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“Sorry, I Pee Badly in Russian”

Novosibirsk is an industrial city deep in the heart of Siberia.|©iStock/AleksandrKondratov

The lights were off when I stepped into the hotel lobby at 7:30 a.m. The check-in clerks sitting behind a cage a foot above me like some dystopian scene from a 1950s bank-teller interaction, and two KGB-esque dudes sitting motionless at a desk back by the rear window, both in matching black suits and matching black Soviet knockoff Ray-Bans, watching me intently. 

I wasn’t sure which was more disconcerting. 

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I decided it had to be the check-in clerks. 

There’s something truly off-putting and creepy about transacting with a person behind a cage who’s looking down on you. Making the moment slightly worse, I was dealing with a matronly babushka, a Russian grandmother, who was in a mood. 

Now, I do not know what you know about matronly babushkas who grew up in the Soviet Union, but I’ve traveled through a fair number of Russian cities and I’m married to a woman who was born in the USSR, and I can tell you this: Their tolerance for life is as short as a mayfly’s life cycle when they’re in a mood. 

“Passport,” the babushka demanded, like a police booking officer demanding your valuables before locking you into a cell. 

Only, she said it in Russian. 

And why wouldn’t she? She had no reason to assume I was American. This was Novosibirsk, deep in the innards of Siberia, where Russia meets Mongolia and Kazakhstan. A five-hour flight from Moscow—an Albuquerque’s distance away from New York City. 

An American in Siberia, 5 Hours Past Moscow

What I’m saying is that Americans don’t routinely travel here—especially in 2000. Russia wasn’t even a decade removed from the fall of the Soviet Union at that point. And Novosibirsk—an industrial city—is nothing but steel mills, metalworking, defense manufacturing, and on this trip, lots of grungy snow.  

In other words: Not some picture postcard imperial St. Petersburg of Siberia. But I was on assignment for The Wall Street Journal. So here I was. 

16 Years Out of Practice and Way Too Confident

Though I studied the Russian language at university, university at that point was 16 years behind me. In that intervening span, I’d used my Russian language skills precisely never. So I was... rusty. 

I smiled at the matronly babushka and said with great confidence: Izvinite, ya plokho PEE-sayu po-russki. Ya amerikanyets.  “Sorry, I speak Russian badly. I’m American.” Now, as surly as a matronly babushka can be, they can also boom with laughter like a timpani drum when tickled by a moment. And I had inadvertently tickled the moment. 

I had used the wrong word—pee-sayo—and I had mispronounced it. 

Pee-sayo is a form of “to write,” not “to speak.” But if you emphasize the pee instead of the sayu… well, you get a timpani drum. The KGB-esque dudes perked up.  

I turned to see them stand and beeline toward me. The babushka continued her belly laugh. As KGB-esque dudes 1 and 2 arrived, they asked the babushka what the problem was. She told them. This was all in Russian that flew by my ears at such pace that the only word I could translate was “amerikanyets”—American. 

And suddenly, KGB-esque dudes 1 and 2 were laughing too. They looked at me and smiled and turned to walk back to their perch, one patting me on the shoulder and repeating, “PEE-sayu.” 

I looked at the babushka. 

“Pee-SAYU. No, PEE-sayu. You say, ‘Sorry, I pee bad in Russian.’” She started laughing again. The two other check-in girls, younger, snickered with her. 

Dumb American. 

Will Locals Laugh at You Overseas? Yes. (And That’s Good)

I cannot count the number of times I’ve flubbed a language somewhere in the world. Order bread using the wrong syllabic tone in Portuguese—I’ve done this more than once—and you’ve accidentally asked for something that is addressed by a dose of Viagra. The girls behind the counter at the padaria (the bakery) smile and giggle sometimes. Sometimes they politely correct you. 

Language flubs are part and parcel of traveling the world. But I know from speaking to folks at IL conferences over the years that it’s also a top-of-mind worry for Americans thinking about moving abroad. Do I need to know the language? Can I get by in English? Are people going to laugh at me for saying the wrong thing? 

Yes. Yes, they will. They will laugh at you. 

But it’s never hurtful. It’s never mocking. They just find it funny for the same reason we find it funny when a child says the wrong thing that’s accidentally hilarious. 

Far more important to the local you’re speaking with is that you tried to communicate with them in their language, rather than forcing them to communicate with you in yours. I can’t underscore enough how appreciative they are that you at least tried. 

What I've come to learn is the same message IL has been sharing for more than 40 years now: Be brave—speak out! The advice was simple: “It’s better to make a mistake loudly and clearly than to mumble something you hope will be understood.”

I sure did that in Novosibirsk.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, they’re going to switch to English, because most of the world has been trained in English somewhere in their past. And they know most Americans have not been trained in any language other than English. 

So, don’t be scared to try.  

Even if all you learn how to say in the local lingo is “Hi,” "Thanks,” and “Sorry, I pee badly in Russian,” the world is going to embrace you just because you tried.  

I mean, if you can turn a Soviet babushka into a timpani drum, you’re winning even when you look like a fool. 

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