Normally, I don’t need an electronic translator when I travel, because my companion speaks six languages. She was my version of “The Interpreter.” And she doesn’t run on batteries.
There was, however, that time in Plzen in the Czech Republic, when I had the desperate urge for a famous bowl of beer soup with bread cubes and egg yolks. Marta was stymied. Czech to her was a foreign language.
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Out came the pocket-size English-to-Czech translator. I punched in a description, hit a button, and voila (which means “here it is”), there appeared staroceska pivni polevka. The waiter read it and nodded. It was terrific. The soup. And the translator. And the waiter.
From The Gear Hunter