In the days when we used St Mary's College, Bangor, North Wales, for English language summer courses, we came up with a different nationality mix every year; after a few years we decided some mixes were better than others and began to experiment in our recruiting.

Spaniards, Italians and Portuguese were a bad mix, as they tended to speak neo-Latin together at mealtimes instead of practising their English. Greeks and Turks, Iranians and Iraqis were a bad mix for other reasons.

One year we decided to recruit in just three countries speaking languages so different that they would be obliged to communicate socially in English, and which were so far apart geographically that there would be no “bad neighbour” problems.

The recruiting grounds we chose were Finland, Italy and Japan. It was a nice, compact 3-week middle-level English course consisting of 50 keen students, mostly young business people in their thirties. There were 20 Finns, 20 Italians, and 10 Japanese. It was a nice triangle as each national group showed great interest in the “exotic” nature of the two other countries. They gabbled away eagerly (in English) during the opening cocktail. We congratulated ourselves.

The lessons went smoothly. We divided the students into 5 mixed-nationality groups of ten, depending on language levels. They all became good chums. The language units ran from 9 – 5 with a one-and-a-half-hour lunch break and an evening social programme. We had wine-tasting evenings, conjurors, Scottish dancing, bell-ringing, and singing competitions. Every Tuesday night we had a dance after dinner and on Wednesdays we organised a full-day excursion to a place of historical interest (Welsh castles, Chester, Liverpool, etc.).

On the second Wednesday we planned to climb Mount Snowdon, Britain's second highest peak, which was situated only a few miles from the college. Though of impressive altitude, Snowdon is not a difficult mountain to climb. You can bus people half way up it and the rest is an invigorating 4-hour slog to the summit, where a magnificent panorama of North Wales, the Mersey, Anglesey, and half of Lancashire is on offer.

All the students were enthusiastic about this particular excursion in the extreme. It made a welcome physical break from sitting 6 – 7 hours a day in the classroom. The departure by bus was booked for 8:30 on Wednesday morning.

On the Tuesday evening we had our usual dance after dinner. The pattern was familiar. The Italian men danced with the blonde Finnish girls, the Finnish males occupied the bar (they would dance with the Italian girls later), and the ten Japanese stood modestly at one end of the dance floor watching everybody's feet to learn the steps. Everyone was having a good time.

Around 8 pm it began to rain, and by 8:30 it could be described as a downpour. Huge raindrops spattered on the window panes and rivulets could be seen flowing down the steep slope outside the college front door. At nine o'clock it was still raining cats and dogs. At this point 3 of the Finnish men uncharacteristically deserted the bar and came over to talk to me. They were Lehtonen, Lahtinen and Virtanen, three of the more advanced students.

“Mr. Lewis.”

“Yes, gentlemen.”

“It is raining.”

“It is.”

“It is raining hard.”

“Very hard,” added Lahtinen.

“The rain will make Snowdon very — how do you say — muddy tomorrow,” said Lehtonen.

I agreed with them.

“Mr. Lewis, let's cancel the excursion,” suggested Virtanen.

I had to agree this was the sensible course of action. I had climbed Snowdon before on a wet day and knew it was a most unrewarding exercise. I went to the microphone and signalled to the band to stop playing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. In view of the inclement weather, we have decided to cancel tomorrow's excursion.”

Howls of dismay erupted from all the Italian men.

“What do you mean, cancel the excursion? It is the highlight of the week! It's included in our fee. Whose idea was this?”

Rather cowardly, I said:

“Well, the Finns thought...”

“The Finns are supposed to be tough men!” shouted another Italian.

The three Finnish males scowled.

“What kind of tough men are these, when they are afraid to go out if a drop of water falls from the sky?”

The Italians continued to jeer at the unfortunate trio.

I wanted to tell them that Finnish men are not very fond of being laughed at or made fun of in public, particularly by Italian men. I could see an ugly situation developing. Then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea.

“Let's ask the Japanese,” I said.

Fifty-year-old Yamamoto-san, the leader of the youngish Japanese group, stared at me, aghast, from the back of the dance floor.

“Mr. Yamamoto, what do the Japanese think about this?”

“What do we think?” repeated Yamamoto mechanically. All the Japanese heads switched back and forth.

“Chotto matte kudasai” (just a moment), said Yamamoto. The group of ten retired to a huddle in the corner and conversed animatedly in Japanese for five minutes. Yamamoto returned to face me.

“Lewis-san. The Japanese delegation has made a decision. If the Italians win the day we will be happy to go up the mountain with the Italians. If, on the other hand, the Finns win the day, the Japanese group will be happy to stay in and study with the Finns”

I could have kicked him out of the college.

“Thank you Mr. Yamamoto, you have been most helpful.”

The Italian jeering continued and finally the Finns had no option.

“No, sitten lähdetään — alright, we'll go,” snapped Lehtonen. The unhappy trio went back to the bar and the Italians continued their dance. The Finnish men went to bed early.

It rained all night and I slept badly. At eight I got up, made coffee in my room, packed a couple of sandwiches, put on my old clothes and took my mac. I heard the bus arrive at the front door where it waited with engine idling. At 8:31 precisely I went down and jumped a couple of puddles to board the bus. The driver, disconsolate, greeted me wearily:

“Good morning Mr. Lewis.”

“Good morning driver.”

I turned to greet the students. On the bus were 20 scowling Finns, 10 smiling Japanese. No Italians.

We had a bad day. Slogging up the mountain in the mud and slush, we reached the summit, soaked to the skin, around one o' clock. It was foggy. Visibility was down to about 50 yards. At a height of 3000 feet, one felt this was a waste of altitude. Of course the Japanese took pictures — of Finns, me and themselves. The Finns drank coffee from flasks and proposed an early descent. Sliding down mud is almost worse than going up it.

We arrived back at the college — in appearance a bunch of 31 tramps — about 4 pm, when we saw the Italians, in miraculously sudden sunshine, taking 4 o' clock tea on the terrace with chocolate biscuits (a Finnish favourite). As we passed them, Lehtonen snarled to the Italian ringleader:

“Why didn't you come with us up the mountain?”

“We would have, but when we woke up it was raining,” replied the Italian without batting an eyelid.

This anecdote was provided by linguist and cross-culture studies expert Richard Lewis. Read his work in detail in "When Cultures Collide" and check out his services for businesses and individuals at Richard Lewis Communications.