On the Subtle Distinction Between Syllables: Part 1

In as much as Highland English is often perceived as confusing and garbled by the average American, such is the case with Flemish spoken in Zwevegem versus that in Antwerp or Gent. Learning a new language is difficult enough, but there is something particularly confounding about wading through no less than eight regional Dutch dialects, some strongly influenced by German and French. At least San Diego and the Outer Hebrides can claim to be in different countries 12,000 miles apart. Zwevegem is in the adjacent county to Gent.

It wasn’t a huge surprise to see that the Hollandic Dutch we spent a few months reviewing (with a native of Amsterdam) was so dissimilar from Flemish. It was, however, surprising to learn that Flemish dialects vary even more amongst themselves. When I worked for two weeks in and near Eindhoven, even in Flemish Limburgh I could hear the “Limburgh” dialect- strikingly more similar to the Brabantian and Hollandic dialects than anything I’ve yet heard in West Flanders (even if spoken somewhat slower). It sounded more like what I’d heard before moving to Belgium.

The complications stem partly from the fact that French is scattered in many of the Flemish dialects and regions, and partly because of enunciation particulars. My biggest problem is the lack of distinction between syllables that largely permeates most Flemish dialects. I believe Judi already mentioned the “heen en terug” moment, where I asked for a ticket “heen en terug” (return trip) at the counter. I received a blank look as a reward for my painstakingly crisp interpretation of Hollandic pronunciation. Finally, the lady at the counter asked “Ah, hn’tr’h?” in a heartbeat. Apparently you need to sort of slur the term and say it really, really fast if you want to be understood at the Kortrijk train station. It kind of complicates the process when people say things you would have understood on paper, but can’t understand when spoken (most Dutch and Flemish dialects are nearly indistinguishable in written form). In that return ticket sentence, I know now I should have gone softer on the “G” as well, which the Flemish either pronounce a “G” as an “H”, or gargle it, depending on the phrase.

With no offense to Flemish people, I must say it sounds a bit as though they take a Dutch sentence, soften the “G” to an “H”, and gargle the rest if it quite fast. I have nothing against gargling. The running joke in Belgium is that Dutch has a “G” and “H”, while Flemish has a “hoog “H” en laag “H”. (The up “H“and down “H”- referring to the letters hg). For reference, Hollandic Dutch scratches the “G” in the throat. My co-worker, Ric here, is now laughing and telling me that “Flemish people like to be quick and to the point. The people from Holland sound like they want to sing to you.”

The eight main Dutch dialacts:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Dutchdialectpic.PNG

Screaming Winds

Yes, it was bad. http://edition.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/europe/01/18/europe.storm.ap/index.html

The wind was howling… screaming past my second story office all day. I’ve read that clichéd metaphor a thousand times, but when you hear it actually doing exactly that, the truth of it grips you. I couldn’t even ride the bike from BTC to Zwevegem, as was threatening to hurl me into traffic, and I made zero progress anyway. The strong wind was about to pick the bike right up and toss it into the fields, and would have done so had I not gripped and leaned on it to walk it back to a rack. Even when walking I was literally nearly knocked off of my feet by a few of the intense gusts, and had to keep my head poked forward toward the wind so it wouldn’t rip my wool hood cover off of me like tissue. Walking into it was like walking on the bottom of a pool with weights on your feet. One older man here at BTC fell down on the stairs after a sudden pulse. Tree limbs were snapping throughout the day (they didn’t have far to fall since it seemed every tree had decided to lie down), and arriving this morning I notice the foliage look quite haggard, and the ground quite littered with plant detritus. On the way home through Zwevegem, I noticed fire and electrical crews scrambling to clear fallen power lines- many of which were lying about in the streets (the article notes Eurostar was held up by fallen power lines in Lille- a stones throw from Zwevegem). Trains were delayed, trains were cancelled. My bus was late to the station, and I was delayed an hour. I’ve never seen wind that strong in my life.

Every once in a while a sudden “burst” of rain, scarcely a second long, would fall as if someone dumped a bucket on your head. I watched in awe as a large pool of water slithered rapidly through the gutter all the way down the block past the bus stop. The stone trash cans in Kortrijk were knocked over, and the huge tarp sign from Café Cinquenta-Six in Kortrijk had ripped free and was pinned against the side of the building across the street, like one of those flat green chitins you can never peel off the rock in the tide pools. It looked like someone had painted it on the facade.

Fortunately, nestled among the urban buildings in Gent the wind was dampened, and settled for a reasonable dull roar. But get this- the meteorologists are certain it is going to snow in Belgium. Starting Sunday, there are supposed to be eight days of sub zero temperatures, dipping to -8 °C. I’ll finally get to see it snow! Hopefully it will be kinder to Europe than the wind.

More pictures (local news): http://www.standaard.be/Kanaal/Index.aspx?KanaalId=316

Happy New Year, everyone!

We have emerged from the holidays this year unscathed, and I hope that everyone else has too!

I have discovered a new bus line with a stop that is very convenient stop to the local grocery store, and a branch of our bank. Waiting at the stop outside the Delhaize with my bag of groceries has brought me into contact with some of my elderly neighbors. I can only hope that I will be as spry as the 90 year woman I saw dash like a gazelle for the number 9 bus this morning, with a large grocery bag in each hand. The bus drivers here are relatively peremptory, and this gentleman in particular seemed almost disappointed that she made it.

We received our new combination washer/dryer yesterday. The delivery men managed to get it up the stairs with ease, and within a few minutes had it installed in our tiny kitchen. They helpfully gave me some tips on how to use it. At one point the impenetrable Language Barrier of Bewilderment fell between us, as they tried to remember the English word for "fabric softener". We all smiled and shrugged, and I was much relieved to find that there was an English language section to the instructions that they left on our kitchen counter. It really is an interesting thing. It uses relatively little space, electricity and water compared to American appliances. The capacity is a princely 4.5 kg, which I think is equal to roughly two of the super-sized towels that we got as wedding presents. Once you are done washing, the very same machine then dries your clothes, using some mechanism to condense the water. It doesn't even have a vent outside. It's not as big or fast as I was used to from the US, and I think it will take me a week to feed all of the mountain of clothes we had managed to create through it, but I don't mind in the least! No more wheeling a heavy, bulky suitcase full of dirty clothes for a twenty-five minute walk through two construction zones to the Laundromat! Hooray!