A dear friend once suggested that I not speak English with an accent when I am speaking with native German speaking friends.
It’s a totally cheesy thing to do but I cannot help it. As hard as I try not to, I begin structuring my sentences like an English as a second language speaker. And then I throw in an accent on top.
“Now it sounds like you speak poor English as well,” said my friend.
I can’t win.
The other day while out for lunch I was asked something in German. “Ja Ja” I replied. It’s what I say to nearly everything. As my understanding of German continues to grow so does the uncertainty of speaking it – “ja ja” works almost always.
I have a new respect for those who speak a second language with which they are not 100% comfortable. They know absolutely that they will make mistakes and that they could very possibly look silly. It takes a level of bravery that I know I struggle with in some situations. But I know I have to go there if want to learn.
Overall the patience of people is astounding. No matter if I am in Austria or elsewhere. I have to admit that although I do not venture out of my comfort zone as often as I should, when I do, I am inspired by the way people respond. Another experience for which I am grateful.
I also understand now the comfort people can find in commiserating with a stranger in their familiar language. It is a momentary comfort.
My “ja ja” was not completely accepted at lunch the other day. As my time continues here in Austria so does the impatience with my limited language skills. They want to not hear my accented English, but rather me bumble my way through their language. I understand that too. Its time
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
A Good Life
I made the mad dash to grocery store – just in time. I quickly found my new favourite Austrian wine to have with dinner. The cloth bag for my groceries was tucked under my arm. Once at the checkout I was able to answer all the questions asked of me – in German. When I walked in the door I noticed that the big bouquet of white roses I had bought myself had filled my flat with a beautifully fragrant air.
Earlier today I had a wonderful exchange with my son back home. Then a few texts with a special friend reminded me that I am indeed loved.
As I make dinner tonight I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I have learned so much since moving Austria. Particularly about myself. My personal idealism of how to be a good mother has been challenged. I have had to count on the kindness of others to help me make my way at times, and without that, my days would have been much more empty and difficult. I know now the tremendous gratification that can result from knowing how to answer someone in an unfamiliar language, if only a handful of times. I have learned to ask for help.
I know that the small triumphs and beautiful moments that made up my day today were the result of the many amazing people that have entered my life. Whether it’s my son who makes me feel like the world’s best mom even though I am an ocean away, or the friend up the street that feeds me when I have not the time, or the colleague who helps me book a hair appointment when I am too shy to make the phone attempt –I am lucky. It’s the small moments that make up a life, and because of the support of everyone in my life, I can enjoy and savour them.
I have a good life. Thanks for being in it.
Earlier today I had a wonderful exchange with my son back home. Then a few texts with a special friend reminded me that I am indeed loved.
As I make dinner tonight I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I have learned so much since moving Austria. Particularly about myself. My personal idealism of how to be a good mother has been challenged. I have had to count on the kindness of others to help me make my way at times, and without that, my days would have been much more empty and difficult. I know now the tremendous gratification that can result from knowing how to answer someone in an unfamiliar language, if only a handful of times. I have learned to ask for help.
I know that the small triumphs and beautiful moments that made up my day today were the result of the many amazing people that have entered my life. Whether it’s my son who makes me feel like the world’s best mom even though I am an ocean away, or the friend up the street that feeds me when I have not the time, or the colleague who helps me book a hair appointment when I am too shy to make the phone attempt –I am lucky. It’s the small moments that make up a life, and because of the support of everyone in my life, I can enjoy and savour them.
I have a good life. Thanks for being in it.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
13 Things I Have Learned
After five months of living in Voralberg, Austria, this is what I have learned thus far,
1. Speeding is bad. There are cameras everywhere and they don’t fall for tear filled stories here.
2. Police here are scary. I don’t know why, but they frighten the heck out of me.
3. Never call an Austrian – German. That’s akin to calling a Canadian an American.
4. Three kisses. Some countries it’s a kiss on each cheek, but in Austria it’s two and one. Got it.
5. Furniture takes six to eight weeks. If you are looking for instant gratification, skip furniture shopping. Ain’t gunna happen.
6. Flats do not come with lights. Not even bulbs!
7. Forget the carb free diet. Bread, bread, everywhere bread. Life is too short not to indulge when surrounded by so many amazing bakeries.
8. People smoke. Everyone! Kids, adults, athletes – I simply can’t wrap my head around that one.
9. Mahlzeit. That means good eating. People say that nonstop between 11am and 2pm. Sometimes event at dinner time.
10. Austrians are passionate. Don’t let the structure and formalities fool you. Underneath that calm, rational exterior is an outburst just waiting to happen.
11. Friend means lover, colleague means friend. I think. I am not 100% on that one, but I am sticking with colleague - it reduces the potential of a seriously awkward moment.
12. Aperol Spritz is great on a hot day. Particularly with Prosecco.
13. Caipirinha’s are not for wimps. Don’t drink one of those at the end of the night. Trust me on that one.
1. Speeding is bad. There are cameras everywhere and they don’t fall for tear filled stories here.
2. Police here are scary. I don’t know why, but they frighten the heck out of me.
3. Never call an Austrian – German. That’s akin to calling a Canadian an American.
4. Three kisses. Some countries it’s a kiss on each cheek, but in Austria it’s two and one. Got it.
5. Furniture takes six to eight weeks. If you are looking for instant gratification, skip furniture shopping. Ain’t gunna happen.
6. Flats do not come with lights. Not even bulbs!
7. Forget the carb free diet. Bread, bread, everywhere bread. Life is too short not to indulge when surrounded by so many amazing bakeries.
8. People smoke. Everyone! Kids, adults, athletes – I simply can’t wrap my head around that one.
9. Mahlzeit. That means good eating. People say that nonstop between 11am and 2pm. Sometimes event at dinner time.
10. Austrians are passionate. Don’t let the structure and formalities fool you. Underneath that calm, rational exterior is an outburst just waiting to happen.
11. Friend means lover, colleague means friend. I think. I am not 100% on that one, but I am sticking with colleague - it reduces the potential of a seriously awkward moment.
12. Aperol Spritz is great on a hot day. Particularly with Prosecco.
13. Caipirinha’s are not for wimps. Don’t drink one of those at the end of the night. Trust me on that one.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
I came. I weighed. I conquered.
I bought lemons today. Oh yeah. I rocked this whole Austria thing big time. For months I have been terrified of the produce section – but today no longer.
This past week I shared with someone from the office how intimidated I was by the produce department. The weighing in and tagging prior to the cashier hadn’t worked out so well for me in the past and lead to some pretty embarrassing moments. He took his time and explained the process. Produce on the scale. Type in number that is displayed on the items sign. Sticker comes out. Place on bag with produce.
Got it.
But first I needed cash and I had none so off I went to the bank machine to use my Austrian bank card for the first time.
Not good. The English language button was nowhere to be found and my attempt to logically select the right buttons was failing miserably. The machine kept spitting my card back. No money. This was a bit of a problem. I needed food and a pair of shoes was calling my name. So I did what any other person in my predicament would do. I went to my favorite bakery and ordered a cappuccino to go and pondered my options.
That’s when I heard “hey American girl!”
Seems walking around with a coffee is not a very Austrian thing to do. Nonetheless, that cappuccino proved to be the perfect Segway for a little bank machine tutorial. Money now in hand I decided it was time to head to the busy Interspar and stock up my weeks groceries.
First stop produce section. I circle the area. I decide to only try one thing just in case I did it wrong – one oops is much less embarrassing than 10. So I decide on lemons. Just three little lemons. I bag them and begin searching for the machine. Instantly I panic. There is a line up at the weigh scales. I nearly bail, but instead go back to the lemon sign and double check the number. “You can do this,” I silently assure myself.
My turn arrives. Place on scale. Check. Push button. Hmm…where is the tag? Nonchalantly I start examining all sides of the machine. I start looking for an enter button, something, anything that I could have overlooked. Nothing. Just before I am about to walk away I notice the sticker. I place it on the bag and head to the till. Reading the label I think whatever it happens to say does not look much like the word “lemon.” Should have taught us lemon in German class I think.
In the end, my lemons were accepted at the till. It was a euphoric moment for me. I paid for them with the money I took from the bank machine.
Today there is an extra bounce in step as well as a renewed sense of pride. And I will likely share this anyone and everyone who is misguided enough to ask me how my day went. And why not? I conquered the heck out of it!
This past week I shared with someone from the office how intimidated I was by the produce department. The weighing in and tagging prior to the cashier hadn’t worked out so well for me in the past and lead to some pretty embarrassing moments. He took his time and explained the process. Produce on the scale. Type in number that is displayed on the items sign. Sticker comes out. Place on bag with produce.
Got it.
But first I needed cash and I had none so off I went to the bank machine to use my Austrian bank card for the first time.
Not good. The English language button was nowhere to be found and my attempt to logically select the right buttons was failing miserably. The machine kept spitting my card back. No money. This was a bit of a problem. I needed food and a pair of shoes was calling my name. So I did what any other person in my predicament would do. I went to my favorite bakery and ordered a cappuccino to go and pondered my options.
That’s when I heard “hey American girl!”
Seems walking around with a coffee is not a very Austrian thing to do. Nonetheless, that cappuccino proved to be the perfect Segway for a little bank machine tutorial. Money now in hand I decided it was time to head to the busy Interspar and stock up my weeks groceries.
First stop produce section. I circle the area. I decide to only try one thing just in case I did it wrong – one oops is much less embarrassing than 10. So I decide on lemons. Just three little lemons. I bag them and begin searching for the machine. Instantly I panic. There is a line up at the weigh scales. I nearly bail, but instead go back to the lemon sign and double check the number. “You can do this,” I silently assure myself.
My turn arrives. Place on scale. Check. Push button. Hmm…where is the tag? Nonchalantly I start examining all sides of the machine. I start looking for an enter button, something, anything that I could have overlooked. Nothing. Just before I am about to walk away I notice the sticker. I place it on the bag and head to the till. Reading the label I think whatever it happens to say does not look much like the word “lemon.” Should have taught us lemon in German class I think.
In the end, my lemons were accepted at the till. It was a euphoric moment for me. I paid for them with the money I took from the bank machine.
Today there is an extra bounce in step as well as a renewed sense of pride. And I will likely share this anyone and everyone who is misguided enough to ask me how my day went. And why not? I conquered the heck out of it!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Queen of Consumption
Family. Food. Friends. Food. Easter. Even more food.
Am I complaining? Not a chance. Life doesn’t get much better than this. Everywhere I turn in the kitchen and pantry I can see my favourite foods. Two meals out of three are sure to be either a wonderful comfort food from my youth or a tantalizing culinary experience.
Don’t even get me started on the baking.
I am home. And by home I mean enjoying the pampering and fuss that a mother seems only to be able to do when she hasn’t seen her daughter in over three months. My primary responsibility is to devour and enjoy what is put in front of me. I’m worthy of the task.
So busy was I enjoying my role as the Queen of Consumption that I failed to notice anything else around me. One could say I was rather focused.
All this came to a screeching halt one fateful afternoon. “Let’s go to the gym,” says my son with 1% body fat. So off I went.
While at the gym I caught my profile in one of those ginormous mirrors that fitness clubs seem to line every available wall with and had what can only be called a Buddha moment.
Surely my shirt was all bunched I thought and smoothed it out over my stomach. Nope. Maybe it is the angle I am standing in I decide and reposition myself. Nope, not that either. I smooth my shirt again and ponder how many hours of hard core cardio it will take to right this most undesirable turn of events. A lot I decide.
I’ve never really experienced “going home” to my parents before. It’s certainly a time filled with love, comfort and quality time. Although I miss my parents dearly, it is also pretty cool to be able to enjoy this new experience. Sure it is calorie laden, but that’s okay, next time will pack some stretchy pants…
Am I complaining? Not a chance. Life doesn’t get much better than this. Everywhere I turn in the kitchen and pantry I can see my favourite foods. Two meals out of three are sure to be either a wonderful comfort food from my youth or a tantalizing culinary experience.
Don’t even get me started on the baking.
I am home. And by home I mean enjoying the pampering and fuss that a mother seems only to be able to do when she hasn’t seen her daughter in over three months. My primary responsibility is to devour and enjoy what is put in front of me. I’m worthy of the task.
So busy was I enjoying my role as the Queen of Consumption that I failed to notice anything else around me. One could say I was rather focused.
All this came to a screeching halt one fateful afternoon. “Let’s go to the gym,” says my son with 1% body fat. So off I went.
While at the gym I caught my profile in one of those ginormous mirrors that fitness clubs seem to line every available wall with and had what can only be called a Buddha moment.
Surely my shirt was all bunched I thought and smoothed it out over my stomach. Nope. Maybe it is the angle I am standing in I decide and reposition myself. Nope, not that either. I smooth my shirt again and ponder how many hours of hard core cardio it will take to right this most undesirable turn of events. A lot I decide.
I’ve never really experienced “going home” to my parents before. It’s certainly a time filled with love, comfort and quality time. Although I miss my parents dearly, it is also pretty cool to be able to enjoy this new experience. Sure it is calorie laden, but that’s okay, next time will pack some stretchy pants…
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Rethinking a Goodbye
I don’t like goodbyes. Not one little bit. They are an unnecessary dramatic conclusion. To me a goodbye signifies an end. And most often an end is a negative thing – so why goodbye?
When my son was around two years old he refused to say goodbye. He would hug people, say “love you” and then quickly leave the rest of us to our dramatic send off. I think he was on to something.
My long time email/pen pal used to sign every email to me with some sort of “goodbye.” Each time I would read through the email and enjoy the inevitable chuckle it provoked, but then it would lead to a formal “have a nice life” sort of ending. It made me crazy.
As I head off for a three week leave from my Austrian home, I found myself once again dealing with “goodbyes.” I appreciate the effort certainly, but being the sensitive soul that I am, I am horribly uncomfortable with the finality of a goodbye. I accept that things change and that sometimes it can be painful to part. But it does not have to be a goodbye. Does it?
I would like to think that a goodbye is more like the end of a chapter. And as you turn the pages to another chapter and perhaps another you will soon find that there was no need for a goodbye. Whether it is three weeks, 10 years or a lifetime – why say goodbye? How about see you soon? Then we can just keep turning the pages and see what the next chapter holds.
When my son was around two years old he refused to say goodbye. He would hug people, say “love you” and then quickly leave the rest of us to our dramatic send off. I think he was on to something.
My long time email/pen pal used to sign every email to me with some sort of “goodbye.” Each time I would read through the email and enjoy the inevitable chuckle it provoked, but then it would lead to a formal “have a nice life” sort of ending. It made me crazy.
As I head off for a three week leave from my Austrian home, I found myself once again dealing with “goodbyes.” I appreciate the effort certainly, but being the sensitive soul that I am, I am horribly uncomfortable with the finality of a goodbye. I accept that things change and that sometimes it can be painful to part. But it does not have to be a goodbye. Does it?
I would like to think that a goodbye is more like the end of a chapter. And as you turn the pages to another chapter and perhaps another you will soon find that there was no need for a goodbye. Whether it is three weeks, 10 years or a lifetime – why say goodbye? How about see you soon? Then we can just keep turning the pages and see what the next chapter holds.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Orange Envy
Over two months in and I have to say it is the grocery store that causes me the most grief. I love fruits and vegetables. The problem is I don’t know how to buy them.
A week back I put some oranges on the store conveyer belt. Not a big deal – right? At home in Canada they just weigh those suckers for me, enter in how much I owe and I am on my way.
Not here.
The cashier stopped, examined my oranges and said something to me at warp speed in dialect riddled German. I am completely clueless except that there is a problem with the oranges and she is not very happy with me. Everyone around is now watching and wondering how the orange issue is going to turn out. The cashier continues to stare at me as she picks up the phone to call someone.
Excellent. She was calling back up. This wasn’t going to get embarrassing at all.
At this point I declared that I no longer wanted the oranges while at the same time pausing to scan the rest of conveyer belt for any other possibly awkward produce moments. Fortunately the rest of my selection was straight forward.
Days later I share my produce story with a fellow at work. Being ever so helpful, he launched into the most complicated explanation of how I must select, weigh and tag my produce prior to the till. At the end of my verbal tutorial he decided that these produce machines were in fact so incredibly complicated that I should make every effort to avoid them. After his explanation I was inclined to agree.
A week back I put some oranges on the store conveyer belt. Not a big deal – right? At home in Canada they just weigh those suckers for me, enter in how much I owe and I am on my way.
Not here.
The cashier stopped, examined my oranges and said something to me at warp speed in dialect riddled German. I am completely clueless except that there is a problem with the oranges and she is not very happy with me. Everyone around is now watching and wondering how the orange issue is going to turn out. The cashier continues to stare at me as she picks up the phone to call someone.
Excellent. She was calling back up. This wasn’t going to get embarrassing at all.
At this point I declared that I no longer wanted the oranges while at the same time pausing to scan the rest of conveyer belt for any other possibly awkward produce moments. Fortunately the rest of my selection was straight forward.
Days later I share my produce story with a fellow at work. Being ever so helpful, he launched into the most complicated explanation of how I must select, weigh and tag my produce prior to the till. At the end of my verbal tutorial he decided that these produce machines were in fact so incredibly complicated that I should make every effort to avoid them. After his explanation I was inclined to agree.
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