I was sitting in the park the other day, here in Prague, listening to the world around me come together and fall apart. I was reading, a great cover for sneakily peeking into the lives of others. And it occurred to me what a great bit of luck it is, having been raised with this plurality of language (which I think is true for many of us in Europe).
On the bench next to mine, I was listening to a young man talking on the phone in Russian (granted, it might've been Ukrainian, as they're in many ways similar, and my Russian isn't advanced enough to easily tell one from the other). Still, I understood bits and pieces of his conversation with a friend, looking out over the city in the cold and the morning sun that already feels like winter.
On my right side, two girls were chatting in Spanish, gossiping avidly some drama. I couldn't tell if they were tourists or expats, though the guy was quite clearly living here. It was an interesting mix, being one of the nicest viewspots over Prague, of locals and tourists, each chatting happily in their own mother tongue.
I heard some Italian tourists pass (discussing the beauty of the city, as tourists everywhere are prone to). Later, heading towards the Charles Bridge, I caught bits of Romanian (going in the wrong way, but who was I to ruin their travel experience?), French, and of course, the ubiquitous English.
It got me thinking, what a great wealth, to know at least small crumbs of all these languages. Not that it earns you anything, being able to follow the dialogue of the people next to you, but what it does do is strengthen this notion of oneness (that we are badly in need of these days).
It feels extremely alienating, being spoken to in a language you don't understand. Now, of course, it depends on the language as well - being serenaded in German versus being cursed out in Italian will be quite different experiences, with one inevitably turning more pleasant than the other.
I'm making small progress in learning Czech, yet still, whenever people talk to me in Czech, it's a bit alien. Even though it's not an aggressive language - it's slow and flowing and full-mouthed. It's not something to automatically put you on your toes.
Still, it feels "other".
And not surprisingly. Experts have shown that language is immensely important to how we interact with our surrounding world. While we tend to get hung up on all sorts of discussions over skin color or eye shape, the truth is, we will always, inevitably, be more friendly and feel closer to someone speaking our language (even if they look very different from us), than to someone with the exact same physical features, but speaking a different tongue.
It turns out language, more than appearance, is what puts us off when encountering foreigners (and what implicitly gives rise to antagonistic feelings). Sensible, if you think about it. Not so long ago, it was quite unlikely to meet a Chinese person, living somewhere in the valleys of my native Romania. It was, however, much likelier to encounter someone from the next valley or town over who, even though they looked the same as you, spoke a different dialect and might've had too keen an interest in your goats or your women.
Romania has a long, winding, bitter history with our neighboring Hungary, for instance. China, not so much, even if arguably, by a surface standard, we're far more different.
Language is what can bind or alienate us, which makes it all the more crucial, teaching yourself at least another language. Maybe not perfectly. I'm hardly a conversationalist in Russian, having lost much confidence and knowledge in the years since I stopped studying it. But it helps me make sense of some things, dialogues, inscriptions. I was just remembering the other night a dawn Uber ride here in Prague, some years ago, with a man from one of the -stan countries under Russia's dominion. We both looked quite different, and he spoke little English, and I spoke no Czech, but when we realized we both knew Russian (well, him far more than me, but still), it served as an immediate binding bridge. Suddenly, we were no longer alien, we had something in common.
When I go abroad to one of the countries whose language I speak (even a little, only just conversationally), it strikes me what a huge difference it makes. In a world that seems to view tourism with increasing wariness and skepticism, the ability to string together a few words, even brokenly, tells the other "we're more alike than you realize, I'm not trying to disregard your country in some way". It's tremendously useful.
Obviously, it's more than being able to ask for the right bus or order coffee. It's about fostering and maintaining that feeling of oneness that one language can not afford you.
With "big" languages like English, expecting the world to speak it back to you is saying "I will do as I know, and you will eventually conform". It's a conqueror's mentality, but lacking a conqueror's army, it only serves to alienate you in the end.
As for the "smaller" languages, like my own native Romanian, it only makes you lonely. I know many older folk in my country who don't really speak English, and thus regard the rest of the world with skepticism, perhaps even fear.
There is a subtle shift from "how can I survive wherever I go" to "how can I feel at home wherever I go" that demands this multiplicity of language.
