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Talking Dutch

Talking Dutch

The pout-head-nod combo

More this week on the sticky-outpout, the gesture with the mouth and head an anonymous reader in my last column said the Flemish are famous for when wanting to say something like “Ja, het is goed.” Yes, it is okay.

I discussed this in the last column, which resulted in several emails from readers. “I have been in Antwerp for a little over a year now and it still amuses me,” reader Diane Porcella writes, in a discussion of what she calls the “pout-head-nod combo”.

She agrees on the general meaning attributed to it but says the gesture can have a different meaning when in response to the question “Hoe ist?” - a popular contraction of Hoe is het? or How is it? How are things?

Philip Ebels
(October 9, 2012)

Talking what?

I am humbled and delighted that people have actually reacted to my call for questions two weeks ago. There were far more than I expected. Some were even hand-written, like the meticulous letter from Mr Vanblaere of Ostend who asked about the “strange suffix” –zaam, like in moeizaam or eenzaam. It is used to create an adjective or an adverb, to put it grammatically, and can be compared to the English –some. Moe, tired; moeizaam, tiresome. Een, one; eenzaam, lonesome. (Compare also the German –sam.)

I’m sorry not to have answered all of you. But een goed begin is het halve werk, well begun is half done – or literally, a good beginning is half the work. I say it to oblige another reader who proposed to “dive into the vast and rich collection of Dutch proverbs.” It may be a good idea to have at least one every week. We zien wel. We’ll see.

Philip Ebels
(August 2, 2011)

What’s in a name?

Well, we have a formateur: “a politician who is appointed by the head of state to lead the formation of a coalition government, after either a general election or the collapse of a previous government” according to Wikipedia. (There doesn’t seem to be an English translation. Is that because English-speaking countries don’t usually have coalition governments?)

It took a while. The process leading up to this wonderful event began almost a whole year ago, with the appointment of Mr Bart de Wever, leader of the N-VA, the biggest party in the country, as informateur, another title without an English-language Wikipedia page. "Hij onderzoekt de mogelijkheden voor de vorming van een kabinet," the Dutch version explains. He investigates the possibilities for the formation of a cabinet.

Philip Ebels
(May 25, 2011)

Ik burger in

One bright early morning in May, in a classroom in a typically boring government building at the centre of Leuven, I was witness to inburgering in action. Inburgering, or civic integration, is a programme of the Flemish Region that aims to mold freshly arrived immigrants into echte Vlamingen, proper Flemings.

Inburgering has a different ring to it, and it’s not McDonald’s or Quick. Burger means citizen. It used to refer to the free city folk who had acquired a certain status and political power: de burgerij, or bourgeoisie. They lived in a burcht, a fortified enclosure, rather than out in the open. The head of the city was the burgemeester, master of citizens. (Burgemeester is still the word for “mayor”.)

Philip Ebels
(May 11, 2011)

Tropical tribulations

How I pitied all who drove for days, shuffled along in airport queues or somehow strained to make their way down south for the Easter holidays, as Flanders’ beloved weatherman Frank Deboosere promised us tropical temperatures the whole week through.

Belgium was even the hottest place in Europe for a minute or two. Take that, Barcelona! In your face, Rome! The image of five shiny yellow zonnetjes, little suns, one for every day of the week, is engraved into my mind. It was going to be lekker weer, so much was for sure, the weather was going to be nice.

Philip Ebels
(April 27, 2011)

Belgium for dummies

You might have already tried to soothe your friends and family back home, panic-stricken by news reports of lawlessness in Belgium. “It’s all right, Mum, this is no Ivory Coast. It’s a language thing.” And then you’re trapped. “Well, you know, they speak Dutch in Flanders, French in Wallonia, and they speak both in Brussels, which is kind of part of both, but not really, and...”

Belgian politics remains a mystery even to the most battle-scarred expat resident. That is why last week the Flemish non-profit organisation de Rand, or the Rim - referring to the Brussels periphery - hitched a ride with your favourite English-language newspaper to distribute their new booklet, Living in Translation, which aims to unravel the administrative knot of regions and communities, languages and facilities.

Philip Ebels
(April 13, 2011)

Don’t shoot the teacher

The other day I saw Rundskop, the celebrated film that made it to the Panorama section of the Berlinale this year, the first Flemish film in 10 years to do so. No comments here about the film itself – I wouldn’t dare – just some musings about the language.

First, the title. The official English translation is Bullhead, which is not at all wrong, but not exactly spot-on. Rund is bull, no problems there. It is with kop that things go astray.

You and I have a hoofd, a head, and benen, legs (as do paarden, horses, because they for some reason are special). Animals, though, have a kop and poten. Use the bestial form for humans, and you reach the realm of colloquialism. Hou je kop! is a popular way of telling somebody to shut up. Poten thuis! is equally popular to tell the touchy-feely to keep their hands where they belong.

Philip Ebels
(March 30, 2011)

'Gezellig'

I never know what to say when people ask me what the word gezellig means. They’ve heard their Flemish friends say it, even when speaking in English, for lack of a suitable translation. And that’s exactly it: there isn’t one. (The BBC once voted gezellig the sixth most difficult word to translate, after the Arab altahmam and before the Portuguese saudade.)

"Well, it basically means something like cosy," I often try, but then immediately feel obliged to crush the hesitant hope I see appear in the eyes of the one who asked, "but not exactly."

It is more than that. It is a credo, a philosophy; it is the battle cry of the people of the Low Countries in the face of unfriendly elements.

Philip Ebels
(March 16, 2011)

A typical day at the stamcafé

For more than two years now, I’ve been going to the same café around the corner from where I live in Sint-Gillis, to write, have coffee and look out the window. I go there almost iedere morgen, every morning, and it has become something of a second home to me. It is my stamcafé, my regular local hangout.

I know the people behind the bar, and the people behind the bar know me. Or at least, we recognise each other; it's not the kind of place where you bond with the staff much. One of them, a French speaker, is always keen on learning Dutch and wants me to order in my native language: een kleine koffie alsjeblieft, a small coffee please. Or, if I haven't eaten yet, de ontbijtformule, the breakfast formula.

Philip Ebels
(March 2, 2011)

'vergankelijkheid'

For a few days each year the maple tree burns red in defiance of approaching winter. Now the leaves have fallen, and I pass bare branches. Winter hasn’t been able to wait to finish what autumn started, and the summer is a faded memory. Yet of course patience will bring spring and buds and renewal.

But not so with the past, which we feel the urge to preserve. Take the re-laying of Fochplein in the centre of Leuven. When replacing pipes, workmen came across archeological remains, in fact middeleeuwse kelders - mediaeval cellars. And when the archeologists start digging, they expect more: er zouden ook Romeinse restanten kunnen opduiken - Roman remains could also appear.

This should come as no surprise since onder elke middeleeuwse stad gaat een schat aan informatie schuil - under every mediaeval town a treasure of information lies hidden.

Alistair MacLean
(December 22, 2010)