Cultural Immersion
I’ve been lucky enough to do quite a bit of travelling in my life. As a family, we travelled all over Europe when I was just a lad, and recently I’ve had the opportunity to visit more exotic places like India and Hawaii. What I’ve learned from my travels is that the key to a great experience is to leave your predispositions on the airplane and commit completely to the culture; eat like the locals eat, travel like the locals travel, and – provided you’re skiing in France – wear a fart bag.
One of the things I learned very quickly is how much people appreciate travelers who make a genuine effort. Americans get a bad wrap by Parisians for bustling about in their “Born in the USA” leather jackets by Wilsons and asking random people where the nearest McDonalds is and, when they find one, spending an inordinate amount of time holding up the line while trying to order a Quarter Pounder. To be fair, these people should get a bad wrap anywhere including back here in the US of Fuckin’ A. While every culture is different, I find that by and large, if you simply make an effort and show a some respect for the local culture, people will be very accepting of you.
But everywhere you go is different, of course. In Europe, they like it when you speak the language or admire the beauty of the country. In India, they love it when you show enthusiasm for how batshit crazy the place is. This particular anecdote will ring louder for the software developers in the audience, but one afternoon while I was in India, I was chatting with a manager at my old company and remarked how amazing it was that given the hierarchical structure of their culture, that the traffic is so chaotic. “In most things, we use the Waterfall method. In driving, we use the Agile method.”
On the other hand, the Dutch just like to prove that they know something you don’t, so all you have to do in the Netherlands is ask questions. Don’t overdo it, though; the Dutch don’t suffer fools lightly. For example; I am fluent in Dutch but don’t spend enough time there to understand the rail system the way they do. So, I rarely ask for help with the trains in Dutch; if I do, they treat me like I’m one step left of an amoeba. If I ask in English, I’ll be politely guided through every step of the process. After all, it would be impossible for an American to understand that intricacies of their highly sophisticated system.
The French, I’ve come to understand, only resent people who don’t try to speak French. You don’t have to speak much of it or speak it very well; just make an effort, and they will be fine. I’ve never had a single experience with the “disdainful French”; in fact, I’ve had more than a few discussions with wait staff at restaurants who insist on speaking (a very broken) English to me, and I insist on speaking (a very broken) French in response. This particular case is more polite than it is effective.
French is perhaps the most glorious sounding language on the planet; I’d love to speak it fluently, but am only conversant at infant-level French. Nevertheless, I find it very important to familiarize myself with the most important phrases I’ll need when travelling there. In an effort to lend some assistance to those in the community who are joining us in Lille for Keepers Tour 2013 this year, I offer the following Quick Start Guide. And, always remember Rule #89.
A general expression of surprise:
Qu’esque c’est le fuck avec ça?
An acknowledgement of someone’s not inconsiderable skill on the bike:
Pas bad.
You can close down a misunderstanding with a simple phrase like,
C’est la meme chose thing.
Being amenable with a choice,
Je suis OK avec that.
Asking a mate how s/he is doing:
Qu’esque c’est up?
When intimidating your riding mates:
Laisse tomber le hammer.
Finally, when referring to whomever wins Roubaix this year,
Il est une homme bad ass, n’est pas?
See you on the flip side in France. Vive la Vie Velominatus.
Avez vous une bonnet de douche?
I know pedantry isn’t required/appropriate here, but I hasten to note: “Il est un homme bad ass, n’est ce pas?” is more accurate. Unless you’re Dutch.
Also, too: when confronted by an angry Frenchperson speaking loudly: “No habla frog” typically goes down well. And if they’re clearly asking a question: “Je ne don’t know pas” works nicely.
@the Engine
No, no, it’s “Vous etes une bag de la douche.”
@Steampunk
Vous etes une bag de la douche.
Espresso snorted.
That’s a double-negative. The correct way is clearly to say “Je ne know pas.”
Apres une nuit a la Molteni il y a un petit homme dans ma tete, qui fait le demolition work
@frank
Drop the “la”: Vous etes une bag de douche.
n’est-il pas “sac de douche” ?
Being a bit of a cunning linguist, may I offer some alternatives?
A general expression of surprise:
An acknowledgement of someone’s not inconsiderable skill on the bike:
You can close down a misunderstanding with a simple phrase like,
Being amenable with a choice,
Asking a mate how s/he is doing:
When intimidating your riding mates:
Finally, when referring to whomever wins Roubaix this year,
Il est un fortiche, n’est pas?
This guy is a douche bag
C’est en enculé.
But seriously, NEVER swear in a language you are not proficient in, it will sound silly and can easily go wrong.
Have fun in France and Belgium, everybody!
It is true to say that the locals do love it when you try to speak-a-da-lingo but as any born Englishman knows the only way to communicate effectively across languages is to start at a polite conversational level and increase in volume until your message is understood and understood well! It works with the working classes too when they’re a tad undereducated I find….
Worked for us in the colonies and look how well we’re still doing there!
Viva la Falkland Islands you Argie interlopers!
Hey Fifi! Parlez vouz a humma humma?
I intend only to speak in Scots next week – that’ll confuse everyone
Frank,
With regard to the lack of French disdain, perhaps they’ve mellowed. In the mid 1970’s during my high school years I lived just outside of Brussels. I’ll never forget the time my brother and I were ordering dinner in a restaurant in Paris. Half way through the order, the waiter, without a word, turned on his heel and walked directly into the kitchen. A few moments later he returned with the entire kitchen staff and most of the waiters to whom he loudly (and disdainfully) proclaimed, “Regardez ces américains qui parlent français avec un accent belge. Merveilleux!”
I’ve found pointing and waving my hands about gets results. Just not in France.
I did, however, avoid a 31e fine at the train station the other evening by feigning ignorance and claiming Australianism as to why I hadn’t punched my ticket… how was I supposed to know that?
@the Engine That’ll be just like the Auld Alliance. With fewer people with shit all over them.
When traveling, I subscribe to the “don’t be a typical American douchebag”. Regardless of wether I feebly attempt the local language or not, I’ve found that just being nice goes a long way. We were in Ireland right when there were all the Anti Bush protests before we headed back into Iraq, and all the B&B’s that we stayed at and all the locals that we interacted with, realized that we were just like them. Regular folk just having a good time.
Panama though, that place kinda unnerved me. Not every day you have a couple Columbian drug smugglers pull up a chair at your table and share a beer with you, then ask if you’d be interested in a “business opportunity”. And the monkeys. Don’t like monkeys off leash.
I’m surprised I wasn’t committed when I was in France this past September. French people don’t like it when you tell them that you’re a pineapple. They also don’t get it why you can only count to ten and conjugate verbs. I go we go they go she goes he goes they go and so on. Given that my nation’s second official language is French you’d think that we could come up with more effective teaching methods than a talking fucking pineapple.
@TBONE
let’s try that again:
talking fucking pineapple
@the Engine
As in “haw Jimmy, gonnae gie us a scooby whaur Roobay is? Ah heard it’s aroon here somewhere. Roobay? Ye ken where aw they bhoys ride their bikes oan they shite roads? ” Whit dae ye mean can ah no speak English, whit the fuck dae ye think ah’m talking ya wee gauloise puffin’, baguette munchin’, beret wearin’ frog.”
@Stu
I was working the Army ER one time during internship and had a young solider come in with his very young Korean wife and she was having some back pain per the husband’s report. I tried to ask her if it hurt when she urinated and she did not understand a word I said so I asked her 19 year old husband to ask her if it hurt when she urinated. He proceeded to yell, at the top of his voice, each word very slowly, in perfect English, “DOES … IT… HUUUURT … WHEN … YOU … PEE?” The poor wife was just cowering in the chair by that point. I guess love isn’t only blind but deaf too.
@TBONE
A talking fucking pineapple in fucking spats. Magnifique.
cheese eating surrender monkeys
Je suis bilange au cause de forces canadienne, donc, je ne parle bien en francias. Si vous avez une question en francias, palrez lentenment s.v.p. Merci, la grande douche. Allez vous faire du cyclisme pendant le weekend? Moi, probablement.
Talking fucking pineapple = +1
See me? I come here for the culture. It’s the wee dug’s baws as they say.
@Cyclops
You know those Frenchies, they’re always in heat.
@the Engine Did you hear about the guy form Dundee, went to France, said it is a great place because “when ye order twa beers they gie ye an extra one”
@strathlubnaig
That explains an awful lot!…cue semi-colon close brackets!!
i‘ll give this a whirl Je veux juste savoir où le bar le plus proche belgique est si je peux boire de la bière réel.
All I can say is, thank the lord you all have some tour guides to follow you around and profusely apologize for your idiocy.
@wiscot
When Frank gets here, I’ll be gettin him to gie ye a plus 1 badge, laddie…
I spent my first Pyrenean cycling trip with two guys last June, neither of whom deigned to utter a word of French, choosing to leave it all to me. After 4 days of me feeling slightly put upon by my companions, but getting great service from all the people I falteringly tried to talk to, it was casually mentioned that one of the guys had lived with a French woman for 8 years but chose not to help me out. Fucktard par excellence.
PS newbie first post. Have loved the site and community from a distance for some months.
@frank
Well, it’s probably un bag de douche, but there’s no need to split hairs (although the temptation to point out your regular gender confusion is not insignificant). I’m touched and gratified you went with the more formal “vous êtes.” An appropriate sign of respect.
My favourite joke is when two Dundonians (Scots from Dundee) go to Paris for a holiday. One asks the other, “So how are finding France?” It’s braw like, every tie I ask for twa I get three!”
“twa” is local dialect for two. “braw” means good.
@wiscot
Er…not sure how to feel about this…I understood every single word!!!
@snoov
Thanks for that @snoov. Dundee is just 17 miles down the coast but I really can’t get used to that local dialect. To my ear it can best be described as big fat gypsy text speak with extra vowels and no punctuation.
I do like to try pigeon Sprench when on holiday In southern Europe. I’m never really sure if I get a smile of appreciation for trying or sympathy for gibbering. I must dig out those language cassette tapes again. I tried Dutch when there with work but to be honest the locals english was better than mine and I chose the line of least resistance. Respect to those fluent in more than their native language.
Please see attached instructional video for how NOT parlez with the locals…
How about a nice line to your group ride mates prior to applying some Sagan-esque hurt…
Aujourd hui, c’est mon jour de recovery ride.
This would be followed by your riding mates saying…
Tu mens sac de merde!!
@snoov
Haud oan, did I no jist tell that joke about fehv posts up ?? Throw a six and catch up.
@JohnB you are showing your age there with the ‘tapes’ comment, even CDs are passé !!
@snoov
Classic!
@Mike_P
Welcome. How interesting that this thread was the one that prompted you to comment. We’re a frightfully cultured community here as you can tell, full of sensitive worldly types who are terribly politically correct in their dealings with stinky-ass johnny foreigner types.
All the French I’ve ever needed I learned from Home Alone.
@strathlubnaig
Apologies, I missed a few post with the excitement of an opportunity to tell it.
And I’m from Dundee
@snoov Pas un problème, c’est toujours un rire.
@JohnB
I’m frae Montrose ken.
The only language I can speak with vague fluency is Arabic (seriously misspent youth) which will get you out of trouble in some of the dodgier parts of la belle France.
Jesus, the one time I was in Scotland my then wife and I stayed in a B&B in Edinburgh, and the man of the house was a retired BP ship’s captain. One morning he spread this huge map of the city out on the floor and spent a half hour telling me where to go. I understood not one fucking word of it. Just nodded a lot and thanked him profusely. I did better with French and Italian, and my skills in those languages were roughly equal to those of toddler-age native speakers of those languages. “I want pasta/steak-frites/[whatever I was pointing at].” “I have to go potty.” “I want more wine.”
Fun grocery shopping moment in Edinburgh: the beer aisle is roped off. I assumed they’d washed the floor or something and didn’t want any injuries, but the floor was dry so I stepped over and grabbed a six-pack. I turn around to find a red-faced matron staring darts into my very soul and crying out, “YE CANNA BUY BEER!! IT’S SOONDAY!!
@the Engine
Isn’t there a Scottish football team nicknamed the Arabs?
@frank let’s also not forget the most useful French phrase of all:
– parlez vous fuk-ness??
@wiscot
Thanks to google I just answered my own question. The Arabs are Dundee United. Why, I have no clue.
@PeakInTwoYears
You’ll find the same treatment here in Indiana. Foreign dialect, red-faced matron scolding you “no alcohol sales on Sunday!”. Except that it will be at the checkout counter, for all to see.
@PeakInTwoYears
Ah Scottish licensing – we go mental on weak beer if allowed to buy it before 12.00 particularly on a Sunday. Fortunately our alcoholics are too drunk/stupid to stash firewater in advance and therefore experience reality for a brief period most mornings. If that reality is Dundee the may Merckx have mercy upon their ruined livers.
@wiscot
The story goes that their pitch was so cut up by a rough winter that their groundsman used a liberal dose of fine sand to produce some sort of surface for their players to writhe in agony on when looking for a penalty. He used so much that Tannadice (for it was there) resembled a set for Lawarence of Arabia and their visiting support made the connection – hence “Arabs”.