Lost in Translation

No one said learning a foreign language was easy, especially when you’re an adult whose head is full of decades of information, memories and trivia. Sometimes it feels like there’s not enough room in my brain to accommodate what’s new, or worse, there is room so everything gets shifted, with the result: I can’t find the words in any language.

Case in point, I was sitting around a table of Dutch speakers and the subject was RSI or repetitive strain syndrome. Already self-conscious about my language skills around more complicated subjects—i.e. anything disconnected to food—I was trying to explain how a friend had such bad RSI she couldn’t zip up her pants.

Or at least I thought that’s what I was saying. But I was only met by wide stares, so I knew something wasn’t right.

“Yes, she had trouble doing up her, uh, caterpillar,” I kept saying, motioning to my zipper. The Dutch word for zipper is “rits” and caterpillar is “rups”—not a huge difference, all things considered. “She was too weak to do her caterpillar,” I repeated, unconvinced I was using the right word. Finally, someone asked me to say it in English. “Oh zipper? That’s what you meant!” was the chorus.

It’s a good exercise, though, making mistakes because I’ll never forget either word again.

Oddly Named Cars

I am by no means a car fan--this here girl drives a bike. Still, I've been noticing car names around Amsterdam recently and some things simply don't translate (or translate well.) Over the last several days I've seen:

Panda Hobby (huh? is this car meant for a kindergardener?)

Scenic (well, certainly not the traffic...)

Charisma (this one was an old beater, so it needed some)

Galaxy (more appropriate for a chocolate bar, methinks)

Berlingo (an English language institute?)

Sharan (too close to Sharon, the name the British give to stupid women)

and finally:

Move (taking things at their most literal)

I wonder why car makers have decided to go all colorful on this side of the Atlantic. Yes, the brands are the same: Audi, Hyundai, BMW, etc. Only the car names are so frickin' weird, like someone allowed their kid to tag them as they rolled off the factory floor. I mean, in America our cars are so much more macho. We've got trailblazers, rangers, hummers and rams. Manly cars that roam on the ever expanding range.

The sights at Vondel Park

On most days, I have to really motivate myself to go jogging because this means combatting rain, wind and whatever elements Mother Nature would like to throw my way. (I'd say like most Dutch women, Mother Nature is rather assertive and holds few surprises.)

A few days ago, it was truly Spring. Spring had sprung and so, encouraged by sunlight and the lack of rain, I decided to go jogging. I live around the corner from Vondel Park, so I headed there past the David Lloyd fitness club, and discovered hundreds of joggers when I got there. I am rather slow when it comes to jogging, especially compared to the long-legged Dutch who tend to hold entire conversations while jogging, and make lots of stops.

Now Vondel Park is always fascinating as people constantly migrate here to relax. There are certain areas where groups or subgroups tend to hang out. Like teens and gays like to congregate near the rose bushes, while the northern end of the park attracts drinkers and alcoholics. So while I was jogging near the drinker's patch, I decided to take a break. Two guys were playing frisbee as their friends carried on loudly behind them. One was dressed like a throwback from the 1980s, his multi-colored, pastel jacket would have fit in perfectly at the 1984 Olympics, and the other looked like Morpheus out of the Matrix, in a long black leather jacket.

It was such a strange sight to behold, like two distinct eras being thrown into a time warp I just happened to come across. It tickled me because this is how I always envisioned Vondel Park, full of odd characters like those hippy tribes who would hang out here in the 1960s, literally coming out of the woodwork.