Faux-Swede
Life was very clear-cut in Taiwan where I stuck out like a ‘photo-negative’: people knew to speak simple Chinese to me, they expected to have to help me and I in turn expected them to charge me through the nose at the market. We found our places quickly and life moved in understood directions.
Here in Sweden, I’ve been dealt a sort of camouflage that’s opened a ‘back door’ to the culture – one that, when my grasp of Swedish is made clear, isn’t held open for too long.
As demonstrated in the ‘what’s your name’ exchange between myself and administator “Sven Svensson” (not unlike “John Jones” in English):
Sven Svensson: What’s your last name?
Laura: Henderson.
Sven Svesson: Ah! A-N-D-E-R-S-S-O-N.
Laura: Not quite, ‘HEN-derson’.
Sven Svensson: Ah, I know it! H-E-N-D-E-R-S-S-O-N.
Laura: Close, but with one ‘s’.
Sven Svensson: Oh? H-E-N-D-E-R-S-O-N? That’s unusual Swedish spelling.
Laura: I’m an unusual Swede.
Sven Svensson: (Polite smile.)
Or better yet, the ‘we-can-speak-Swedish-now’, part A and B:
(A): After landing in Vasteras airport on August 17th, I walk up to the cafe counter and ask for a coffee in English. The lady behind the counter shoots me an inquisitive smile, begins her sentence in English and then ends it in Swedish with directions to the self-serve coffee. I thank her in English. Same inquisitive smile in response. Later, she drops by the table and presumably asks if I’m finished with the ketchup that’s been sitting on the table: again, all in Swedish. I give in, nod my head, and thank her in Swedish.
(B): A Swede, a Uruguayan and a Canadian walk up to an IKEA cash. (The bartender says…) Or rather, the cashier hears us speaking English together and addresses Maria (Swede) in English. She gets rung through. Next is Miguel, addressed in English again. Rung through without incident. As I’m loading my wares onto the conveyor belt, I hearthe cashier chatting away in Swedish. I presume that she’s speaking to the other cashier and pay her little attention. Suddenly, her face forms that ‘waiting expression’ when it’s time to answer a question: she’d switched back to Swedish to speak with me and evidently it was my turn to reply. “Sorry?” was all I could manage as Maria stifled a giggle.
Daily, I resist the temptation to reply with Catherine Tate’s ‘herdy gerdy’ dialogue from the ‘Translator’ skit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncirovhlQcw
Falsely,
Laura
Tags: Swedish Living
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