varoom?

Yep, I’ve been here before.

Trying to learn a new language is a bitch. Especially when you have three other languages rattling around in your head. You try to come up with a simple response in the appropriate language and suddenly you have all the various words you know screaming for attention. A simple word like “because” comes out like “uh” because it’s not “parce que”, or “protože”, it’s “omdat”. This creates a verbal bottleneck when you’re trying to complete a sentence. Lobotomy patients look smarter.

Often when hanging around with locals in a foreign place one person will helpfully say, “We should speak French/Czech/Dutch because Arin needs to learn.” My first instinct is to decide that that helpful person is an asshole. But then I think, I do need to learn. So I grin like an idiot and agree while thinking vengeful thoughts about mustard and duct tape. This is because I know what happens next; the conversation begins at a normal pace – just barely understandable, then it gradually accelerates to a machine-gun-like speed, and then everybody starts talking at the same time while using a vernacular that was developed the day before. They have forgotten that, language-wise, they’re driving Ferraris while I’m driving a ’76 Pinto. On the F-1 track of dialogue this means they’ve crossed the finish line while I’m still realizing that the word “omdat” means “because”.

An aside: I have recently found a way to sugar their gas-tanks. Nothing throws of the rhythm of a nice conversation like patiently waiting for one person in the group to slowly flip through a dictionary of translation to find a word. Especially if that person doesn't quite know the chronology of the alphabet.

It seems like I’ve spent half my life listening to people rattle away in a foreign tongue while liberally sprinkling my name throughout the conversation. It’s been happening since I was a baby and has been occurring more frequently the older I get (I like living in these places, what can I say?).

I’ve seen people fly off the handle when this happens to them. And I get it, it’s frustrating when you know someone is talking about you and you don’t know what they’re saying. People being people generally assume the worst is being said about them in the most complicated way possible:

“The decrepitude of Arin’s olfactory processes creates Arin’s obliviousness to the nature of Arin’s decompisitory-like scent”.

Me, I don’t get bothered about it very much anymore. Either I’m used to it, or I just don’t give a shit what people are saying about me. Probably more the latter. I figure if it’s really important they’ll let me know. I do, however, get pretty self-conscious when the people around me burst out in loud laughter – not because I might be missing something really funny, or that the joke might be about me, it’s that I’m aware that when everybody is having a good chuckle the one stone-faced guy in the room can be a real downer.

What does bother me is when people assume that because I was in the room when the plans were made I must know what’s going on. For someone that relieves himself from planning anything that involves any more people than himself this may seem a bit pernickety, but when the end goal is suddenly interrupted with surprise occasions it’s tricky to keep your cool:

“Uh, I though we’re going to the pub. What is this?”

“Oh, we didn’t tell you? We’re taking Oma to the hospital to have her liver replaced so she can drink too.”

Also, it seems to take forever for people speaking a foreign language to express anything to each other. I can’t count the number of times I’ve asked for simple directions through a translator and the ensuing conversation between translator and direction-giver lasted long enough for me to figure it out on my own based on the relative position stars.

At this point I should probably explain that my Dutch is not as good as many people think. As a matter of fact, my Dutch is worse than even I thought.

This misunderstanding can be explained by the acrobatics my brain does to get the gist of a conversation without actually understanding anything that’s being said. I used to be able to give the impression of scholarly knowingness by watching facial cues and body language, listening to the inflection of the voice, and putting random contextual bits and pieces together. At the very least I made people extremely nervous about my actual level of understanding.

Now, like before, the more words I can understand the more confused I become about what people are talking about. It turns out the brain-power I would normally devote to sleight-of-hand comprehension is being used to translate actual words at a rate of about one per paragraph. You hear “banana” and “people” with about 50 other indecipherable words around them and you try to figure what the conversation is about:

People like bananas because of the potassium, or, healthy people eat bananas especially if they’re cyclists, or, people and bananas have existed for many years, or, some people slipped on the banana peel. As it turns out you were completely wrong. The conversation was about the people at the hospital that made way for the man with a banana stuck up his ass.

So I’ll stop being a whiny bitch and start studying Dutch as soon as I get my local social insurance number.

In the mean time people here will help me by switching to English whenever I try to speak Dutch to them, speaking louder when I ask them to slow down, or provide me with wildly different definitions about words like “because”. Because the word I’ve being using for “because” is “want” and, as it turns out, it’s actually supposed to be “omdat” even though three different people have told me it’s “want” and nobody seems to know precisely when to use either.

Yeah, “because” is “want” pronounced “vahnt”. Here is some more Dutch mindfuckery for you: “who” is “wie” pronounced “we”, “how” is “hoe” pronounced “who”, and “why” is “waarom” pronounced “varoom!” although, don’t hold me to that. Doubtless tomorrow someone will inform me that I’ve just asked them, “Tar the fat one while the pebble wears knee-socks?”

My favourite –and this happens uncannily often– is when I’m informed that a phrase I’ve been using is no longer used, and that, as a matter of fact, it hasn’t been used for three centuries. Then why the fuck did someone tell me the phrase in the first place? I’m not interested in the historical nuances of the bloody language. I’m trying to speak it without sounding like a fairground exhibit on Medieval Day.

This is the sort of misinformation could make someone paranoid. Almost like there is a national interest in fucking with me for humorous effect: Let’s get him to say, “There’s some chilli on my toe”, when he’s asking for the bill. . . He-he-heee, he actually said it!

Another problem is that the Dutch, like the Czechs, are simply not used to hearing someone speak their language with a foreign accent. Trying to do so can rapidly degenerate into a dialogue with the extreme elderly:

“Would you like some tea?”

“Pardon me?”

“I said, would you like some tea?”

“Huh? You have a shaky knee?”

Now acting out the universal tea-drinking motion, “No. Would y-o-u like some t-e-a?”

“What? You want to what with me?”

“Can I OFFER you some TEA?”

“Your office is very clean? Ah. . . That’s nice.”

“Look, do you want some goddamned tea in your goddamned cup?”

“Ah! No thank you.”

“Okay then.” I start pouring myself a cup.

“Oh, you’re offering me tea. I’d love some.”

With translation issues there is also turnaround; like when someone with weaker English is trying to explain the context of the idea they are about to convey. This usually takes the form of –without me having any knowledge of what they're about to say– asking me which word they should use: “Is it participate, or particular?” Jesus, I’m not Sherlock Holmes, you’ll have to give me a few more clues than that to figure out which word you should use.

One of the first phrases I’ve perfected my Opa taught me. It’s “Ik gaan spraak Nederlands.” Or, “I don’t speak Dutch”. Being able to say you don't speak the language is incredibly important. Mostly because it’s fun to watch someone go cross-eyed as they try to figure out how someone can say they can’t speak Dutch in perfect Dutch.

More recently I learned, “Ik weet dat wel.” Which literally means, “I know it well.” This is the least useful thing you can learn this early on in the game. Not only because it’s not something you can really say when you don’t understand anything else the person said, but also because when they say it all you know is that they know something and they know it well.

In the past I’ve extolled the virtues of not understanding a language simply because it’s nice to not hear what people at the next table are talking about. Often it’s about nothing at the least, or totally aggravating at the most – like that person on public transportation loudly blathering into their mobile phone. In light of this, and all the other frustrations, one would ask why I even bother trying to learn it. Well, one reason is that I feel really Dutch, and the only piece that’s missing is my ability to speak the language.

So I’ll chip away at this monster, fully aware that it’s going to get a lot more difficult before it get’s better. Already I’m seeing little flickers of light in the deaf darkness of day-to-day conversation. Maybe I’ll get to the point where when I hear “honden fokken” I won’t even grin to myself.

Note:

Honden = Dogs

Fokken = Breed