The first time I came to Italy alone, I lacked the knack for meeting strangers. Once in Bologna, out of desperation, I tried to have a chat with the stout padrona of my pension, who happened to own a little Pekingese dog. As I learned later, cena means dinner. I asked Giovanna's mother, who went white.
Mistakes go in the other direction, too.
A charming example of awkward translation is the English menu we were handed at one of those places one goes to once. Even the famous bell tower in Pisa does not lean so well. The water is clear and still. The fish are extremely pale, almost white, as though their colour had been bled from them, and very lethargic in their movements, not to say torpid. When I first looked at the apartment, I noted the fish and supposed they would go upstairs with the family.