What Was That I Said?...

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:

What Was That I Said?  or, One's Brilliant (mis-) Understanding of Foreign Tongues!...   More Travels / Overseas Edition!

Heartburn and other stomach disorders are not exclusively the province of the elderly, or those of us currently experiencing the joys of GeezerHood!  

SweetHeart was at one point in her various superb careers, a Flight Attendant.  She flew for United Airlines.  As such, in our early years of marriage, we could fly like pelicans, unfettered by such impediments as airfares...  well, practically!

On our honeymoon -- that was prior to the onset of GeezerHood, but, after all, one can still recall those blissful days of callow youth -- we decided to jet off to Greece, or Hellas, visit the glories of Athens, as well a few of the Greek Islands.  What the heck does that have to do with HeartBurn??  Well...   lemme explain.

Athens is replete with what I call "Sidewalk Emporiums," at which one can purchase an array of necessaries, including remedies for the body.  On a particular evening, out for dinner and a stroll near the Acropolis, I had a nasty bout with heartburn.   Never traveling without my handy language guides, including a Berlitz Book of Greek, on this occasion, perhaps needless to add, I looked up "heartburn."  No listing.  I then paged to the index to find "antacids."  No listing.  Trying a few other obtuse combinations of Greek words, I finally settled upon the words, "Heart" and "Fire."  

I announced in my finest baritone broadcast voice, hand over my left chest, "Heartfire"!  The young woman who staffed the emporium looked at me as if I were making an unwanted romantic overture, her face a mask of shock and discomfort.  SweetHeart yanked me by the arm and hustled me away from the young woman and her sidewalk shop.  "She has to think you're some kind of crazed masher," said SweetHeart.  "Let's get the heck away

from here before she calls the local police!"  We departed briskly.

 On a subsequent evening, enjoying an "Athens By Night" adventure, along with an international throng of fellow visitors to that ancient land, we told the story of "Heartfire," with many translations and belated laughter arcing and echoing through the crowd.  As the merriment began to diminish, an English couple approached SweetHeart and me, and deposited several antacids into my open and grateful palm.

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Our elder daughter spent a couple of years in Estonia during her Peace Corps tenure.  We visited her in the month of February, early in the 2000's.  Estonia was not in full bloom at the time, but seeing our wonderful daughter, a photogravure palette of grey and a continuous whispy snowfall made the entire experience delightful and beautiful, an artwork of muted color.  

We settled into Saaremaa, the island off the west coast of Estonia, in the Baltic Sea, where our daughter was based.  She taught, sang and volunteered her time and talent generously for young and old alike, anyone in need.  After seeing the sights and delights of the Island, we ferried ourselves to the mainland, rented a vehicle and motored off to see her fellow Peace Corps friends in Tartu and Tallinn.

On the road, we passed through a small village, a bit too fast, and were halted in our progress by an Estonian policeman who "waved" us down using a long pole, at the end of which was a circular symbol.  I believe the symbol indicated excessive haste!  I did not have a phrase book of Estonian.  No one spoke.  Using a kind of friendly sign language, the policeman and I, that is, I agreed not to speed anymore while the nice official agreed not to assess an enormous fine!  It was the first time in my driving experience that I was "pulled over" by a standing policeman armed with a long pole and a sign at the top!  

Pannenkoeken!  Oh, and Berries!

Our daughter, Bethie, was with SweetHeart, our Peace Corps daughter, Alie, and me.  Bethie made a great and loving impression on everyone we encountered, building relationships and friendships that have endured, even today, nearly 20 years after the fact!  We met Alie's wonderful and talented friends, learned a bit of Estonian, had a kind of pizza in Tartu and generally enjoyed a delicious and highly memorable adventure.  Oh, and "pannenkoeken"! A kind of bread-y pancake-y treat that's found everywhere in Estonia...  (The Netherlands, too, we're reliably told!)  And, we met Alie's Estonian host family.  Wonderful people who enjoyed Alie, her sense of humor and her sometimes stumbling efforts to learn the Estonian language, something she eventually mastered, still uses speaking with native Estonian friends. 

I should mention that Alie was in Estonia and Saaremaa during the "Nine-Eleven" crisis, and was told to "maintain a low profile," as Americans were thought to be in peril during that period of time.  She didn't.  She wrote and recorded her own compositions, including a couple of Estonian folk ballads, and created a wonderful CD of songs.  She was interviewed and landed on the front page of certain Estonian newspapers.  Not exactly a low profile, but she achieved well-deserved fame and praise, donating the proceeds from the sales of her CD to the Estonian Children's Fund. 

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Sometime in the mid 2000's, following her time in the Peace Corps, Alie and her now husband, Tad (a remarkably fine man, I have to admit!), decided to cross the Atlantic and visit her various Peace Corps veteran friends.  She had a place to stay everywhere they went, except for France, where the friend, living with parents, did not have suitable accommodations to house

her family.  She asked if we might be interested in a trip to France, specifically the Dordogne Region, the "Smile of France," demarcated slendidly by the river of the same name.  We billeted in an old bakery building, containing an enormous fireplace, lots of bedrooms for all of us, and even a swimming pool in the back garden.  The "all" included grandson, Coen, at the time not quite three years old, and a terrific traveling companion! 

We, SweetHeart and I, took a few basic lessons in French before departing on our journey.  The airline lost all of our luggage, or most of it, necessitating a shopping episode in Paris.  Thanks to the lessons, we navigated rather successfully through the shops and markets.  At one large department store, we stopped to purchase...   Well, I asked a clerk, "Avez vous une costume du plage?"  To which the patient shop attendant responded in perfect English, "You know, we do have a word for bathing suit, monsieur."  

"Uh, " said I, a bit red in the face, "Ou est le cabine d'essayage?"  I don't think she was impressed, but pointed me to the "fitting room."  I also found the underwear department, with a little help from my phrase book!  "Vetements pour ma femme?...   Tout coton, s'il vous plait!"      

And...   a very memorable occasion on which the use of the French language bore sweet fruit:  SweetHeart drew a warm hug from an older woman in Tremolat, asking first, "Do you speak any English?"  The woman shook her head, confused.  Then, SweetHeart asked in perfect French, "Ou est le bibliotheque la plus proche?"  The old woman beamed, and embraced SweetHeart as if she, SweetHeart, were a long-lost daughter!  (The small village did not have a library, however!). Such are the rewards and wonders of attempting to communicate with native people in their own language, especially meaningful and important when in their own lands!!  The village of Tremolat, by the by,  had some of the most delectable baked goods we'd ever tasted!  "Ou est encore cette le boulangerie?"

(Special Note of Dedication:   To all the good and gracious people of countries visited over the seas whose patience and understanding made our travels so satisfying, gratifying and edifying...  We thank you most sincerely!  You enriched the experiences far more than we can adequately express!) 

Humbly Submitted, 12-07-19 -- Joel K.  

             

Turkish Delights! A Brief, Personal Travelog... Adventures, Too!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        Turkish Delights:   Ne zaman geliyorsun?  Arkaya bak, Genç adam!


Among the proclivities of those of us gazing dreamily through the autumnal mist of GeezerHood, is the beckoning wraith of semi-conscious retrospection.  That is to say, we tend often to stare backward into the fading light of memory, to recall unashamedly the adventures of another time, perhaps a distant incarnation!

Turkey!  Wonderful!!...  No, not the fat bird of a holiday in November, but the country, the adventures and joys of being there!  I spent some 18 months in that marvelous land during my time in military service.  And there are many treasures still buried deep in my psyche, like images on a Viewmaster.  Click...  click...  Oh, I remember that one, and that one, and that place, too..!

Upon our arrival, back in 1961, a lifetime ago, a wormy little man, the gnome who welcomed us as we crawled off the commuter plane (or was it a bus?), arriving in the airport town of Yeşilköy, some 11 kilometers west of Istanbul, announced excitedly, "You will love the 'fah-cil-eee-tees!'"  That's how he pronounced the word, facilities.  He referred to the US Air Force station to which we were assigned, namely,  Karamürsel.  

Both the town in which we first landed, and the site of the AF base were beautifully situated on the Sea of Marmara!  The facilities were spare, but some of us, myself included, loved the place.  We were billeted that first night in the gorgeous and elegant Hotel Cinar.     

Behind the base were colorful hills that wanted to be mountains, almost were in height and width.  Base officials, including officers and civilian workers, warned us not to venture into the hills.  "Too dangerous...  don't you know what's living up there?...  Big wild boars with tusks..."  A companion and I didn't need any further encouragement.  On a day off, we headed for the hills.  We spied one wild boar, but it didn't charge, and appeared to be occupied with foraging and showed no particular interest in us.  The best encounter:  We met a family of quasi-nomads who lived in a combination cave and lean-to.  They welcomed us into their home, offered us food and çay (pronounced Chi)  (traditional Turkish tea) and extraordinary hospitality and friendship.  We stayed with them for some three hours, conversing, learning about their lives.  We conducted our conversation in a combination of Turkish and English, with the help of a Turkish language and phrase book.  


With the same companion, in Istanbul, at the Bosporus, we boarded the Litva -- uninvited, of course -- a Black Sea pleasure liner.  We wandered throughout the ship, eventually entering the bridge where we fiddled with controls including the water-tight doors.  It seemed the ship listed a bit.  Ship's crew members, wide-eyed and seemingly angry, caused us to scamper from the bridge, running to find our way out and off of the vessel.  I was more anxious than my companion.  

"Why should we be concerned?  I mean," he continued, "What danger is there from a bunch of Greek crew members?"  

"Uh," I began, "This is a Russian ship, a Soviet Russian ship.  You must have mis-interpreted the script on both cabin posters and signage on the bridge.  We're American GIs," I continued, "with sensitive information in our heads.  Wouldn't have been a good idea to have them detain us..."  My friend's face lost its color, as he nodded, finally, in tacit agreement.

Being young and perpetually "thirsty," another great friend and frequent companion and I often frequented Istanbul's many "pavions," nightclubs, often combination inns and taverns.  The aforementioned friend and I had access to and stayed in a basement apartment in the heart of Istanbul, waking to the shouts of "Sicak, sicak," meaning hot and pronounced "see-jak."  We'd head outside to purchase delicious street food, including ground lamb seasoned with powdered salt and pepper served on huge portions of Ekmek, traditional Turkish bread. 

Street drugs were plentiful, and seemingly far too available, but that's another story entirely.  The "Black Market" in Istanbul was a lucrative allure.  A carton of American cigarettes could fetch up to $50.00, often much more.  A box of American laundry detergent, the giant size, could net the seller up to $100.00.  And U.S.-made denim jeans?...  a small fortune!  There were Turkish friends whom we came to know well, and who would or could become valued contacts in the Black Market trade.  That too is another story...   um, perhaps for another time!

The Island of Buyulada is truly a "Beautiful Island,"
complete with lavish homes, many occupied by
wealthy Turks.  Friends had a summer "cottage" on
the island with a view of the sea!

Through a contact that my father knew who had relatives living in Turkey, I had the good fortune to meet and spend a good deal of time with a family of Armenian Turks.  The family had an apartment in Istanbul, but more attractively, a holiday home on Büyükada, an island in the Sea of Marmara, the name meaning "Beautiful Island."  We gathered there on several occasions.  The mother was a superb cook and often served us spectacular seafood dishes, including swordfish steaks, Midye (mussels) and Levrek (sea bass). 

Ferry boats ran regularly from the port of Yalova, about 20 kilometers from Karamursel, to Istanbul, stopping at Buyukada and also Heybeli Ada where the Turkish naval academy was

based.  On one occasion, a Turkish submarine raised it periscope accidentally under a ferry, punching a hole in its hull and nearly causing a disaster.  No one died, we were reliably told, but

The Turkish Island of
Heybeli features many
beautiful, traditional homes!

some got a bit wet, probably crew members in the Engine rooms!!

The ferry trips to Istanbul were always enjoyable, even when the sea was less than hospitable... Deniz, c(h)ok fena!  However, frequent consumption of Vodka-Lemones  and pistachio nuts made it all completely bearable!   

Turkey is rich with history...  an understatement.  Izmir, Ephesus and Troy.  Remarkable sites such as the mosque Hagia Sophia, the fabulous Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace and Kapali Carsi (pronounced "Sharshi," owing to the cedilla symbol under the "C"), meaning Istanbul's Grand Bazaar, a labyrinth of 61 covered streets and more than 4000 shops!  There's also the beautiful district of Uskudar on Istanbul's Asian side.   Too much, too many fabulous places and landmarks to enumerate...  

The Galata Bridge in the heart of Istanbul!

One additional aspect of knowing my Armenian-Turkish friends.  An uncle of theirs owned a fleet of taxi cabs that prowled the streets of Istanbul.  People could jump in if the cab were heading in a favorable direction.  On one occasion when I had asked to drive, a man jumped in and ordered me to take him somewhere in that vast city.  My knowledge of Turkish was rudimentary at best.  The angry man exited the cab at his first opportunity, shouting at me and using language best misunderstood!  I received retribution on a few occasions when taxi cabs ran over my feet!  But, inebriation helped measurably to numb the pain!!  Generally, taxi drivers did not stop to apologize, but instead would shout at victims to "get the hell out of the road!..."

We eventually spent a pleasant day picnicking, swimming and generally enjoying the waters of the Bosporus!  What a time it all was for a young man seeking adventure and the kind of education only travel can provide.

Oh, did I mention "Belly Dancing," originally termed Danse du Ventre, or dance of the stomach?  Turkey is famous for its version of the tradition.  Many outstanding practitioners perform the dance in various venues, in pavions and at special events and social gatherings.  Oh yeah, my wife, SweetHeart, and I -- she at the time a new bride -- spent our honeymoon in Athens and other parts of Greece.  An "Athens By Night" event included a "famous Turkish Belly Dancer," but not one I knew from my youth!  (A close call, maybe...!)

(Special Note of Gratitude and Dedication:  The people of Turkey and Armenia whose friendship and hospitality are legendary, particularly to those of us who served in Turkey during our US military terms of duty.  Thank you, and...  Sonra gorusuruz ve volun acik olsum! 

Humbly Submitted, 07-14-19 -- Joel K.

    

     



    

Parlez-Vous Footlockaire?... Hable en Escargot?... Come Again??!!...

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:    Parlez-Vous Footlockaire?...   Hable en Escargot?...   Come Again??!!...

Ambling along the shores of Playa La Ropa, gentle waves tumbled onto bare feet.  A blazing sun dropped shards of heat on my beaded forehead as we moved slowly toward a garden of palapas and their beckoning shade!  Soon our fists were wrapped around cool, revitalizing drinks, the scent of fresh lime

Sand and palapas from Playa La
Ropa in Zihuatanejo, Mexico...
where brilliant linguists have
been known to congregate!

wafting up in a tiny effervescent storm.

"De donde eres?  Y donde vive?" she asked.   She was one of two young women we met under the palapas.  She spoke in rapid Mexican-Spanish; I had trouble receiving the question and plugging it into my mental "Spanish to English" dictionary.  

"Miercoles," I answered with little hesitation.  The two young women laughed merrily.  "You told me, "Wed-nes-day," she said, pronouncing each syllable.  I babbled and blushed and then asked her to repeat the question, "mas despacio, por favor."  We all laughed.  "I'm not from, nor do I live in "Wednesday," I admitted. We exchanged names.  "Yo quiero aprender mas espanol," I said.  "Tratamos de hablar solo en espanol cuando estamos aqui, en Mexico!" (We want to learn more Spanish.  We try to speak only in Spanish when we're here in Mexico!)  Sweetheart -- she's my wife! -- understands spoken Spanish far better than I, but I've been able to speak the language with greater ease.  We're a good team.

Our new-found friends said with ardent enthusiasm, "And we want to learn more English!!  We teach one another!  Yes!  Podemos ensenar cada otro...  maestros!"  And so we did.  We spent a delightful afternoon teaching and learning from one another!

In my geezerhood, I like to think I've picked up, over time, a fair amount of words and phrases in other languages, through travel...  (maybe I'm delusional!)              

See...  here's the thing.  Travel is a marvelous gift, a privilege and a remarkable teacher.  Whenever we travel to other countries, we find the overall experience much richer, far more fulfilling and gratifying when we make an effort to learn and use the host country's language.  In the process, however, we do tend to generate humor, and laughter too, among "el gente" (the people) with whom we converse, or try to converse. 

I love languages; I enjoy trying to learn them, even if just a few basic words and phrases.  But our best efforts don't always serve us as well as we'd like.  Sweetheart and I honeymooned in Greece.  It was a few years ago (well, actually, many years is closer to the truth!).  I tend to suffer from heartburn (now

more than in my callow youth!).  They have what we call "sidewalk emporiums" in Athens, stocked with all manner of sundries, the one at which we stopped staffed by an attractive young woman.  I figured they must have something for stomach complaints.  I looked carefully through my Handy Book of Greek Words & Phrases.  I could find no word for "heartburn," nor "antacid."  Finally, with my stomach on fire from lemon rice soup, peppers, dolmades and other Greek delicacies, I found what I thought were appropriate words to describe my malady, placed my hand over my heart and said in my finest baritone,  Πυρκαγιά καρδιών.  

Sweetheart looked concerned.  "What did you say to her?"  I told her what I said!  "Heart fire!" she exclaimed incredulously.  You said 'heart fire'?!  Are you nuts?  Did you see the look on her face...  shock, fear?  She probably thinks you're some kind of lunatic masher.  Let's get out of here before the police arrive."  

"But I looked it up!  Don't you think she understood what I wanted?  Can't be that big a stretch from 'heartburn' to 'heart fire'...  can it?"

"C'mon," she said, insistently, muttering "heart fire!" and "silly lunatic!" as we walked briskly to avoid the apparent arrival of Greek "masher police."  The next evening, while on an "Athens By Night" tour, we told the story to several companions, with several different translations circulating, given the international flavor of the gathering.  Laughter ignited, in their turns, like spontaneous bonfires among the various ethnic groups.  Eventually someone came up to me and said, "hier bitte."  I looked at my open palm and found three antacid tablets, donated by a sympathetic and, no doubt, kindred soul, a fellow sufferer from...  who knows?  maybe Germany, Holland, Austria...?

 

I've acquired a bit of Russian, too.  My grandparents came from Russia.  I have a few useful and even some off-color words and phrases.  On one occasion in my distant past, having had too much vodka, we were in a Serbian restaurant (where many of the patrons spoke Russian!).  From my limited arsenal, I rattled off a string of short sentences to a nice Russian fellow.  A number of my more familiar phrases.  Accidentally, but stupidly, I inserted a filthy suggestion.  The man hurled a plate of baba ganoush at my head.  I ducked, cleaned up the shattered mess and then issued profuse apologies.  I bought the man a couple of drinks.  We became jolly good chums...  in Russian:  друзьями!

The Bridge Leading into Lalinde!

Not that  many years ago, firmly established in what I'd term my "early geezerhood," sort of the "teen geezer" years, my wife and I were in France.  The airline had lost our luggage, forcing us to spend the better part of a day shopping for basic necessities in Paris department stores.  We had to find and purchase underwear, for example, of an all-cotton variety, navigating entirely in French.  At one point, seeking another type of garment, I asked a sales woman, "Avez-vous un costume pour le plage?"  She looked at me a long moment, and then said in beautifully accented English, "You know, you needn't say 'beach costume.'  We do have a word for 'bathing suit.' "  I smiled sweetly, babbled several "merci's" and followed her to a rack of bathing costumes...  er, that is, swim suits.

We were treated beautifully by the French.  

In Lalinde, for example, I asked a woman where I might find a pizza restaurant, wanting cuisine to please our grandson.  The woman actually came out of her book shop and guided me for two or three blocks to the town's finest pizza establishment, all because I asked her in her own language!  Sweetheart drew a warm hug and

A Street Scene in Tremolat!

exclamations of praise and joy from an older woman in Tremolat (on the Dordogne, the "Smile of France"), because she, my wife, had asked the woman, in French, where the town library was located!  Wonderful moments!  Magical!  

We visited Estonia where our daughter was serving in the Peace Corps.  She mastered and continues to speak it fluently when corresponding with Estonian friends.  There, too, we were treated with great

Beautiful Tallinn in Summer!  (We were there in February!)

kindness and deference whenever we made the effort to speak the language.  Always the same!  Delightful times, magical experiences... when the host country language became a key player in the plot!

In part I credit my early education.  Jesuit Father Rudolph bellowed superbly in Latin.  I endured four years of it in high school.  Russian in the military, and in my college years as well.  Today, my love of languages continues.  I try to learn new words and phrases -- Spanish, French, Turkish (I spent wonderful times in Turkey during my military years!), Italian, Hebrew, Polish, Chinese...

Uvas!  Muy Deliciosos!

Not quite sure why, but I find it fun to use ridiculous phrases and complete sentences taken out of context.  I've had satisfying reactions from native speakers when I've announced in my finest Russian, "Sir, I don't want to go to the barber shop."  In Mexico, when it rains I like to say to anyone within hearing range, "Es buena para las uvas."  (It's good for the grapes!...  especially amusing where they grow no grapes!)     

Language as "ice breaker..."  It knocks down barriers, allows the traveller to make friends of host country strangers, often rather quickly, acquiring invitations to visit schools, homes, too, even meet entire families, a welcome byproduct.

Next stop?  Hmmm...  maybe the Amalfi Coast (if only in my fantasies), described as a treasure among the world's finest culinary landscapes.  Pasta, fresh fish, anchovy pesto, pasticciotti, delizia al limone...!!  Wonder if there's a Pocket Guide to Spoken Italian on my bookshelf?!  HONEY!!!... 

Humbly Submitted 10-16-15 -- Joel K.