The Language Tax

This morning I chatted with the room maid, the young man from Vietnam who is so funny and cheerful. He was full of stories because he had walked and walked in the recent sunshine and it made him very happy. And then one of my hotel favorites, a tall brash young woman who is pretty and sunny, came to refill the minibar and we chatted about the book and how my research was getting on. I went downstairs to the main desk to deliver my laundry and the 20-something young woman inquired about my recent visit to the Frysk Museum and whether I had seen the WWII Jewish wing. I went back up to my room and was happily writing away in the sunshine and fresh breezes coming through the open door that connects to my balcony. A young man appeared on my balcony (!) carrying hoses and squeegees. Being a Mensan, I knew immediately that he was there to wash the windows so I asked if he wanted me to close the door. He laughed and suggested that closing the door would indeed be a good idea since he was about to spray it with water and soap. He and I giggled together as he helped me move the balcony furniture and close the door. Then I went over to the money exchange booth at the train station and the young man there helped me find the best nearby ATM. The store clerks at the drug store and the food shop helped me find what I needed today. The waitress at the sidewalk café apologized for greeting me in Dutch and I protested that it was her country and her language. She said, "No, no, my colleague told me you were English and I just forgot when I got to your table. I don’t like to make mistakes like that."

So there we have it. Two hotel maids, a desk clerk, a window washer, a travel assistant, two store clerks and a café waitress were all perfectly able to communicate with me because they were bilingual and in some cases multilingual. And I was suddenly embarrassed by my linguistic arrogance. I am a privileged visitor in this country and can only function because everyone around me has made an effort to learn a language and I haven't.

So tonight I thought I would atone. I ordered dessert from a Dutch menu and didn't ask for any translation. I was pretty sure pears and cheese were the main ingredients and I love pears and I love cheese. And I was right. A great mound of pungent blue cheese came to the table, surrounded by small dices of canned pear, tiny greens, and a scoop of vanilla and pear ice cream on top. Each individual item was OK. Together the mixture was...interesting. And a bit...inedible. When James and Elaine were living in Paris, they would sometimes order a menu item that would turn out to be ... interesting and they called that the language tax -- the price you pay for failing to understand the language. So I paid the language tax tonight but I will continue to atone.

Tomorrw I will say goedemorgen and dag and dank u wel and I'll learn how to pronounce the menu items and what they mean. I'll start learning some basic words and phrases and I'll stop being so arrogant just because so many of these lovely people are better educated than I am.