LANGUAGES OF LUXEMBOURG

The multiple-language skills of the people I’ve met here in Luxembourg have been mind-boggling. However, even they are not above picking the wrong word or word form now and then. (And please know that I am in no way criticizing; they are so far beyond me in linguistic dexterity that it’s embarrassing.) 

-My Luxembourgish mountain-biking friends use the word ‘funny’ for ‘fun.’ 

“There’re great trails above Hesperange,” they'll tell me. “They’re really cool, man. You’ll love it. They’re really funny.”

So for a moment I envision a trail strewn with jokes and pranks: banana peels to make us slip and fall, overturned buckets raining confetti down on our heads, a Monty Python-esque Ministry of Silly Riding demonstration, etc.—all to a Yackety Sax soundtrack.

-Last week, I visited the Luxembourg City tourist office to pick up a cycling map. I enjoyed a brief social banter with the woman behind the counter—not sure exactly which European country she was from—whose English was at least as good as mine. But when I left, she nodded her head good-bye and said, “So, Mister. Please.”

(Made me feel a little better for the countless times I’ve left some shop and said, “Bonjour.”) 

Here’s another language-based tidbit:

-During one of my first days here, I went to a pizza joint around the corner to order some dinner. The pizza maker was a skinny guy in his 30s who spoke Italian and a little French, but no English. Luckily though, a woman who works in the bakery down the street and whom I see almost every day, was there just hanging around. Thing is, while she’s French and also speaks German, she speaks no English. I speak a wee, tiny, miniscule bit of 7th-grade German and so with a lot of hand gestures, nodding and head shaking, we combined forces to translate my German to her French to the pizza maker’s Italian.

I began: “Pizza … gross (large), mit uh, … käse (cheese) … und pepperoni?” I’m stumped; I have no idea what the German word is for pepperoni, but I see salami on the menu.

“Salami. Zwei (two) salami- käse pizzas. Ein (one) gross, ein … uh, nicht so gross,” and motion with my hands to get my point across that I also want a medium.

This was transformed by the bakery woman into lots of pretty sounds (French) and by the pizza maker in Fellini movie-sounding Italian which he then barked at some kid who, until this point had been folding pizza boxes in the corner.

While an overhead TV played music videos, I waited for my pizzas. I attempted to make small talk with the bakery woman who was now seated reading a book. Let’s see, what German phrases do I know? “Jochen, bist du im garten?” (Jochen, are you in the garden?) Not really applicable here.

“Mein name ist Mike,” I say.

“Ah,” she says, somewhat humoring me. “Mein name ist (something that started with a ‘V’ but that I couldn’t understand even after asking her to repeat it three times.)

She went back to reading, but I didn’t want to give up; I find it fascinating to try to communicate with others in foreign languages I can’t understand.

“Ich schreibe,” I say. “Ich schreibe buchs. (I write books.)”

She held up the book she was reading and said something that I assume was, ‘Books like this?’ It was a girly-ish novel with a French title.

I said, guidebooks, and I acted out running, hiking and biking by making exaggerated walking and pedaling motions.

“Ahh, velo?“ she said.

“Yes—oui, velo,” I said, fairly unable to control my excitement at now having switched from German to French. Am I the shiz or what? (Suis-je le shiz ou quoi?)

On my smartphone, I went to amazon.com and showed her some of the books I’d written. She nodded her head as she scrolled through the site. When she was done, out of curiosity, I looked up the book that she was reading: “Cinquante nuances de Grey.” (50 Shades of Grey.)

No, I don’t write books like that.

LUXEMBOURG PHOTOS; AMERICAN WOMEN'S CLUB OF L-CITY

Before we left for Luxembourg, we’d read about the American Women’s Club of Luxembourg which is supposed to be a great resource for Americans living here. They publish a useful guidebook, hold meetings and outings, offer French classes, etc.  Turns out, they’re located right next door to our apartment. (A lot of doctors, lawyers, dentists and various organizations have offices in apartments around here too.) 

The other day, I’d just finished a run and looked out the window to see a small group of women standing around chatting outside the building next door. Somehow, I just knew they were American. So I cracked open the window and sure enough, I heard the familiar clang of American English. Not sure, how I knew they were American—something about their coats and bags, not quite as chic, more useful against the cold; the way they faced each other, smiled, laughed lots and nodded. 

I ran down and introduced myself and got some basic information—they’d just come from a meeting at the American Women’s Club. I asked if the club was just for women and one of them said, “Yes, in fact there’s a room full of naked women up there right now,” and we all laughed in our American way. They also told me that a Men’s group was also starting but they didn’t have any details.  I said, “It’s not just a bunch of man-cave types, is it?”

I went upstairs, met the club president (Yes, it is for women only), saw a French class going on and got some contact info for a French teacher and the men’s club. The club president showed me a room where they stock a whole bunch of American food that you can’t get in Luxembourg but that club members can buy--peanut butter, Reece’s peanut butter cups, pop tarts, Sugar Pops and other breakfast cereals, etc. Later, when I get back home, I look out my window to the building next door and there in a second-story window, I can see bags of Doritos, Lay's potato chips and Funions! The top of a Jif crunchy peanut butter jar too, which fairly makes me salivate every time I look out that window.