lost in translation: literally

             Lost in translation, although a nice title for this series, is sometimes literally what happens upon changing text between two languages. When my family visited the torture museum in Santillana del Mar (what…there was nothing else to do in that tiny town), a plaque explained in English that a particularly menacing torture device was used for the “annihilation of stubboons and protestants.” Stubboons, perhaps a particularly ornery breed of anarchists. As this isn't even close to a Spanish cognate, I can only guess that an attempt to spell stubborns went awry, although that itself isn't even a word in English. The translators went 0 for 2 on that one.

Another disturbing mechanism clamped onto a miscreant woman’s chest, destroying her parts so much that she could no longer “give breast milk to her creatures,” a practice made all the more visually disturbing by the incorrect translation. In Spanish, criaturas means babies, but the mistaken translation to English makes me picture a woman breastfeeding hungry goblins.

In my Contrastive Linguistics class, my professor warned us of such mistakes. He said that he once visited a restaurant with the typical Spanish plate “rape a la marinera,” a kind of fish with red sauce. In the English menu, the writers kept the type of fish—rape—the same, but detailed how it was prepared, so the dish was translated “Rape sailor style.” I’ll venture to say it wasn’t a favorite among the British tourists.

These mistranslations go both ways, though. We English-speakers are just as guilty of mistakes, like an ad for an airline’s first-class seating that tried to translate too literally the phrase “Fly in Leather.” The direct translation, “volar en cueros,” just happens to include a Spanish idiom, “en cueros,” which means naked. So instead of suggesting that people fly in luxury, the airline suggested that people take trips in the nude. It would be interesting to see if ticket sales went up after the advertising campaign—perhaps the idea of a little freedom while flying really attracted people. 

Stubboons, beware

linguistic relativism: keys and bridges

           I'm doing an honor's project for my Semantics class, and am researching the hypothesis that the languages you speak shape how you see the world (also referred to as the Whorf Hypothesis, or linguistic relativism). This hypothesis was widely refuted a few decades ago, but it is making a comeback with recent experiments, such as the one I just read about by Stanford psychologist Lara Boroditsky:
          In order to check if languages with grammatical gender affect thought, she rounded up a group of native German and Spanish speakers. German has three gender agreements: masculine, feminine, and neuter--der, die, and das--(which, incidentally, are giving me quite the headache on my vocabulary quizzes), and Spanish has two: masculine and feminine, el and la. These speakers were asked to describe the word key in English, which is grammatically masculine in German but feminine in Spanish. The results? The native German speakers overwhelmingly described a key with such words as "jagged, rough, hard, heavy, metal, serrated, useful," while the Spanish speakers said a key was "golden, intricate, little, shiny, tiny, lovely." (Experiment aside, would you ever describe a key as lovely? Were these participants high?)
          Next up was the word for bridge, which is feminine in German and masculine in Spanish. The results were consistent! German speakers described a bridge (in English) with adjectives like  "beautiful, elegant, fragile, peaceful, pretty, slender," all words that usually personify females. Spanish speakers came up with "big, dangerous, long, strong, sturdy, towering," much more stereotypical of male attributes.
          Do you think language shapes thought? How would you describe these words? I am a native English speaker, a fluent Spanish speaker, and a painfully slow learner of German, and the first word that pops into my head for "key" would be rusty. But then again, my Isla Vista landlord has probably been recycling these house keys since Reagan was president.

Tell me these findings are not the most fascinating thing you've read on a blog all day.

(Oh wait, Cupcakes and Cashmere says that this Fall, wool dresses are in. I stand corrected.)

lost in translation: forgetting English

Yowza I have not posted a Lost in Translation piece in a while! Remember what they are even about? (Hint: My experience learning Spanish abroad.)

Once I got into a steady rhythm of speaking Spanish everyday, sometimes my English would come out muddled. Since Spanish has a much smaller vocabulary than English, many times the words that stuck in its lexicon happen to be cognates of English’s fancier word bank. This means that at times I sounded like a very classy Brit when I would directly translate back from Spanish into English. “I’m enchanted to meet you,” “Would you like to take a coffee on the terrace?” “I’m going to pass a small while reading now,” or, “I’m absolutely enamored of this Zara top.”

I always took this as a great sign—my foreign language was conquering my native one!—but sometimes my backwards translations would have consequences, like when I exclaimed to my friend Luc one day, “Professor Antonio just assigned us a 20-page-paper due in a week. He molests me so much sometimes!” 

schnappi

           Many people (mostly science and math majors, ahem) are surprised when I say I actually enjoy learning languages. When you have an affinity or genuine interest in it, languages are so much fun, just as I can only imagine that an affinity for learning the Periodic Table could lead to a real hoot in Organic Chemistry. I tutor Spanish to a girl who is not, shall we say, the most adept in languages, and she asks me every session how I could possibly enjoy studying Spanish, and what in God's name has motivated me to pick up another language, German. I suppose the most simple and conscise response to her would be this: Schnappi, the Number #1 hit song in Germany, which we watch and recite in language class and earn college credit while doing so. Schnappi is such an irresistible little crocodile that anyone in their right mind should want to learn German just to figure out what he is saying in this delightful Youtube video.
           (Can I reiterate here....this song was a NUMBER ONE HIT in Germany! My Professor put it best: "I think the situation here is that as Germans, we tend to be a sort of serious people, and so we simply go crazy for a little sass like Schnappi." The only logical reason, I must agree.)

faking status

           I have quite the travel bug after a year in Spain, but unfortunately I am low on both funds and free time. So Erin and I used this Saturday to have a fake luxurious get-away. We pretended that we were throwing a bachelorette party for our friend and toured the Montecito Four Seasons and Bacara resorts, checking out their facilities, suites, pools and bar, and of course helping ourselves to their complimentary refreshments in the lobby as well as their SPF 15 lotion by the pool. So this is what it feels like to be rich--free sunscreen!
          We dressed up to make the occasion feel special (and believable), read bridal magazines as we lounged on the comfy chairs by the spa, and were driven around the enormous grounds in a golf cart at the Bacara. To feel really classy we ordered a beer at the pool at sunset (the mixed drinks were far beyond our budget, and even the beer was stretching it, but sometimes one must splurge to achieve social status), and admired the amazing view of the Pacific Ocean. We were wistful that this was all an unattainable reality, until Erin pointed out that the view looked exactly like the bluffs next to the dorms on campus, and so we rejoiced that we attend the most beautiful college in the U.S.
         Everything was going great until the bartender took the liberty of keeping the change from my beer, so I would "only have to deal with bills." While actual wealthy people might be relieved that they wouldn't be weighed  down with coins, I was bitter that he pocketed the very quarters I was going to use for my coin-operated laundry machine. The majority of the guests at the Bacara haven't done their own laundry since dry cleaning was invented, but us real folks still use quarters and rusty washing machines. With that we snapped back to reality, snuck another refill of ice tea from the lobby on the way out, picked up Erin's weathered Jetta from the valet service (pretending that our BMW was in the shop), and returned to the student ghetto of Isla Vista, where the juxtaposition of gorgeous ocean views and littered Coors Light cans reminded us that one can live luxuriously and filthily at the same time.
       

genius college essay

Let's round out to an even three what has seemed to become a theme here on A Thing for Wor(l)ds--college applications. (And then enough! No more talk about the subject, at least for a while :) For many people the college admissions process was a dark and treacherous time that they wish to surpress completely, and all I can say is that this essay, written by an applicant to NYU, will in all likelihood make you further regret your own submission. The piece you wrote on how your high school volleyball team shaped your leadership skills, or growing up as the shortest and fattest kid made you an excellent judge of character, or how you hope to instill the same tradition of family dinners in your future kids that your parents so wisely instilled in you, will probably sound like utter clichés after reading this essay. (By the way, I vaguely remember my Spanish teacher in 7th grade telling our class about this "genius essay." Was competition for college really on our minds in 7th grade??)

Read the essay here. You've been warned that you'll wish you were more creative back in the day.

more white girl problems

Continuing this theme of college admissions and White Girl Problems (we still love you, Maddy!) is today's post about Abigail Fischer, a white 22-year-old who didn't get into the school of her dreams (University of Texas) and is now taking her case to the Supreme Court, saying she was discriminated against because of her majority race. (See New York Times story here.)

Affirmative Action has long been the source of debate in this country, and even I find myself floundering on the issue at times (but then my dad, as per usual, says some strikingly convincing argument and sets me straight). But enough is enough. Is it possible that little Miss Abigail was rejected because--and I don't want to make any ground-breaking assumptions here--she just wasn't qualified? Maybe her SAT scores fell short, maybe she didn't found a shelter for abandoned kittens, or perhaps she wrote that her greatest adversity in life was taking the bus to school? But sometimes, instead of accepting our flaws, we must blame it on the underdogs, and then take up valuable time and tax dollars having our complaints heard at a federal level. Although there are many situations where I would cry out, "Props to you! This is democracy in action!" and further encourage a challenge to the justice system, Miss Abigail's case isn't one of these times.

Her headlining quote particularly irks me: "I probably would have gotten a better job had I gone to UT." Let's discuss the facts, Abigail:
1. You still got into, and can afford, a college, which is more than many people, especially the ones you are pitting your problems against, can say.
2. We could all hypothetically have "better" jobs; Sophomore year, for example, I could have been writing freelance for The New Yorker instead of being paid $8.50 an hour to clean work-out equipment and watch guys drink muscle milk while bench-pressing. The point is you have a job upon graduation, which is not a guaranteed reality these days.
3. We all must face rejection. I am not suing UCLA for rejecting me. In fact, I am now rejoicing the fact that they did so because UCSB allows me an ocean view from my balcony.

So learn from these tough times and know that, perhaps if you had spent less time on the bowling team at Louisiana State and more time pursuing internships and club leadership positions, then even you, poor little White Girl, could have strong prospects in the future.


(Any thoughts? Especially if you disagree, I'd love to hear opinions.)

Maddy's struggles

My dear roommate Maddy was cleaning out her things yesterday when she stumbled upon her college application essays. After thirty minutes of my begging her to let me read them, she finally capitulated. This little gem appeared in her “additional comments” section:

“I have attended Loretto High School in Sacramento for the last four years. However, I have lived in Auburn, a town in the Sierra Nevada foothills nearly an hour’s drive away from Sacramento all the while. The classes I have taken at Loretto have been challenging and stimulating, but having a two-hour long commute everyday has strengthened me the most as a person. For the first three years, I would try to find a comfortable position to either to my homework or doze off. Besides suffering through “the bus years” as I call them, I have had to wake up an hour and a half earlier than my peers living in Sacramento, after arriving home an hour later than them the day before (and even later during tennis season). As a result of this strain, I have developed fortitude. Waking up before the sun has been the greatest test of my character, but I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I am all the more prepared for college because of it.”

It is now undeniably clear why Maddy was admitted with honors and scholarships to UC Santa Barbara. What incredible adversity she has overcome! What White Girl Problems she has triumphed over! Not only did she “suffer through the bus years,” but she survived them--a tell-tale sign that she would do great at any top-ranking university! She didn't fall asleep every night to the sound of gun shots; she didn't raise her younger siblings single-handedly while her Pa was out drinking. Instead, her “strain” was internal, a true battle to figure out what to do with herself during an hour's ride. Maddy, you inspire us every day. Keep hurdling those obstacles and developing that fortitude; you're a better person for it. 

(P.S. Maddy gave permission for this post, as she hopes that her story will inspire others.)

lost in translation: an odd shop

In Granada, and in Spanish-speaking places in general, they have lots of “rías.”

There’s the panadería, the bread shop.

            The frutería, the fruit shop.

            The carnicería, the meat shop.

            The ferretería, the hardware shop.

            The peluquería, the barber shop.

But the most famous neighborhood in Cordoba, with its winding cobblestone streets and historic monuments, is called the judería.

      ….the Jew shop?

Judería in Cordoba