Native tongue

Day 78 of the project, 
on the ferry to Dubrovnik, Croatia

An American, an Englishman and an Australian sit in a hostel bar in Vienna, steins of beer in hand. Conversation ranges from travel to music to politics. Especially politics. There is nothing more entertaining than testing an American on his or her knowledge of world affairs. Gentle ribbing aside, their native language allowed the three drinkers to easily exchange and debate ideas well into the early morning hours.

Language is also a reflection of a person's worldview. As with most native English speakers, I enjoy orderly queues, on-time departures, formal education and relative privilege within the globalized 21st century world. Yet my American perspective is often as clear as my accent. It is as simple as wearing pants (not trousers), taking the elevator (not the lift), attending college (not uni or university) and having friends (not mates). It is as complex as not having a current attachment to monarchy or officially sharing a currency with other independent nations.

It is no different in the Arabic- or Chinese- or Spanish- or Portuguese-speaking worlds. In another bar in another city, native speakers from six countries laughed about their favorite lost-in-translation moments. For a good chuckle, ask the Columbians about trying to catch busetas in any other South American country or the Spaniards using the verb coger in Mexico. And those accents are important cultural markers as well...most Parisians have an opinion about tourists from Montreal (frankly, about any non-Parisian French speakers, though the Canadians seem to receive the most contempt).

Yet those language-nuanced views need a common platform for exchange. And it typically comes down to English for translation. In most major vacation destinations, at least a cursory amount is spoken by workers who interact with tourists. It is the international language of corporate and political worlds, a requirement to participate on the global stage. It is the most widely published language, both in print and on the Internet. I am extremely lucky it is my native language...that I do not have to mentally translate before speaking.

Not that it is always the best translation, even with a technically sound transcription. Reading Pablo Nerudo's poems in Spanish provides a depth and dimension that simply evaporates in English. The smooth, melodic sound becomes rough and uneven, jerking the reader out of the romance and into an overly flowery, teenager-ish confession. Or what occasionally sounds like a weird obsession with ordinary objects.

In other instances, English simply fails to provide an accurate word for the speaker/writer's worldview. The German word fernweh (thanks to Jenny from Hamburg for this one) translates to an aching feeling or desire to leave familiar surroundings and discover new places. The closest approximation we use in English is wanderlust, which is actually borrowed and modified from German origin (a love of hiking). Further research shows other languages have better translations. The Swedish call it resfeber, which is the restlessness in a traveler's heart before a journey begins, a travel fever. The French noun derive (not the English verb) is a spontaneous journey where a traveler leaves their life behind for a time in order to let new places attract and inspire her. Or perhaps the missing noun goes back to worldview. In English, we use homesickness, which directly translates to heimweh. Maybe a reflection of the American (and occasional British) isolationist tendencies?

So how do we solve the age-old, lost-in-translation question? How do we experience complete clarity in a different worldview? I don't think the answer exists, at least not in the literal sense. Sure, I could try to become fluent in every major language (I have met a Belgian who is attempting this). However, I still struggle with grammar and spelling errors in my native tongue, not to mention my unsophisticated use of Spanish and my phonetical bastardization of German and French pronunciations. Instead, I believe the solution lies in acceptance of our diversity...in celebrating the beauty of similar but never completely aligned worldviews. In giving into our inner fernweh. Or at least providing the locals and fellow travelers with a good laugh.