How many?

A major plot point in the film "Inglourious Basterds" develops in this bar. It hinges on how Europeans and Americans ask for "three more" in different ways.

I was way ahead of the rest of the audience in seeing the looming slaughter in a bar in the film "Inglourious Basterds." I saw it coming because once, 44 years ago in a German bar, I signaled for two beers and got three instead.

Here in America, if you want to signal a bartender to bring you two more beers, you hold up your index finger and the finger next to it - sort of like making the "peace" sign.

But in Germany, bartenders count your thumb. Our sign-language for two will get you three, and our three will get you four, and so on. It works that way in Germany even if you don't stick out your thumb. They just assume it's there.

In "Inglourious Basterds," an American masquerading as a Nazi doesn't know the difference, and his ignorance proves fatal.

(I don't recommend the film. It's riddled with violence for the sake of violence and takes too many liberties with historical fact.)

The plot turn is a case in point, the point being that travel is broadening.

My friend Walter and I are both bloggers. He's in Korea right now, and we've been chatting via e-mail about the advantages of a lifetime of travel. I challenged him to dueling essays on the subject. He went first, and what he wrote is excellent. You can see it by clicking here.

There's little I can add to Walter's superb post, but I can riff on one of his points. There's nothing quite so interesting as discovering a different way to do something. Not better, mind you. Or worse. Just different.

Europeans cross their 7s. It makes sense, because it distinguishes a 7 clearly from a 1. The also make a slight upstroke before the distinct downstroke when they write a 1. The first time you see a restaurant tab, it looks funny.

Europeans don't keep swapping their fork from hand to hand when they eat. They keep the fork firmly in their left hand and the knife in the right. It saves all those cumbersome exchanges.

Germans shake hands much more often than Americans. Franz, the film librarian at American Forces Television in Spangdahlem, used to shake hands with each of us on the staff when he arrived at work. Americans don't routinely do that. I found it to be a charming custom.

And, as Walter noted in his post, I ordered an after-dinner Drambuie in Prague one evening and got an ice-cream sundae. I never did figure that one out.

In Luxembourg, one of the more popular beers is called Funk. Delightful. (It's named for the brewer.)

In many European countries, the first floor is what we would call the second floor, and so on. That can cause some minor confusion in a hotel. Especially if you're lugging your own suitcase upstairs.

But the differences make the adventure, whether they be in eating, drinking, greeting one another, or a myriad other everyday interactions. The differences are everywhere -- and we won't even mention language and alphabets. (The British, by the way, call a Z a Zed, and a jumper is a sweater over there.)

George Bernard Shaw said, "England and America are two countries separated by a common language." Speaking of which, imagine what crossed my mind when I spotted a small tub of something called "spotted dick" in a London grocery store.

After a lifetime of travel, from South America to the Caribbean to the Azores (you might need a map for that one) and Europe, I celebrate the differences. They charge the mind and make the mundane fascinating and often enchanting.

Knowing the differences is quite practical, too. If the American character in "Inglourious Basterds" had known how to use his thumb properly to sign for more drinks in a German bar, he'd have survived to fight another day.