I’ll let you in on a little secret: I am the proud owner of a coveted, no-yet-widely-available-to-the-public, Google Email account. I’m currently debating whether or not I can stand to part with it–in return for some very interesting goods.
Until Arsenal’s manager calls me to say I’m his starting goalkeeper for the next Premiership season, however, the account’s all mine. (But don’t fret, dear friends, my Yahoo address, which I’ve used since 1997, will always remain my primary account.)
BBC:
“Documentary about Klingon-speakers to premiere at Cannes.
Titled Earthlings: Ugly Bags of Mostly Water, the documentary captures the lives, passions and quirks of members of the Klingon Language Institute during their annual qep’a (or conference, for you non-Klingon speakers).
KLI members featured in the film include Dr d’Armond Speers, a linguist who spoke only in Klingon to his son until age three and a half, and Rich Yampbell, composer of Klingon national anthem taHaj wo.”
(Emphasis mine.)
A few weeks ago, Jill and I finished teaching and exited the school to get on our scooter and go home. I removed the lock from the back wheel with one key, unlocked and opened the seat compartment with the ignition key, and put the lock inside. Then I closed the seat. Just as it slammed–and locked–shut, I realized that’d I’d accidentally thrown the scooter’s ignition key inside the seat compartment. We were locked out of the scooter.
I removed my trusty Gerber Multi-Tool from my backpack and attempted, over the course of the next 10 minutes, to jimmy the lock. No dice. It wouldn’t budge. I was convinced that the only solution was to break the seat latch in order to retrieve the keys. I swore a lot. Sweat began to cascade off of my forehead.
Just then, our director walked outside the school and asked us what was wrong. We explained.
“No problem,” she said. “The father of one of our students is a locksmith. He lives nearby. I’ll call him.”
The man, a slight fellow in 40′s, arrived in about 5 minutes. He had his small toolcase stashed in a basket on the front of his scooter. It took him approximately 15 seconds to unlock the seat. We thanked him and paid him 100 NT (about 3 US dollars), and he left. We got on our scooter and headed home.
It’s been two months since we arrived in Taiwan. And I can say a grand total of four Mandarin Chinese phrases: “hello,” “goodbye,” “thank you,” and “to go” (as in take out food). One of my goals for our time here is to learn some Chinese. I have so far failed miserably. But I shall succeed.
In Ecuador, since we spoke Spanish, Jill and I took for granted the ability to communicate easily with Ecuadorians in their native tongue. I figured that here, even though Chinese is much harder to learn, I’d be bandying about phrases like “I’d like two cold beers, please,” inside of a couple of weeks. Ha.
I vastly underestimated how hard it is to pronounce the tones of Chinese words–even if you’re reading pinyin, which is an English approximation of Chinese characters. Of the foreigners I’ve met here, only those who’ve been studying Chinese dilligently for several years are anywhere near functional speakers. Peter Hessler, in his excellent memoir “River Town: Two Years on the Yangtze,” says Chinese is four times as hard for English speakers to learn as romance languages. I believe it.
Looking ahead, we’re hoping to begin Chinese classes soon. We’d been waiting until our schedules were more flexible and our finances were more settled. I’ll keep you posted….
I'm Newley Purnell, an American journalist in Bangkok. I report for Bloomberg BNA, ABC News Radio, The Chronicle of Higher Education, and more.