The third-worst part of speaking a foreign language are the moments, several sentences into a so-far successful conversation, when you discover you've no idea what's just been said, and are forced to break the other person's illusion that you comprehend.
The second-worst part are the occasional realisations, midway through a sentence you started confidently, that you don't know the translation for the most important word.
The absolutely worst part is the dismay of finding after what you thought was quite a fluent sentence that the other person hasn't understood a thing.
Today, being in Vienna alone, I started trying seriously to speak German. I had a couple of great, formulaic conversations that could have been lifted straight from a German 101 textbook, and not-so-great ones of the types listed above beyond number. It was rather discouraging . . . .
At least I've a whole three weeks before I start attending German lectures.
Vienna sightseeing was complicated by self-imposed restrictions on language, by difficulty in navigation (the streets go in odd directions), and by having almost no cash on me. In the morning I got lost in the hobby-shop district, and saw all sorts of fantastic shops selling Turkish carpets and model trains and used stamps. In the afternoon I got (mostly) bored in the Museum of Natural History. In the evening I attended Mass in the big cathedral, relishing the sit-down and the nice slow clear German narration, and then happened to run in to a free organ concert on the way home.
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