On The Road

My previous post reminded me of all of the times that I have totally screwed up my threads of communication in another language. Easy to do when the second (or third or fourth) language is learned later in life when sponge like absorption of vocabulary, grammar and syntax is not so sponge like.

There are words in English that are really hard for non-native English speakers to keep track of. Two that come to mind are kitchen and chicken. For an English speaker this is a no-brainer because, well a kitchen is a place where we cook, or sit around the table with cups of coffee and chat, and a chicken is well, an animal that lays eggs and tastes like everything. How can those two words be confused? Easy. Pretend you don’t know their meaning and say them one after the other …

Another pair is hungry and angry. Both are usually preceded by the phrase I am or Are you. My friend K., a native French speaker, always confuses these two. I always have to ask her if she wants to eat or is she mad. She is usually hungry.

My big twist is making up my own words. My brain uses its twisted logic to complete sentences when my dictionary isn’t handy. Like in French. For twenty odd years I used the word assiette for seat. Like a seat on a train or plane. Assiette is the French word for plate, but it made sense that it could also mean seat because the command to sit down is assier-toi. The word in French for seat is siege (two syllables not one).

The wonderful thing about this is that it can lead to great and confusing conversations and bouts of belly laughter. There’s nothing more fun, and more ice-breaking, than making an ass out myself in a place I know nothing about. Or even in places that I’ve known intimately for twenty years - a place so polite that the folks don’t even correct me.

We did a Lake Tahoe drive by. Very hard to take photos on a clear sunny day. None of mine turned out - between the light, the glare, and my polarized sun glasses, I couldn’t really see a thing through the lens.

Somehow the conversation between us riders, two of us locals and a German traveler, veered towards genetic engineering. I don’t quite know what led up to this bit of conversation as I was sitting in the back seat looking at the rocks and trees as they passed by.

But this part of the conversation began with the question “What do you Californians think of genetic engineering?”

“Of vegetables or animals?”

“Well, nothing like Dolly … ”

“Well, we aren’t as against it as the Europeans, but we aren’t all for it …”

“The Americans are always trying to sell us genetically engineered mice …”

“Mice?”

“Yes, of course mice. You Americans are always trying to make us buy them.”

“Why would we want to sell you genetically engineered mice?”

“We don’t want to buy them, they’re genetically engineered and we don’t like that …”

“They must be doing some research …”

“But how many mice could they possibly need for research?”

“No it’s not for research …”

“How many mice do we try to sell to Germany?”

“Oh, maybe 40 tons a year …”

“40 tons? Of mice?”

“Yes you know, the mice in the field”

“40 tons of field mice? Huh.”

“Oh yes, enough mice for everyone …”

“What would a single German want to do with genetically engineered American field mice?”

“Oh we eat them!”

“Eat them?!”

“Yes, you know, like this …” and he raises his hands and makes a nibbling motion between them.

“You mean corn?? We try and sell you genetically engineered corn? What does corn have to do with mice? …”

“Yes! Mice! (Maize said in English but pronounced with a German accent!)”

Laughing that hard was not good for the driver, but we finally settled down. Every now and then for the rest of the four hour trip, when there was a lull in the conversation, one of us would start to giggle and then mutter the word mice …

Nevada is hot. Well, at least it was hot this past weekend. It felt like the water was being sucked out of my eyeballs.

While I was visiting Reno I learned some things.

The name of the state is pronounced Ne-vad-a, like I had a bad time in Nevada. I didn’t know there was another way to pronounce it. There are a lot of pitbulls in Reno. I met a lot of them. The capital of Nevada is Carson City. And the state nickname is The Silver State. Nevadans are really into the Second Amendment. They also don’t care for Californians much. But like all stereotypes the last two items are just that. Sunscreen is a must for those who are used to living in the fog at sea level.

Other than that it was just really hot. Really, really hot.

It’s been a long time since I’ve left town. I’ve been getting wrapped up with personal projects and web sites, and people pulling me this way and that. So today, with a goal in mind, one that somebody else has pulled me to do, I hopped into a stranger’s car and drove for about six hours from the Bay Area to Reno Nevada. I have to say that we are no longer strangers and there is a lot of work to do here in Reno this weekend. I’ll write more about that tomorrow, but there you have it.

On the way here, I tried out my new earplanes while going over the hill (The Sierras). I’ve been having altitude problems with my ears and was actually just a little terrified of making this trip. But the earplanes worked fine and now my next experiment will be with an airplane.

I love the ruggedness of the Sierra Mountains. Even while driving in a modern car, the landscape feels prehistoric, ancient, and it’s only the few lanes of highway that cut through it. I watched the altitude markers pass 1000, 2000, 3000, feet. The almost full moon rode side by side with us, over the top of the pine trees, all the way to Reno.