I've just figured it out: one of the benefits for language learning of living in-country is that the entire place is your conversation partner.
Wondering whether a film I've invited a friend to see has English subtitles, as it did when I saw it during a film festival a few weeks ago, I made a phone call:
Of course, she didn't actually know the answer, but still, I practiced asking a question.
Trying to sort out my children's eyesight, I stopped by the NFZ:
Waiting miserably in the rain for the bus:
Of course, for years I've been writing: Polish (reading knowledge) on my c.v. Have I been lying? No, not really. I did study the language 20+ years ago and read an entire novel by Stefan Żeromski, Wierna rzeka.
The definition of "reading knowledge" back in the day was "able to read with a dictionary."
Now perhaps that definition has changed; I might describe it as "able to run a text through Google translate and re-interpret what it really means, based on knowledge of idioms, grammar and syntax."
I can do that. But I never learned to speak Polish in graduate school. And thus my sojourn in Warsaw has given me the opportunity to learn vocabulary, tenses, and expressions, and to practice them on unsuspecting Warsawians.
Not always happily. When I tried to call a szpital to sign the children up for eye appointments, the woman gave up when I:
But when she said that, I knew the word kolejka, a word I certainly hadn't known before. It is a word that even in post-Communist Poland has come in handy: at the store, the bank, the post office, and at many museums.
Which brings me to another benefit of in-country language learning. Much of what I do when I speak Polish is guess wildly based on Russian, and then memorize in which situations the Russian root will help me, and in which it will hinder me. Ochered', the Russian word for "line," is of no help at all.
Immersion gives you situational vocabulary --and given the nature of urban life, situations tend to repeat themselves, which means you have automatic linguistic reinforcement, merely by going through your day.
Recently my daughter asked: "what does tutaj mean?" "Here," I replied. "I thought so," she said. "At track they say 'Chodź tutaj. Come here.'"
Even so, since I'm teaching Russian literature and culture, and writing and lecturing in English, and my family is here, the two languages that dominate my life in Poland are English and Russian. So much so that when I got off the bus today (having been immersed in a Russian novel the whole way home), I accidentally spoke to the shopkeeper in our building in Russian. "Не хотите ли закрыть дверь? Wouldn't you like to close the door?" -- given that the weather outside was miserable. I then (sort of) translated myself into Polish, at which point she said: "Ne jestem zimna" or something like that, to mean "I'm not cold." Grudgingly, as though it's bad enough dealing with me in Polish on a regular basis without me addressing her in some other foreign language...
In other words, though the entire city is my conversation partner, the transactions can be fairly limited. "Do you have your TESCO card?" "Can I have a plastic bag? I forgot my shopping bag." "Five apples please." Et cetera.
My best and most prolonged conversations -- because I don't have to say much, and I hear vocabulary and grammar in action -- have been with drunks. And my best and most prolonged monologues have been anecdotes -- telling my Polish teacher, my colleagues at work, my students -- about my best conversation partners.
And so on. I have honed these stories:
I'm also not entirely sure what to do with the fact that I am appealing to alcoholics on the bus, but I have to remain grateful to them for being my conversation partners. My Polish is much better as a result.
Wondering whether a film I've invited a friend to see has English subtitles, as it did when I saw it during a film festival a few weeks ago, I made a phone call:
Kino Iluzjon, słucham.
Czy pani wie, dla filma "We mgle" napisy będą po polsku? będą też po angielsku?
 |
| The renovated Kino Iluzjon -- very chic! |
Trying to sort out my children's eyesight, I stopped by the NFZ:
Mogę zapisać dzieci do okulista?Also no definitive answer, but I was able to find out what the complicated process is for trying to take advantage of this Polish health insurance I am paying for out of my salary, and I did it in Polish.
Waiting miserably in the rain for the bus:
To ne jest ładna pogoda, Czy pani wie, już był sto czternaście jeden?Warsaw is my conversation partner.
Of course, for years I've been writing: Polish (reading knowledge) on my c.v. Have I been lying? No, not really. I did study the language 20+ years ago and read an entire novel by Stefan Żeromski, Wierna rzeka.
Now perhaps that definition has changed; I might describe it as "able to run a text through Google translate and re-interpret what it really means, based on knowledge of idioms, grammar and syntax."
I can do that. But I never learned to speak Polish in graduate school. And thus my sojourn in Warsaw has given me the opportunity to learn vocabulary, tenses, and expressions, and to practice them on unsuspecting Warsawians.
Not always happily. When I tried to call a szpital to sign the children up for eye appointments, the woman gave up when I:
- didn't have a PESEL [the Polish equivalent of the Social Security # -- she simply didn't want to believe me when I told her I will never have one, and yet I have insurance, and she should use our passport #s instead...) and
- have children with a hyphenated last name.
 |
| A classic line in Poland from many years ago... |
Which brings me to another benefit of in-country language learning. Much of what I do when I speak Polish is guess wildly based on Russian, and then memorize in which situations the Russian root will help me, and in which it will hinder me. Ochered', the Russian word for "line," is of no help at all.
Immersion gives you situational vocabulary --and given the nature of urban life, situations tend to repeat themselves, which means you have automatic linguistic reinforcement, merely by going through your day.
Recently my daughter asked: "what does tutaj mean?" "Here," I replied. "I thought so," she said. "At track they say 'Chodź tutaj. Come here.'"
Even so, since I'm teaching Russian literature and culture, and writing and lecturing in English, and my family is here, the two languages that dominate my life in Poland are English and Russian. So much so that when I got off the bus today (having been immersed in a Russian novel the whole way home), I accidentally spoke to the shopkeeper in our building in Russian. "Не хотите ли закрыть дверь? Wouldn't you like to close the door?" -- given that the weather outside was miserable. I then (sort of) translated myself into Polish, at which point she said: "Ne jestem zimna" or something like that, to mean "I'm not cold." Grudgingly, as though it's bad enough dealing with me in Polish on a regular basis without me addressing her in some other foreign language...
In other words, though the entire city is my conversation partner, the transactions can be fairly limited. "Do you have your TESCO card?" "Can I have a plastic bag? I forgot my shopping bag." "Five apples please." Et cetera.
My best and most prolonged conversations -- because I don't have to say much, and I hear vocabulary and grammar in action -- have been with drunks. And my best and most prolonged monologues have been anecdotes -- telling my Polish teacher, my colleagues at work, my students -- about my best conversation partners.
Rozmawiaję tylko s alcoholikami. Na autobusie. [I only converse with alcoholics. On the bus.]
And so on. I have honed these stories:
- about the veteran who wanted to share a brochure from the Warsaw Poster Museum with me, and who showed me his military identification card, and...
- about the gentleman who just wanted to help me avoid a fine from the controller he said was on the bus (though that may have been an illusion, or a way to start chatting with me, as I never did see the controller), and in the end exclaimed to the entire bus:
Jadę z amerikańką! Jadę z amerikańską indejką! Jadę z amerikańską szpijonką!! [I'm riding the bus with an American! I'm riding with an American Indian! I'm riding with an American spy!]Not entirely sure how my second alcoholic decided I was Native American, but he was quite concerned about the way that American troops killed the Indians -- he'd seen many films about it on Polish television. Most importantly:
- I understood what he was saying.
- The other bus riders met my gaze with sympathy as the performance went on, making me feel less alienated even while being pointed to as the most alien being possible.
- And it makes a great story, one I can tell while practicing my Polish vocabulary and syntax.
I'm also not entirely sure what to do with the fact that I am appealing to alcoholics on the bus, but I have to remain grateful to them for being my conversation partners. My Polish is much better as a result.
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