“Und woher kommt dein Akzent?” “Entschuldigung?” My polite “Excuse me? was less about needing time to translate the waiter’s question than it was about the idea of having an accent. “Where is your accent from?” he asked again, this time in English. “Ah, aus New York! I’m from New York.” I have always liked asking immigrants to America where they come from I have tried to understand what it feels like to learn English and adapt to our culture. This has long been a concept that interests me, but it was never one I found relatable until my waiter’s question during my traditional viennese dinner.
It made me wonder, when I speak German to German speakers, do I do so with a particular accent? My pronunciation has garnered many compliments thus far, and these are not a people prone to empty niceties. My German speaking ability must be perceived as beyond where I would describe it because many people have begun in depth conversations with me that go beyond my comprehension. Austrians speak German quickly, and the Viennese have a distinct dialect and accent that makes understanding them challenging at first for one who has been learning standard German (Hochdeutsch). Austrian immigrants and visitors who speak German as a non-native language, however, are easy to communicate with, even at length given the formality of their language and the fact that they maintain the speaking speed of their native land. I do notice their accents, though, so I must have one as well.
In consideration of these immigrants having a noticeable accent and different speaking patterns than the locals, it occurred to me that it may be the speed at which I speak and my formal use of the language that betrays my foreign origin. The German language, just like English, has its share of accents and dialects, and these are prominent to the point that I can now spot a German native speaking in Vienna, or a Styrian-Austrian based on their accent, tone, and speaking patterns. They speak quickly too, but their accents and word choice differ noticeably from the Viennese. If I can notice these nuances with minimal experience in Vienna, then I as someone who learned German on my iPhone can be spotted easily as an outsider too.
Now, back to the waiter and his question. Far from being uncomfortable with the inquiry, I was glad to be asked about my accent, regardless of where he might have assumed its origin to be derived. This sort of experience is one of the primary reasons I came to Europe. The idea of newness in culture, language, cuisine, and location seemed appealing, but so too was being treated as an outsider. There is nothing pleasant about being “othered,” but there is something exciting about being viewed as the foreigner you are. I have nothing against being seen as an alien because in Vienna, that is what I am.
In the US I have begun to feel more like an outsider as the years go by, and this feeling is unpleasant. In America, I relate to little of our modern culture. Our art, at least where cinema is concerned, is recycled garbage. Our popular music is either formulaic or too heavily reliant on past artists and hit songs to be innovative. Our literature is, well, do we still have new literature worth speaking of in America? Beyond the artistic sides of culture, the emerging “in” language makes me cringe, too much of the popular fashion in major cities has grown classless, active participation in religion is frowned upon, and I could go on. Having lived for enough time in Vienna to now know my way around, I can confirm that being unable to relate to one’s home culture is more discomfiting than being a foreigner in a foreign land.
There is a peculiar comfort in being asked about your and your accent’s foreign origins while in a foreign land. The requisite curiosity a question like that from my waiter entails is welcoming. The acknowledgement of your otherness helps to begin the conversation from a place of truth and mutual understanding. It is a way of saying, “Yes, I know that you are not from here, but I feel you are respecting my homeland and trying to fit it, so I would like to learn more.” There is a kindness in curiosity even though it derives from noticing that someone is different.
Foreign lands, and alien peoples aside, the waiter’s question about my accent came as I was paying the reasonable bill for a meal of Rindsuppe, Wiener Schnitzel, and Erdapfel Salat (beef soup, fried pork cutlet, and potato salad). This was enjoyed in the intimately lit outdoor dining area (Hof) at the Kaiserwaltzer 2.0 restaurant, in Vienna’s Mariahilf District near the apartment where I stay. The outdoor dining area is popular in the summer, and just past it one will spot space for indoor seating that an Austrian might describe as a Stube (a cozy room) that is better suited to colder months. As the name might suggest, this restaurant, and its menu, serves as a throwback to the k.u.k. (imperial and royal) era of the Habsburgs’ reign. The old time Vienna theme added to the language curiosity because some menu items were unfamiliar options from days gone by. I can understand plenty of olde English, but olde Wienerischedeutsch? A different story.
The waiter's question came at the end of my traditional viennese dinner but my meal stood out from its start. This night marked the first time I comfortably ordered and conversed with the waiter in German without having to read my intended order off the menu. While I have ordered in German at each restaurant and café I have visited, there would come a time during prior orders where I either used the wrong pronoun for a menu item or did not catch a slang term used by a waiter and they would then revert to English when they spoke it.
The irony is that it was at this time, when I let off no trip wires to my lack of perfect fluency that I was first asked about my accent. Far from annoying or offending me, this question was a reminder of my growing comfort with this precise language but a reminder that I was an outsider speaking it, nonetheless. As an outsider is what I am, I could not help but find comfort in my alien status being acknowledged. I learned then, during a traditional Viennese dinner that there is comfort in being treated as a foreigner when in a foreign land.
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