have a reasonably good ear for
languages. I can conduct a conversation, somewhat haltingly, in
Spanish, and I understand enough French and Italian to get by. But
there are places in the world where a good ear won't help you. My
knowledge of Romance languages, for example, did me little good in
Croatia.
During my first overseas assignment in that lovely place in the
late '60s, I arrived at the Marjan Hotel in Split with all my
worldly belongings but without the requisite adapter to plug in an
electric shaver. There was a barber shop in the hotel lobby, so I
went there each morning for a shave.
I was warmly welcomed by the barber and a number of other
gentlemen, who appeared to be friends, who sat in the shop with
him. Each morning, I gestured that all I wanted was a shave, and
the barber went about his business.
It was clear from the outset that he wanted very much to chat,
but we were facing an insurmountable language barrier.
By the second morning, he managed the word "American" by way of
confirming that he had my nationality pegged. Once that was
established, he said the word several times and smiled as he went
about his work.
On the third morning, I paid my final visit to his shop. By
then, we were old, if silent, friends. His repetition of the word
"American" had lost its novelty, and I could see the pain in his
face as he sought to say something else to forge a bond between us.
Finally, a phrase made its way into his mind and with a triumphant
gleam, he said "Western movies."
"Ah, yes," I replied, "Western movies."
He looked at his friends across the room and repeated "Western
movies" to them as if to say that, finally, he had begun speaking
English to the American. In my three days in Croatia, I had
achieved approximately the same level of fluency in Serbo-Croatian,
a difficult language to learn if your mother tongue is English. But
I had begun what has become a lifelong practice of learning the one
word that is most important to know wherever you travel, the word
for "thank you."
As he completed my last morning shave in Croatia, I rose from
the chair and, shaking his hand appreciatively, said "Hvala," the
Serbo-Croatian word for thanks.
"Hvala," he replied with gusto. Then he led me to his group of
pals seated in chairs along the wall of the shop, indicating to me
that they also wished to say goodbye.
I shook hands with each of them, again demonstrating my one-word
command of Serbo-Croatian as I went down the line.
"Hvala."