I arrived in Montreal tonight and took the shuttle that runs from the airport to the heart of the city. There was a stop relatively close to my hotel in the Vieux Montréal (“Old Montreal:) area of the city, so I should have been in pretty good shape.
Unfortunately, there was one problem. Though I was close, I wasn’t sure exactly which direction to go and the darkness coupled with a lack of obvious street signs made it difficult to figure out. As a result, I decided to ask the only guy around (in French) if he knew.
He responded with “Sorry, I don’t speak French,” which should have facilitated things since he clearly spoke my native tongue. However, I was so focused on what to say in French that the English portion of my brain effectively shut down. I couldn’t respond and we both stood their awkwardly as if confronted by a true language barrier.
Accepting defeat, I walked around until I finally found an intersection that was on the map. From there it only took 10 minutes or so to get to the hotel. This definitely wasn’t one of my finer moments. It’s one thing to be humbled while learning a foreign language. It’s another to be humbled while trying to speak your own.
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