LAVINIA ZAINEA

Babel’s Castle

       Whenever I visit a foreign country and go to a place that requires a guided tour, I usually take my chances with the English-speaking guide. I like the heterogeneous crowd that follows him or her around, myself included, trying to grasp the sense and identity of some castle, ruin, garden and such. I like the fact that the guide pronounces the words trying to make them sound more English-like, even though he’s Spanish and we’re in Spain, and then gives the Spanish equivalent as in King Charles the Fifth gets transformed into Carlos Quinto, or rather it’s the other way round, and everybody remains with a version somewhere in the middle, Carlos the Fifth, or Charles Quinto and repeat it in awe to their relatives back home. Sometimes, I change my routine and go with the guide that speaks the local language, in case I speak it, of course, but I feel like I am missing something in the process, a sense of curiosity and chaos.
       It was only on a recent visit to France that I discovered that in fact to thoroughly enjoy a guided visit one should know several languages. The group had three guides this time, and the destination was Fontainebleau castle. There were only fifteen of us, so the group was not split as usual between languages, rather the guides spoke one at a time. The first one was a twenty-something Spaniard named Carlos, who was giving the tour in English, the second a fifty-something man named Pierre who was presenting in Spanish, and the third a thirty-something year old Frenchwoman who was presenting in Italian and French. The English version was the first we could hear. We learned three times that we were in France, that Paris was and is the capital of France and that Fontainebleau was in fact a castle. Period. We waited patiently and heard the continuation in Spanish. As we had previously learned, we were indeed in France, a neighbouring country of Spain, and Fontainebleau was a castle built in the times of Francis the 1st, Francisco Primero, or François 1er, however we may have liked to call him. The continuation was in Italian and so on and so forward, with each of the guides, repeating only the last lines of the previous and continuing the story. I happened to speak English, Spanish and French, and had no trouble understanding Italian, so it was a thrilling experience for me, like a guessing game, and I wondered what I had previously missed when I had only followed one guide.
At the end, I had a question about one of the rooms, so I decided to ask one of the guides. I went to Carlos first, and he answered me simply and clearly in English. I was satisfied, but I was curious if I could have gotten a better answer from the other ones, following the pattern, so I decided to go the French-speaking guide as well. I asked her the same question and patiently awaited an answer. It came, but it was shorter and not as thorough as the other explanation. I was disappointed. I had thought I had uncovered the truth behind guided visits, but it all might have been just a coincidence. I had no proof.