Every Extra Wish

Magdeburg l Nothing is more German than getting dinner at a Döner at the end of a night out – you don’t have to live here long to work that one out. So I felt it was important to sample this echt-German ritual a few days ago. I was especially excited because, as a vegetarian, I find it tough to get by at kebab shops in the UK, whereas in Germany I’d heard there were plenty of options. But when I got to my local Döner, the menu on the wall seemed, for a moment, to be offering even more than the meat-free bounty I’d expected. ‘Jeder extra Wunsch’, it read – every extra wish – was on offer for the reasonable price of 50 cents.

It wasn’t hard to understand what this actually meant: more ketchup, perhaps, or some gherkins. But the direct English translation of the phrase sounds very different. A ‘wish’ in English suggests broader concepts than an extra portion of mayo: maybe success in business, or a happy family. Or, you know, capable political leadership, world peace… If you’ve really been granted a ‘wish’, as opposed to a ‘Wunsch’, it seems like a bit of a waste to squander it in a takeaway shop.

The English version would be something blander like ‘additional items’ or ‘extras’ – something that sounds like it’s already written up on a tax return. There is no talk of wishes in fish and chip shops. But at the Döner shop they are right there, on the menu – even if I might struggle to actually ask for them. My German is still sufficiently bad that even ordering a falafel is a miniature accomplishment for me: it’s a little language test. First of all, it’s not the quietest or calmest of places: with a queue of hungry people behind you, you have to order fast. Second, there are so many additional questions to respond to: hot sauce or mild? Ketchup or mayo? Questions that are so trivial that failing to respond to them straight away really does make you look like an idiot.

I should confess: this isn’t even the first time I’ve tried to learn German. While I was at university, I took an extra class called ‘German for Academic Purposes’. I remember the first lesson well: our smiling but perhaps overly optimistic teacher presented us with several paragraphs of Nietzsche (from Die fröhliche Wissenschaft, I believe) and simply asked us to translate a sentence each. I still feel a little bit like I did then, when I try to speak German today: overwhelmed and confused, I end up losing my nerves – there’s a sense of shame in not being able to do better.

I’m extremely lucky to be an English speaker. People here correctly assume that most Brits can’t get by in German, and often use the opportunity to impress me with their considerable English skills. This is very kind, and means that, for better or worse, I’m finding it possible to get by even without good German as I go about my daily life in Magdeburg.

I try to resist the daily temptation to rely on English, which is why I’m confident that my wish to become a decent German speaker will eventually come true. For now, I’m taking my wishes one day at a time, and can at least report that the extra feta I got with my falafel tasted great.

Eine deutsche Version des Artikels finden sie hier.