“Woh ist der bahnhof?” Revisited
Today, in the co-op I was looking for toilet paper, because we were perilously low. In the diaper section I found three women workers (when did women start working in the co-ops? I really like it!) who wanted to help.
“Ana ashuf . . .” I started off (I am looking for) but I don’t know how to say toilet paper, so I said “toilet paper”.
Blank faces. I’m trying to think of a way to say it in Arabic, roundabout, but all I can say, weakly is to repeat “toilet paper”.
Blank faces. But kind, patient, so I say it again.
The light goes on.
“Ah! Toi LET paper!” she says, with the accent on the second syllable.
“Yes!” I say, as she leads me there, continuing to correct me: “Toi LET paper, Toi LET paper.”
Chocolate: The Newest Truth
I heard this tidbit on today’s Good Morning America – Good news for chocolate lovers!
And Now Some Good News from the AAAS: Chocolate in Medicine, Tractors in Space
By John Tierney From the New York Times blogs.
I just spent five days at the Woodstock of science, the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. The theme at this year’s meeting, in San Francisco, was “sustainability” — not the most sprightly topic. But in between the lectures on environmental degradation, there were some cheerier discussions. A couple of my favorites:
The healing power of chocolate. The researchers weren’t quite ready to call chocolate a health food — they cruelly reminded the audience of its fatty content — but they did have good news about the flavanols found in cocoa (particularly some dark chocolates).
Norman Hollenberg of Harvard Medical School has documented that central American Indians who consume large quantities of cocoa have low rates of hypertension and of vascular dementia (caused by restriction of blood flow in the brain). At the AAAS meeting, he reported on a experiment showing people given flavanol-rich cocoa enjoyed a “a significant increase” in cerebral blood flow. “We hope,” he noted, “to explore the potential of flavanol-rich cocoa in preventing or ameliorating the vascular dementias.”
Another researcher, Ian Macdonald of the University of Nottingham, scanned the brains of women who’d been given flavanol-rich cocoa. He found it increased “cerebral blood flow to gray matter.” He and Dr. Hollenberg didn’t urge listeners to go out and gorge on chocolate, but they did raise the possibility of flavanols being used to help aging brains, perhaps being administered in the form of vitamins. Let’s hope these vitamins are the chewable variety.
What is Your Greatest Fear?
Reach down deep. Take your time. Think about this.
A friend sent one of those “getting to know you” e-mails, and this question was on it: What is your greatest fear?
(Photo from Acclaim images)
My first reaction is – whoa! That is a VERY personal question! But I shared my answer with her.
One of the reasons we share when we blog, I think, is to connect with one another, to make this world a less lonely place. When we are going through a hard time – and don’t be fooled, no matter how good, how together, we look on the outside, we ALL go through hard times – it helps to know that we are not the only person in the world who has ever gone through this, whatever this may be.
There are things we don’t talk about. From time to time, you find a friend you can really really trust, and you take a chance. What a relief! You discover, if you are lucky, that maybe he or she has been there, too. At the very worst, you have someone who knows what you have suffered. It can be years down the road that they come back to you and say “I’m there now – can you help me through it?” And two people are less alone, and your suffering has not been for nothing; it has equipped you to walk this path with your friend, and lighten the load a little.
So here is is: my greatest fear is to die a meaningless, stupid death.
I don’t want to die on a Kuwait highway saying “oh sh$t” as I see some doped up, testerone-loaded, out-of-control driver barreling straight into me.
I don’t want to die as a random, unchosen victim of terrorist attack, like 9/11, or Pan Am 103.
I don’t want to trip over my high heels and break my neck falling down the stairs. (My own stupidity!)
I wouldn’t mind dying a heroic death, but my preference is to die quietly, prepared, even eager to meet my Creator. But my terror is to die too soon, for no good reason, as the result of someone’s stupidity.
So. I’ve taken the risk, early on this Thursday morning. Step up to the plate. Take a deep breath. Even if you’ve never commented before, take a risk, here, now. (Regular commenters, welcome!) Share your greatest fear.
What is your greatest fear?
“Woh ist der bahnhof?”
One of our family jokes is about how when you go to live in Germany, for some reason, one of the first phrases you learn isn’t “guten tag” or “Wiegehts” (hello! / how are you?) but “where is the train station?” And it is particularly hilarious because even if you ever say it exactly right (or so you think) no one can understand what you are saying. And if they DO understand – they start giving you directions with elaborate hand signals.
Germans are very precise. They won’t just point in a general direction, they will use all kinds of words for left, right, straight ahead, and my personal favorite “gegenuber” which means catty-corner, or diagonally across from something, all words that the beginner doesn’t have a clue. So even if you successfully ask for directions, you can’t understand the answer.
Most of the time, however, you will ask “woh ist der bahnhof” several times, as the response is continually “wie, bitte?”, the polite way of sayinh “WHAT??” and then finally they will get this “aha!” and they will say “Oh! Woh ist der bahnhof?!” and it sounds exactly like what you have been saying for the last five minutes.
I had a “woh is der bahnhof” experience here in Kuwait. I was searching for a souk I had heard about. I asked some of my friends – where is the souk Watiniya? I experienced that two seconds of total blank non-response that always feels like two days, and then one of them laughed and said “oh, she means the souk Watiya” and they told me where it was.
But I’m getting smarter. It wasn’t the part where I added the extra syllable that confused them. It was the fact that I used the soft “t” and not the hard “t”. It’s a small thing, but enough to make me dance for joy – I can hear the difference!
Peeking Inside
You are a blessing in my life.
You think you are just blogging, but for me, you allow me to get a little bit beneath the surface of what your lives are like here in Kuwait.
I have to assume that most of you, like me, protect a lot of realities in your life, and that I am just getting the surface, just getting what you feel comfortable sharing with me.
And yet . . .no matter how superficial the “peek,” it is better than nothing.
Over time, we build a body of work. No matter how discreet we are ( Little Diamond I almost wrote “discrete,” and thinking of your pet peeve, checked it, thank God!) we reveal how we think, and what is important to us.
I love having some Kuwaiti friends. You teach me things I could never learn in a million years, just looking from the outside.
True story: I am having breakfast with my Kuwait friend at the Al-Kout Mall and she shivers. This friend is very special to me; it’s as if a flame burns inside her, keeping her pure and true from the inside out.
“I feel so out of place here!” she says.
I am truly bewildered.
“You are Kuwaiti! This is a Kuwaiti Mall!” I cry. “What is it that makes you so uncomfortable?”
“It’s like another world,” she says. “I’m not dressed conservatively enough.”
She is dressed in jeans – not tight. A t-shirt – not tight. And has a long sleeved shirt to go over it tied around her shoulders. She is entirely modest.
“I don’t see it,” I say. “Please, let me see through your eyes. What are you seeing, how is it different, why are you uncomfortable?”
“You’ve been to Marina Mall,” she responded. “You can see the difference?”
Of course. But Marina Mall . . . it is kind of a la la land to me, sort of bizarre. It almost looks Western, but there are things that are just not quite right . . .
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve got it.”
I still don’t know what I’ve got. So she starts explaining . . .”Look, you can see how the thobes are cut differently down here, tighter around the chest.”
(Uh . . . no, I can’t see!)
“. . . and the cuffs, the way they button. And the shoes are different, less . . . . ”
all of a sudden, I am thinking of my friend who taught Arabic, and the hours she labored, trying to get me to hear the difference between the light “t” and the hard “t”, I am trying and trying, but I don’t get it and then one day – I do!
I thank God for you, my friends, letting me see through your eyes, helping me understand, giving me new ways of seeing the world.
Internet Phone Blockage
So far, my internet phone is still working. But I can no longer pick up messages; I had a work-around and the work-around is now blocked, too. I still have the connection, but I can’t connect with my internet phone service provider. Hmmmmm.
In Qatar, the problem was solved in less than a week, when ambassadors went to the Emir and protested that the ban on internet phones hurt the entire population. Does the government here understand that Kuwaitis have kids at school in the UK, the US, and are relying on these phone services, too?
My sense is that with the government currently in chaos, no one has the time to focus on this “small” problem. Nor the problem of increasing population and buildings vs. limited infrastructure – roads. water. electricity.
My Kuwaiti friends say that even 20 short years ago, Kuwait was paradise. I believe it, there is so much beauty here, so much natural richness. They say Kuwait was more free twenty years ago.
I know my focus on the internet phone service is selfish; there are bigger problems to be solved. Right now – it’s the one that affects ME!
This Little Eggy
I was with my sweet friend and many of her 12 children, and I was goofing off with the younger ones, running, chasing. With tiny Abdulaziz, I started playing with his toes.
“This little . . . ” I started, and then caught myself in horror. The next word is “piggy” and my friends are devout Muslims.
She just laughed.
She said “Oh we do this too! We say ‘this little eggy went to market and this little eggy stayed home'”.
Oh! Thank goodness! Every child around the world loves that game; I’m so glad I can continue to play it here!
Who Knew? Skimmed Milk Gets Top Post
When I blog, I know what I think is important. I don’t just blog what I think is important, I also blog what I think is funny, what catches my eye, what I want people who don’t live in Kuwait to know about how life here is different from their life, and then.. . things in the news that might be obscure, but interesting.
Every day, the Who Knew? Skimmed Milk Affects Fertility post gets hits. Although I only posted it two weeks ago, it is the leader for the last thirty days, way ahead of the next most popular post.
I never know. Mostly I blog because I have things ( originally wrote “thinks” which must be truly Freudian) I want to say, but in any kind of communication, you need feedback. Feedback, for me, is a combination of what you comment, and what you read – my statistics. It just cracks me up, what you, the reader, find most interesting in my posts as opposed to what I am thinking when I post. Go figure!
The Wire
A couple years ago our son started talking to us about The Wire. He always puts us on to really interesting series. The Wire is an HBO series, like Rome
Season 1 starts with a new unit being set up to interdict the drug trade in Baltimore. Season 2 re-unites the team to combat illegal imports and illegal importation of sex slaves out of Eastern Europe and Asia. Season 3, my favorite season of all, is back to the drug trade, but with a difference.
In Season 3, one police district changes the rules. They clean up their neighborhood and send all the drug traders and sex trade workers to one area. The area doesn’t legalize crime – not exactly – but the police leave that area alone. As they explain it to the primary drug dealers, it’s a little like Amsterdam. The homies don’t understand; they call it “Hamsterdam”. I laugh everytime I hear it.
The series doesn’t focus strictly on the police – we get to go inside to watch how the drug dealers organize and divide up the city. We learn how drug lords use big business management modules to streamline their supply and demand, and to stay ahead of the police technology. And they are masters at manipulating the judicial system.
There is brutality. There is sex. There is love and there is betrayal. Sometimes, it isn’t easy to tell who the “good” guys are. There are bad guys who show decent values and there are police and politicians on the take. You get the impression it is probably pretty real stuff. In one season 3 episode, a policeman is shot in the line of duty, and they hold a wake in an Irish pub. They are all very very drunk, and vomiting out in the streets. It isn’t pretty.
And all the same, when each season ends, we can hardly wait for the next one. It is gripping drama, vintage HBO cutting edge production. It keeps you on the edge of your chair. You can read more about The Wire at it’s HBO site, where I just learned that The San Francisco Chronicle calls The Wire “the best television show of the year.”
Tchotchke
I used this word in conversation the other day, and my friend wasn’t familiar with it. I said it is something maybe sparkly, that catches the eye, but isn’t necessarily valuable, like the way Ravens go after a piece of tinfoil. Here is the official version, from Wikipedia.
Tchotchke (originally from Yiddish tshatshke (often spelled in a variety of other ways because there is no standardized transliteration) (trinket), ultimately from a Slavic word for “toys” — Polish: cacka, Russian: цацки) are trinkets, small toys, knickknacks, baubles, or kitsch. The term has a connotation of worthlessness or disposability, as well as tackiness. For example, an overly ostentatious piece of jewelry, valuable or not, might be referred to as a tchotchke.
The word may also refer to swag, in the sense of the logo pens, keychains and other promotional freebies dispensed at trade shows, conventions and similar large events. Also, stores that sell cheap souvenirs in tourist areas like Times Square and Venice Beach are sometimes called tchotchke shops.
The term was long used in the Jewish-American community and in the regional speech of New York City. It achieved more notoriety in mainstream culture during the Monica Lewinsky scandal. In addition, the 1999 movie Office Space features a tacky restaurant called “Chotchkies.”
Leo Rosten, author of The Joys of Yiddish, gives an alternate sense of tchotchke as meaning a desirable young girl, a “pretty young thing”. Less flatteringly, the term could be construed as a more dismissive synonym for “bimbo” or an attractive, but not very intelligent, female. Some consider this usage sexist and it is not widely used outside Jewish circles. The term (in the form tzatzke) is sometimes used in modern Hebrew as a slang word equivalent to “slut.”
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