Chapter 1: A New Beginning in Vienna

My relocation to Vienna, Austria, was driven by two compelling motivations: my desire to master a new language and my growing affection for an Austrian man. At just twenty years old, I made the bold decision to leave university and embark on a new adventure with a one-way ticket from New York to Vienna, two hefty suitcases, and a snowboard bag, all without any knowledge of German. (I didn't even know that “Gesundheit” was a German term.)

Dragging my exhausted legs through the baggage claim, I found the area completely deserted except for myself. Anxiety filled me as I collected my luggage, convincing myself I had made a grave mistake. My only connection to this new place was a brief summer night spent with a man I barely knew, along with our ongoing messages.

As my bags spun around the carousel, I collected them with exaggerated effort. I needed to locate my snowboard bag but had no idea how to ask for it in German. The signs around me, devoid of English translations, appeared to be a jumble of letters rather than a coherent language. How was I ever going to learn a language that looked like a bowl of alphabet soup?

Feeling frantic and anxious about the man waiting for me beyond customs, I approached a staff member clad in a high-visibility vest.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?” I inquired.

To my dismay, he responded in German, or at least I assumed it was German.

“Can you tell me where I can find my snowboard bag? Snowboard? Large? Bag? Oversized?” I mimed the act of snowboarding, my arms stretched out and knees bent, gliding along the airport floor.

The man maintained a serious expression, staring into my eyes while I felt small and vulnerable. If I could read minds, I still wouldn’t grasp his thoughts. This was my first time living outside the United States, and I had never learned a new language or experienced love so intensely that I would leave my life behind for it.

Eventually, after my charade, he pointed to a corner of the hall I had missed, where a sign featuring skis and a bicycle caught my eye. I spotted my bright pink snowboard bag. In my embarrassment, I bowed, unsure if that was the appropriate way to express gratitude in Austria (it’s not).

After finally retrieving my snowboard bag, I passed through customs, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. My adventure in language and culture was just beginning.

When I finally saw my boyfriend, he picked me up, spun me around, and we shared a kiss reminiscent of a romantic film. He was genuinely delighted, tears of joy glistening in his eyes. Then he spoke, and I was reminded of his thick accent. He had learned English by binge-watching The Office (U.S. version), often quoting Michael Scott.

“Oh how the turntables…”

Our relationship felt different now that I was in his country. It seemed more permanent than it did before (though it would not last).

He led me to my accommodation at a German language school—a cozy apartment I would share with another student, an Italian girl studying German for academic credits. Most students at my school were in Vienna temporarily, honing their language skills before final exams. The dorms were filled with teenagers from Eastern European countries, animatedly conversing in languages I couldn’t decipher.

They were Hungarian, Bulgarian, Slovakian, Ukrainian, Russian, Polish, Czech, and Italian—I learned this during our first German class when we practiced self-introductions and shared where we were from.

In those initial months, my vocabulary was limited to phrases like, “Hello, my name is Holly. I come from the United States of America. How are you?”

After classes, I would explore the city with my boyfriend, visiting numerous Christmas markets. These charming “Dorfs” or villages filled the city squares, showcasing wooden huts adorned with stained-glass ornaments, snow globes, Glühwein, wool socks, and other delightful items. Everything sparkled under twinkling lights as people enjoyed their warm alcoholic beverages from mugs shaped like stockings. I felt utterly lost amid the German conversations, as there were so few English speakers at that time.

Even my boyfriend’s friends did not speak English. I vividly remember one of my first successful conversations in German. I focused on correctly using articles, navigating the dative and accusative cases, and speaking in the past tense, which felt daunting.

“I have been learning German,” I told one of his friends.

“Why?” he asked (using a German word for “why” that I hadn’t encountered yet, but his body language was unmistakable—he chuckled while swirling beer in his mouth).

“I would like to speak German because… I want to communicate with his mother,” I explained, which only elicited more laughter.

“But he doesn’t speak German!” I failed to understand the joke. Apparently, my boyfriend had such a thick dialect that even his friends struggled to comprehend him.

They each spoke their own dialects, proudly showcasing their regional identities. My boyfriend hailed from a rural town in Upper Austria, which heavily influenced his Bavarian-inflected German. He took great pride in his dialect, but it proved unhelpful when it came to my German homework. He often claimed ignorance of the grammatical rules I was learning. I didn't believe him; I had no idea how diverse a language could be.

I realized this when I finally met his mother. Her speech was full of delightful “oos” and “aahs,” reminiscent of a soft yodel. We fumbled through conversation as she remarked on the sunny weather with, “Ma, ist es schee!” instead of the standard high German, “Das Wetter ist schön.” I found her enthusiasm charming, and I enjoyed deciphering her dialect. As the months passed, I asked my boyfriend to teach me phrases, and I started to mimic his family’s speech patterns.

My favorite phrase became, “Heid hob I a Radltour gemocht,” instead of the high German, “Heute habe ich eine Fahrradtour gemacht.” (I still doubt I got the article declension right in high German, but in dialect, I could simply say “a,” which felt closer to English!)

As time went on, my German classes started to feel increasingly pointless, with new teenage students coming and going and the same assignments each week, all aimed at preparing us for the ÖSD exam. By then, I had moved in with my boyfriend and completed my homework in bars and on trains while exploring the city and country as much as I could.

Photo by author; Turist performing on Donaukanal in Wien

I wasn’t striving for a perfect score; I wanted to immerse myself in the culture. I longed to engage with shopkeepers with a smile, to shout “ZUGABE!” at the end of a concert, and to toast with homemade schnapps while singing a drinking song—I achieved all of this.

The most effective way to learn the language was to dive into it. I had to experience the city, make mistakes, and navigate my clumsy German. It took about six months before I began to dream in German. A few years later, I found myself only speaking English to my daughter and the Austrian children I was teaching.

We had a daughter together, and we raised her to be bilingual. Her first words were “Katze” (cat) and “dog.” Her language often fluctuated between the two within a single sentence. When she was younger, her grammar tended to be more Germanic, but her vocabulary was primarily English: “I want that not!”

Photo by author; Weihnachtsdorf Altes AKH, Wien

Witnessing my daughter grow up and master both languages fluently has been a source of inspiration, even though she now corrects my German pronunciation. To add to our linguistic diversity, we now reside in England with her stepfather from Birmingham, whose accent is reminiscent of a “peaky blinders” character.

My daughter skillfully adopts all our accents and effortlessly shifts between them. From her father’s Upper Austrian “Jo eh!” to her Viennese “Oida!” and her Brummie “Will ya gambol wif me?” to my New Jersey “Ay, look, I’m playing here!”—and now, living in South Yorkshire, she returns home from school with a completely new set of vowel sounds.

It’s fascinating how much a language reflects its origins: Austrian is melodic and rich with metaphors about nature and unique expressions for fresh produce. When my daughter spends time with her father in the countryside of Upper Austria, she joyfully munches on fresh vegetables from her grandmother’s garden. British English is poetic and expansive, with accents that echo histories dating back to Old English. My daughter climbs the stone walls of the Peak District with a timeless grace. American English is lively and boisterous, carrying its rhythm across rooms and oceans. I can hear her now, laughing with friends in the garden as they play.

My daughter doesn’t merge these sounds; she employs them in different contexts with various people, each contributing to her linguistic identity.

I miss speaking Austrian German daily, and I long for the dialect of my ex and his family in the countryside, relishing sunrises punctuated by their “oos” and “aahs.” I will always allow a hint of Bavarian influence in my German, as it symbolizes my language journey. I might even use a few phrases occasionally…

Oa šbråh is nia gnua… (One language is never enough.)

Do you speak other languages? Are there accents or dialects that shape your own?

Here’s a fun challenge: What’s your favorite way to say goodbye? Please share in the comments!

Mine is: Pfiat di!

If you enjoyed this, check out more of my travel stories below:

Where am I going?

Chasing My Favorite Band Across Europe

I'm Never Coming Back

Is it Running Away or Moving Forward?

Where Are You From?

Threads of Identity: Exploring Origins and Belonging

Chapter 2: Language Learning Strategies

In this video, I reveal my effective formula for becoming fluent in German, sharing tips and tricks I learned along the way.

In this video, I discuss my journey of learning German in just 60 days, highlighting the methods that worked for me.