, I realised what I had done, and had no alternative but to style it out. After the longest 10 seconds in history, she said with a forced smile ‘Il est garçon’ necked her glass of red wine, turned on her heel and walked away. Her son served us for the rest of the evening.
Asking someone where the Wehrmacht was, in Berlin while looking for a Christmas Weinachtsmarkt.
My partner asking someone for ‘after-play’ in a gay restaurant in Germany (nachspiele), rather than dessert (nachspiese). This was explained to us as ‘Furspiele - Sex - Nachspiele’. This was much more than a linguistic revelation, as neither of us had heard of ‘after-play’ anyway.
That said, their menu proposed an ‘Inhabitant of Hamburg’ as a main course, so frankly we were all in it up to our necks.
In general my problem with language is that I’m always willing to give things a go. I can get a long way with hand gestures, a few bits of vocabulary, and context. But there’s only so far that will take you - i.e. potentially to jail.