Dublin, May 2-4.
Croatia (Zadar + possibly an island?), May 13-20.
Then no holiday days left from work. Or money to spare. But I think its worth it!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Ich bin ein Berliner!
Speaking English first is a very handy skill to have. It is rare that you will visit a place where English is not understood by at least one person in the immediate vicinity (admittedly I haven't ventured far off the beaten track).
But it does come with an inherent set-back. Most of the people whom I have met that speak English first speak nothing second. I fall quite painfully and from a great height into this category, and I hate it.
I don't speak any other languages. If an Italian, an Indian, an Arab or an African approached me in the street for help, I would be relying on their English skills in order to provide some assistance, because lord knows they haven't a hope in hell with me.
It is something that I have almost come to resent about myself and the majority of English-speakers that I meet along the way. Especially those who espouse the view 'Why should I learn another language when everyone can understand me?'
The classic example is an American traveller whom I met in Berlin, describing an encounter that he had with a beggar in Rome. Pleading with him in Italian, this poor woman received the reply (in the harshest of Chicagoian accents) 'Woman, if you can't even beg in English then you ain't worth my time. Learn English if you want my money.'
I had to hide my frustration with this huge-sunglass-small-tshirt-tight-jeans-wearing boy by taking a large bite of bratwurst and chewing ferociously so that he wouldn't see my teeth grinding.
Until I asked myself - am I no better than he is? I can't speak Italian. Even when I tried, most of the time Italians don't understand me. And let's not even begin with my French, Spanish or German. Yet most Italians (and French and Spaniards and Germans) that I met could understand my English. I wonder how much of his English that beggar-woman understood?
There are, of course, exceptions to this rule. I found myself staring wide-eyed at a colleague of mine recently when she switched from English to fluent French when she realised that the person with whom she was speaking hailed from Paris. I found out later that she spent a year in Paris, and could also speak Spanish from time spent in Spain, and some broken German from a few months as a correspondent at a German newspaper.
Whilst now that the novelty has warn off her skill is less a topic of admiration and more a ground for practical joking (There's a call for you, and its someone German. No really. I swear. Yes, they only speak German. I would never lie to you!), I still find myself in awe of anyone with an English-speaking background who can speak a second language. Not even fluently - even just an understanding and a few broken spoken sentences are enough to earn my surprise and respect.
But it does come with an inherent set-back. Most of the people whom I have met that speak English first speak nothing second. I fall quite painfully and from a great height into this category, and I hate it.
I don't speak any other languages. If an Italian, an Indian, an Arab or an African approached me in the street for help, I would be relying on their English skills in order to provide some assistance, because lord knows they haven't a hope in hell with me.
It is something that I have almost come to resent about myself and the majority of English-speakers that I meet along the way. Especially those who espouse the view 'Why should I learn another language when everyone can understand me?'
The classic example is an American traveller whom I met in Berlin, describing an encounter that he had with a beggar in Rome. Pleading with him in Italian, this poor woman received the reply (in the harshest of Chicagoian accents) 'Woman, if you can't even beg in English then you ain't worth my time. Learn English if you want my money.'
I had to hide my frustration with this huge-sunglass-small-tshirt-tight-jeans-wearing boy by taking a large bite of bratwurst and chewing ferociously so that he wouldn't see my teeth grinding.
Until I asked myself - am I no better than he is? I can't speak Italian. Even when I tried, most of the time Italians don't understand me. And let's not even begin with my French, Spanish or German. Yet most Italians (and French and Spaniards and Germans) that I met could understand my English. I wonder how much of his English that beggar-woman understood?
There are, of course, exceptions to this rule. I found myself staring wide-eyed at a colleague of mine recently when she switched from English to fluent French when she realised that the person with whom she was speaking hailed from Paris. I found out later that she spent a year in Paris, and could also speak Spanish from time spent in Spain, and some broken German from a few months as a correspondent at a German newspaper.
Whilst now that the novelty has warn off her skill is less a topic of admiration and more a ground for practical joking (There's a call for you, and its someone German. No really. I swear. Yes, they only speak German. I would never lie to you!), I still find myself in awe of anyone with an English-speaking background who can speak a second language. Not even fluently - even just an understanding and a few broken spoken sentences are enough to earn my surprise and respect.
When JFK proudly proclaimed 'Ich bin ein Berliner!' to a cheering crowd in West Berlin, 1963 he earned (perhaps belatedly) a small amount of ridicule from the English-speaking world. In a rather abstract way, this phrase can be taken literally to mean 'I am a jelly donut' (although apparently it did not sound this way at all to the adoring crowd assembled on the day, and Kennedy's message rang loud and clear). And I admit that I used to have a giggle now and then when I saw it in history.
But really this is the sort of effort that we should all be making. Language is culture, and so often we travel not just to see places but to experience different cultures. You cannot experience a culture without at least attempting to speak some of the language. You cannot connect with people unless you show a willingness to understand the basis of their country.
Whilst us English-speakers might be at a disadvantage in that it is not really necessary for us to learn another language to get by, we need to be reminded every now and then that it is necessary for us if we want to travel completely and genuinely.
My girlfriend's fantastic French flatmate loves speaking English and has moved here (to Scotland) so he can practice everyday. Now he can not only travel to, but also connect with the English-speaking world as well as the French-speaking world. He can (metaphorically speaking) not only pronounce 'Je suis une personne française' (or something like that), but also 'I am an Englishman, I am a Scot, I am an Australian, I am an American, etc.' These are the broad horizons that I crave, and I hope to have them within my view one day in the near future.
Learning languages should not be feared, or seen as an unnecessary hobby. It is something that I aspire to, and hope to make the time to embrace so that perhaps one day I can also proudly stand in a room of jelly donuts and announce that I, too, am one of them.
My girlfriend's fantastic French flatmate loves speaking English and has moved here (to Scotland) so he can practice everyday. Now he can not only travel to, but also connect with the English-speaking world as well as the French-speaking world. He can (metaphorically speaking) not only pronounce 'Je suis une personne française' (or something like that), but also 'I am an Englishman, I am a Scot, I am an Australian, I am an American, etc.' These are the broad horizons that I crave, and I hope to have them within my view one day in the near future.
Learning languages should not be feared, or seen as an unnecessary hobby. It is something that I aspire to, and hope to make the time to embrace so that perhaps one day I can also proudly stand in a room of jelly donuts and announce that I, too, am one of them.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Poor, but sexy
Or so the recent advertising campaign goes...
I have been struggling with writing this post from the moment we flew back in to Edinburgh. And not for lack of inspiration.
Berlin is amazing. There really is something incredibly sexy about a city that has been rebuilding and renewing itself for over 60 years... Something dynamic, something very vibrant and alive. Berlin is the embodiment of a city with a truly genuine lifeforce that exists and breathes at the core of every building, every park, every citizen of this magnificent town.
So no, inspiration is definitely not a problem.
We spent an entire day on a cycle tour of the city, stopping to take in pieces of history (from Babelplatz, where Hitler held book burnings, to Checkpoint Charlie, where Russian and American tanks faced off through a small gap in the Berlin wall, all the way back to the Brandenburg Gate, which Napoleon's armies marched through in 1806), enjoy a beer and a bratwurst in a beer garden, and soak in some of the glorious weather that graced most of our trip.
There was a day of sunburn out in Potsdam, ambling between a series of beautiful palaces set in a sprawling manicured park which was just beginning to burst with the life of Springtime.
The Jewish Memorial for victims of the Holocaust moved many to tears, and left us silent for an age. Stories of misery and daring escapes sparkled in my mind as I walked through The House at Checkpoint Charlie, a museum dedicated to the people's struggles against (and through and over and under) the Berlin Wall.
My stomach enjoyed every moment of the fine international cuisine, as did my wallet enjoy the reasonable prices offered for great food and friendly service to match.
And the sunshine... Oh the sunshine! I spent 4 of our 6 days in just a t-shirt, with a very light jumper for the mornings and evenings. In fact, we spent almost 2 hours of our first day in Berlin just dozing on the grass in front of some of Berlin's finest old buildings, watching students stretch out with books, basking in the sun's warmth, and listening to the loud singing of some young Italian tourists.
You see, there is just so much to write about! And then there is the city itself, regardless of our travels.
A city that is almost 800 years old, which has served as the capital city of some of the world's most influential nations - from the proud Kingdom of Prussia, to the powerful German Empire, to modern-day Germany - Berlin is a city with a unique history and an enrapturing story. The Brandenburg Gate hosted Napoleon, saw the return of successful Prussian armies, farewelled troops of the German Empire into World War I and II. The Reichstag survived through the tumultuous times of the Weimar Republic, only to be gutted by a fire during Hitler's rise to power at the head of the National Socialists, and then stood dormant, powerless, watching the rapid rebuilding and then the devastating destruction of the city around it as history took her course. Potsdamer Platz was once Europe's busiest traffic intersection before it was practically cleft in two by opposing ideologies occupying opposite halves of one city.
And still the people of Berlin survived. Berlin's wounds are fresh, and her scars are deep, and the pain of the past is visible everywhere you turn. But the scars are beautiful, the wounds are closing over, and the pain is healing, leaving behind a trail of character, learning and progression. And today the people of Berlin continue, shaped by an incredible past, and moving forwards in an equally unique direction.
Anyone visiting Berlin would find themselves filled with inspiration. You could walk the streets of Berlin blindfolded and still come home with stories to tell. You could block out all the sounds of the city and still return singing the praises of one of Europe's most special places.
But how do you even begin to do it in such a way that does justice to this strangely encompassing experience?
That is the thing about Berlin. It is an experience. And there is no way that words or pictures, alone or combined, could do it justice. I cannot think of a single medium which can convey the soul-touching energy of Berlin.
All I can do is beg of you, each and every one of you, please, please visit Berlin. Actually no, don't visit it. Berlin isn't a place to be visited. It is a place to be challenged, to be given a chance, to be congratulated, to be breathed in, to be seen, to be experienced. I can guarantee that you will walk away with something in return.
Berlin may be financially poor. But she really is oh so sexy, in all the best and worst ways.
I have been struggling with writing this post from the moment we flew back in to Edinburgh. And not for lack of inspiration.
Berlin is amazing. There really is something incredibly sexy about a city that has been rebuilding and renewing itself for over 60 years... Something dynamic, something very vibrant and alive. Berlin is the embodiment of a city with a truly genuine lifeforce that exists and breathes at the core of every building, every park, every citizen of this magnificent town.
So no, inspiration is definitely not a problem.
We spent an entire day on a cycle tour of the city, stopping to take in pieces of history (from Babelplatz, where Hitler held book burnings, to Checkpoint Charlie, where Russian and American tanks faced off through a small gap in the Berlin wall, all the way back to the Brandenburg Gate, which Napoleon's armies marched through in 1806), enjoy a beer and a bratwurst in a beer garden, and soak in some of the glorious weather that graced most of our trip.
There was a day of sunburn out in Potsdam, ambling between a series of beautiful palaces set in a sprawling manicured park which was just beginning to burst with the life of Springtime.
The Jewish Memorial for victims of the Holocaust moved many to tears, and left us silent for an age. Stories of misery and daring escapes sparkled in my mind as I walked through The House at Checkpoint Charlie, a museum dedicated to the people's struggles against (and through and over and under) the Berlin Wall.
My stomach enjoyed every moment of the fine international cuisine, as did my wallet enjoy the reasonable prices offered for great food and friendly service to match.
And the sunshine... Oh the sunshine! I spent 4 of our 6 days in just a t-shirt, with a very light jumper for the mornings and evenings. In fact, we spent almost 2 hours of our first day in Berlin just dozing on the grass in front of some of Berlin's finest old buildings, watching students stretch out with books, basking in the sun's warmth, and listening to the loud singing of some young Italian tourists.
You see, there is just so much to write about! And then there is the city itself, regardless of our travels.
A city that is almost 800 years old, which has served as the capital city of some of the world's most influential nations - from the proud Kingdom of Prussia, to the powerful German Empire, to modern-day Germany - Berlin is a city with a unique history and an enrapturing story. The Brandenburg Gate hosted Napoleon, saw the return of successful Prussian armies, farewelled troops of the German Empire into World War I and II. The Reichstag survived through the tumultuous times of the Weimar Republic, only to be gutted by a fire during Hitler's rise to power at the head of the National Socialists, and then stood dormant, powerless, watching the rapid rebuilding and then the devastating destruction of the city around it as history took her course. Potsdamer Platz was once Europe's busiest traffic intersection before it was practically cleft in two by opposing ideologies occupying opposite halves of one city.
And still the people of Berlin survived. Berlin's wounds are fresh, and her scars are deep, and the pain of the past is visible everywhere you turn. But the scars are beautiful, the wounds are closing over, and the pain is healing, leaving behind a trail of character, learning and progression. And today the people of Berlin continue, shaped by an incredible past, and moving forwards in an equally unique direction.
Anyone visiting Berlin would find themselves filled with inspiration. You could walk the streets of Berlin blindfolded and still come home with stories to tell. You could block out all the sounds of the city and still return singing the praises of one of Europe's most special places.
But how do you even begin to do it in such a way that does justice to this strangely encompassing experience?
That is the thing about Berlin. It is an experience. And there is no way that words or pictures, alone or combined, could do it justice. I cannot think of a single medium which can convey the soul-touching energy of Berlin.
All I can do is beg of you, each and every one of you, please, please visit Berlin. Actually no, don't visit it. Berlin isn't a place to be visited. It is a place to be challenged, to be given a chance, to be congratulated, to be breathed in, to be seen, to be experienced. I can guarantee that you will walk away with something in return.
Berlin may be financially poor. But she really is oh so sexy, in all the best and worst ways.
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