Trying to speak local
很久以前, henjiu yiqian, a rather long time ago, I studied Spanish in high school for four years, and followed that up with German for another three years into college. I wasn't a prodigy, nor the best student, but I routinely scored A's. Part of this was because I am actually good at following grammar rules (regardless of what it might appear in my blog) and also I can mimic accents. While mimicry can be a blessing in the academic realm, it can be a curse in real life. I find myself absent-mindedly slipping into random regional English-speaking accents in conversation, something I became incredibly self conscious of when Nick Hornby used this same trait to portray Charlie Nicholson in even poorer light in High Fidelity.
Had I prepared better for our European trip, I would have downloaded a few podcasts to refresh my Spanish and German. Instead I just ran through some lists of vocabulary I suspected I needed: key, llave, Schlage; tickets, billetas, Speisekarten; vine, vino, Wein; thanks, gracias, Danke; and so on. In my life I have spoken Spanish or German only occasionally with native or fluent speakers, and not for few years. The few times I attempted to speak German or Spanish after I started learning formally Mandarin, I had difficulty mixing up the vocabulary. I'd start a sentence in the intended language (German or Spanish), but then finish it in Chinese. I was hoping that I would not do that in Europe, but of course I did.
More after the jump
In Germany I started to refer to my new hybrid and Chinedeutsch. I would start a question in German, asking "Gibt es eine difang...?" then pause, realizing the word I was looking for was Platz so it was clear I was asking about the existence of a specific place to eat, for the kids to play, whatever. I also often used the Chinese plural personal pronoun women when I really needed to say Wir.
This wasn't as big of a problem for me in Spanish, which I attribute to my learning it at a younger age, so it flows more naturally for me. I did have one potentially embarrassing slip into Chinespañol. I was ordering a cup of coffee. The word for cup in Spanish is taza, and in Chinese it is bei. So when I told the waitress "Quiero una bei-sa de cafe" Both languages' words for cup competed out my mouth, and the hybrid sounded more like I was asking for a kiss, besa, of coffee. I had the chance to correct myself immediately, slowly and brain more properly engaged in Spanish gear.
In both France and Italy, I didn't want to make a big deal about our not speaking those local languages, as I definitely did not want to be perceived as an English-speaker who expected the world to speak English. In restaurants, in cafes, even in the train station, I tried to keep our English-speaking profile low and get along with reading from the menu and a lot of apologetically embarrassed pointing. This is where, though, that mimicry could have been misleading.
In Paris, we were eating with one of Randy's colleagues, an ethnically-Irish Geordie who spent a third of his adult life living in France. Yes, that combination makes for a fantastic accent. Even though he has been back in England for many years, French is still the language he speaks with his wife and adult children. I asked him to do all the talking for us in the restaurant. He arranged our table, ordered our cocktails, and chose the wine. As I looked over the menu to find suitable choices for the kids, I started to order from the menu, reading the French names for everything. Randy's colleague suspected then I lied about not knowing French. No, I had to tell him, I can read it just fine, especially when it is food.
A pizzeria in Trieste was the setting of a similar scene, though without a fluent intermediary. Again, I was just reading off the menu, but the waiter asked me, "Oh, you do speak Italian?" I very quickly replied that wasn't the case, with a very universal head shake and a "No."Once more it was misleading, my ability to read the words well, and know what they mean because, you know, we were talking about food, and Italian food at that!
The kids, though, no matter where we were, enjoyed the whole idea of the constant switching of languages. Saying thank you in the proper tongue Myles was careful to remember. Brigid was careful just to copy Myles, as if every new set of words were part of some game. For me it definitely was, like a big linguistic game of Mousetrap.
Had I prepared better for our European trip, I would have downloaded a few podcasts to refresh my Spanish and German. Instead I just ran through some lists of vocabulary I suspected I needed: key, llave, Schlage; tickets, billetas, Speisekarten; vine, vino, Wein; thanks, gracias, Danke; and so on. In my life I have spoken Spanish or German only occasionally with native or fluent speakers, and not for few years. The few times I attempted to speak German or Spanish after I started learning formally Mandarin, I had difficulty mixing up the vocabulary. I'd start a sentence in the intended language (German or Spanish), but then finish it in Chinese. I was hoping that I would not do that in Europe, but of course I did.
More after the jump
In Germany I started to refer to my new hybrid and Chinedeutsch. I would start a question in German, asking "Gibt es eine difang...?" then pause, realizing the word I was looking for was Platz so it was clear I was asking about the existence of a specific place to eat, for the kids to play, whatever. I also often used the Chinese plural personal pronoun women when I really needed to say Wir.
This wasn't as big of a problem for me in Spanish, which I attribute to my learning it at a younger age, so it flows more naturally for me. I did have one potentially embarrassing slip into Chinespañol. I was ordering a cup of coffee. The word for cup in Spanish is taza, and in Chinese it is bei. So when I told the waitress "Quiero una bei-sa de cafe" Both languages' words for cup competed out my mouth, and the hybrid sounded more like I was asking for a kiss, besa, of coffee. I had the chance to correct myself immediately, slowly and brain more properly engaged in Spanish gear.
In both France and Italy, I didn't want to make a big deal about our not speaking those local languages, as I definitely did not want to be perceived as an English-speaker who expected the world to speak English. In restaurants, in cafes, even in the train station, I tried to keep our English-speaking profile low and get along with reading from the menu and a lot of apologetically embarrassed pointing. This is where, though, that mimicry could have been misleading.
In Paris, we were eating with one of Randy's colleagues, an ethnically-Irish Geordie who spent a third of his adult life living in France. Yes, that combination makes for a fantastic accent. Even though he has been back in England for many years, French is still the language he speaks with his wife and adult children. I asked him to do all the talking for us in the restaurant. He arranged our table, ordered our cocktails, and chose the wine. As I looked over the menu to find suitable choices for the kids, I started to order from the menu, reading the French names for everything. Randy's colleague suspected then I lied about not knowing French. No, I had to tell him, I can read it just fine, especially when it is food.
A pizzeria in Trieste was the setting of a similar scene, though without a fluent intermediary. Again, I was just reading off the menu, but the waiter asked me, "Oh, you do speak Italian?" I very quickly replied that wasn't the case, with a very universal head shake and a "No."Once more it was misleading, my ability to read the words well, and know what they mean because, you know, we were talking about food, and Italian food at that!
The kids, though, no matter where we were, enjoyed the whole idea of the constant switching of languages. Saying thank you in the proper tongue Myles was careful to remember. Brigid was careful just to copy Myles, as if every new set of words were part of some game. For me it definitely was, like a big linguistic game of Mousetrap.
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