To commemorate my recent trip to Brussels, Belgium, I am compelled to tell you a moving story of love and devotion among friends….
Once upon a time there were three persons with three different interpretations of queerness in three very different, very jaded cities. They were the best of friends, and they showed their mutual affections by brushing each other’s hair, sending scarring YouTube videos under false pretext, making friendship bracelets and burning each other’s initials into woodchips surrounded by little hearts during shop class.
On one particular evening, A and J had a slumber party while C was in a city far, far away. They all three desperately wanted to be together, and instant messenger just wasn’t doing justice to their close connection. Since brushing each other’s hair wasn’t really a possibility, and nothing really suits bosom buddies quite as well, J and C decided that it was time they told A just how much she meant to them….
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Categories: Belgium · Family · Food · Friends · Point Foundation · Soprano Moments
Since arriving in Deutschland I have struggled to come up with Bayrische Ohren (ears). The southern accent and dialect–swallowed vowels, dental consonants, relaxed lips and tongue, and short, throaty (I know, right!??!) ich-lauts–prove overwhelming to my education in strict Hochdeutsch. More often than not the words fly by indistinguishably, and I can’t even decipher the separation between words I already know, let alone identify new ones. It gets to the point where I don’t even know what to look up in my dictionary because I just can’t weed through the thick pronunciation. By the same token, it often takes me saying something two or three times for them to understand me. This can often be an embarrassing situation and has really hindered my desire to speak out.
On my way to Brussels, however, I switched trains in Koeln and found myself (ploetzlich!) in a wonderland of perfekt Hochdeutsch. Bright vowels, loose jaws, crisp consonants, excessive tongue movement, hissy ich-lauts… and not a trace of dialect. Individual words! Whole sentences that made sense! It was so yummy to hang on the sound of every glorious little word. Even the idiomatic expressions were much easier to decode and assimilate, because I could actually hear their components loud and clear. Who cared if I didn’t know a word here and there! I could repeat that whole sentence back and had something concrete to look up in my dictionary. Bitte, sagen Sie diesen Satz noch einmal? Mir war soooo schoen. Ach, sweet relief.
So, in turn, I raise my glass to the stalwart exchange students who prevail against the linguistic terrors of the American south. You have my deepest respect and admiration.
Categories: Belgium · Culture · Germany · Language · Local Flavah'
Update: Since writing this post I have learned that Danish masquerades as Flemish quite regularly in the mouths of those not acquainted with the language. In light of this new information, I replaced the word Flemish in the following post with the word Danish. Otherwise, nothing has changed.
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Hallo, Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Nein?
Parler Francais? Non.
Danish? ::head shake::
::manic gesturing::
Well, thanks anyways!
Right now I’m in the grand ol’ land of Benelux.
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Categories: Belgium · Germany · The Netherlands · Travel
