In Tandem

It’s a sunny Thursday evening in June.  I am sitting, a weissbier in front of me, on the terrace of the café that overlooks the Lietzensee.  I have a view over the ‘see’, its surrounding park and, just beyond it, the Funkturm.  It’s my first tandem speaking session with Elke, who is sitting next to me with a glass of white wine and a pretzel that is so large it ends up feeding us both.  We chat, almost exclusively in English, for several hours.  On this occasion we are less concerned with practicing languages than with getting to know each other and Elke’s English is vastly superior to my German.

I’d met Elke the previous week when she turned up at the language exchange I sometimes teach at.  She was looking for a partner to help her get rid of her German accent.  I’d tried to reassure her that her English was perfectly understandable and that her accent was very charming but she insisted that it was ‘ugly’.  She said that to many Germans accent was very important and could convey all sorts of benefits or handicaps.  This surprised me as I’d thought it was only the British for whom such snobbery still existed.

Elke was determined to speak flawless, accent-free English.  She had a mild fixation with Englishness in general, including what was, to me, an unfathomable enthusiasm for the British royal family and other upper-class institutions.  She actually asked me once if I ever went fox-hunting!

One time, Elke said she’d like to try something traditionally English so I conducted a quick internet search and found that ‘afternoon tea’ is available at several top-notch hotels in the city but at eye-watering prices.  Then I remembered a shop on Mehringdamm that sold English products.  After another spot of googling I discovered that it was called ‘East London’ and that it had a café so we met there for tea and scones with jam and clotted cream, Elke declaring herself a fan. 

Apart from our differing perspectives on British toffs, we did discover at that first meeting by the Lietzensee much common ground, including a shared interest in literature and cinema.

I learnt that, romantically, Elke was going through a bit of an upheaval.  After having been single for ten years, she was about to set up home with her new partner who was moving to Berlin from Hamburg.  It was, however, fraught with difficulties.  Her partner had a small daughter who was loath to leave her friends and father behind.  Elke – childless herself – had become accustomed to her own space and her own routine and wondered how she would accommodate not only her partner but the demands of a child as well.  There was also opposition from her partner’s family to be dealt with, and concerns about possible prejudice from her rather conservative Charlottenburg neighbours.

I’ve followed the fortunes of this relationship over the course of several meetings this summer.  In fact it seemed to me at times that they provided Elke with an opportunity to discuss her anxieties with someone outside the situation who could offer an objective and sympathetic ear.

Our most recent meeting was at Zeitlos, adjacent to Savignyplatz S-Bahn station.  Over happy hour cocktails in a rather gimmicky bar that has sand on the floor and tries to look like something from a Gauguin painting, Elke told me that things hadn’t been going too well.  A few days later, she e-mailed to say that she and her partner were having a temporary break which she believed was necessary if their relationship was to survive.

Having a tandem partner – even one with a complicated private life – is a great way of improving your language skills, whilst making friends and gaining an insight into their lives.  I’ve got into the habit of writing down words or phrases that I stumble over so that I can give them to Elke to translate for me when we meet.

It’s also had the added benefit of providing us with opportunities to get together for a natter over coffee and cake, beer or cocktails, or, just the once, tea and scones.