Swedetalker

The hunter eventually becomes the hunted. Last week I was snared by an enterprising young hack who has written a piece for the Malmö/Lund City newspaper which hit the shelves today, very much the Drogheda Leader of its time. On the plus side I don’t sound like a complete tool (I think) and I got to sneak into the old Malmö football stadium to have my snap taken. Remember Euro 1992? Sadly enough I am old enough to recall my first European Championships, only two groups, England home before the postcards (as always) and Denmark, who were parachuted in to replace Yugoslavia, romping home to beat world champions Germany in the final. Halcyon times.

In case you’re wondering the Malmö stadium held three games including two dreadful scoreless draws involving mighty Graham Taylor’s England who would soon be branded a turnip. I think I still have the video of Eamon Dunphy calling him a ‘bluffer’ stashed away somewhere…

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Förlåt for the lack of updates this past week. Things have been a tad hectic away from the classroom but rest assured I’m back on blogging form from here on in. So, where to start? Well I must confess that on Tuesday I sadly withdrew to the ‘poor me, poor me, pour me another gin and tonic’ phase where I  whinged about why I’m not making any progress and the unfairness of life in general. Blah, blah, blah in other words.

Things picked up the next day when I was coerced into speaking Swedish with one of my classmates where we had to simulate a conversation. As I’ve elaborated before most of my new friends have English as a second language so usually they adjust for me but I’ve found that communicating with those whose Svenska is on a similar level isn’t so terrifying after all. Every time I’m forced to speak the language I remember more and more so really this is the only way to progress. Once I left the classroom I was in buoyant spirits and piped up by ordering lunch in a nearby cafe where the waitress understood what I was saying. It was only a black coffee but still.

Which brings us up to speed to today where last week’s test results were being wheeled out. My teacher sat me down alongside a trainee who is five years younger than me and speaks multiple languages while I attempted to blag my way through the tutorial. My results were reasonable and while I didn’t pull up any trees I didn’t disgrace myself either and have been moved onto the C course which by the end of it I should be able to have a chat in a disco. Seeing as I’m an auld fella who usually only utters ‘Put on the Human League’ on a night out this should be a slice of tiger cake.

By the time I finish the course in the summer I should have the vocabulary of a 12-year old so obviously I’ll be going straight for the acne cream and the dirty magazines. Right now I’m still in nappies and must follow my teacher’s advice – go out and practice the new lingo, nappies optional.

P.S. My flickvän has suggested we only communicate in Swedish from now on to speed up my progress. On the plus side it should help me improve but on the negative it’s unlikely I’ll be able to win any future disputes over oranges. The integration has already started by tuning into the local version of Kilroy. Quality programming without the annoying git shoving his guests out of the way to sit down.

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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was also the rice of times. Remember how I was told to go out and practice this peculiar owl sounding language? Right, so with this in mind I ventured to the shopping paradise otherwise known as Hemköp armed with a list of items to purchase in svenska (little ’s’ I’ve just been informed) and a debit card.

All was going swimmingly until I met my match – the checkout girl. I opted for the risgrynsgröt which to you and I is good old creamed rice which swedes eat for breakfast. C’mon people, we all know this is the budget dessert for hungover students. Firstly I entered my pin code wrong and then dropped some of my products prompting the checkout girl to utter that unforgettable line ‘you’ve dropped your rice.’ Grabbing the tube of creamy goodness I ran shame faced from the store never to show my face ever again. Erm, until today.

Back to the lessons and today was the day of the BIG test. Beforehand I was bricking it but once I found out the Government wouldn’t drop-kick me out of the country for failing I devoured my risgrynsgröt breakfast and cycled to school in good form. Dare I say it but I found the whole exam reasonably easy. Well, the questions anyway! I spieled away for a good hour and a half and left the classroom in a good frame of mind.

Then it dawned on me.

I’d gone back in time to 1999 and swapped my Irish/French oral exams and updated them to circa 2010 in svenska. Then as now I prattered on about my family in the written exam and I’ll probably get away with it. All of which makes me think I’ve learnt diddly squat. Sure I can scribble a bit but my basic understanding remains light years from my ultimate goal.

There have been times this week when I’ve been questioning my whole approach to this challenge. I’m not speaking enough Swedish to really improve my basic level and although there is no shortage of encouragement I remain in the awkward phase. When I try to say something I hear it in my head and I sound like a drunk Forrest Gump taking a swahili course. Life ain’t a box of chocolates and I’m scared I’ve got a soft centre when it comes to languages.

P.S. Still convinced I was mitching class to watch Oprah repeats last week? As promised here is the link to my interview so tab down to hear me speak a bit of Swedish.

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Brrr. And No I’m not just referring to the bitter cold here in the south of this snow ridden land. That’s the sound of fear laced with dread as we have a test scheduled for this Friday and I’ve been absent for most of the last two weeks. Cue a collective gasp.

Today was my first sojourn to class in a while as I had to return to the mothership for a bit, you know the place where we don’t speak our own language, and it went better than expected. My teacher had kept me posted so I wasn’t that far behind when the lessons got back underway. Our multinational (top) table has had some new additions with two new members from Italy and Japan. Of course they all have impeccable English and Svenska is just another one for them to learn. Oh ye language Gods…

Perhaps the most entertaining part of today’s lesson was when our little group had to determine what kind of housemates we’d like according to a fictional ad. As you can imagine it was full of potentially racy topics such as Albanian ‘black workers’ or arbetar svart, Americans with three poodles and Neo-Nazis.We had to pick out three of the most suitable guests and three we’d run a swedish mile from and I raised a cheap laugh by suggesting I was more scared of Americans than their ugly dogs. Being the liberals we are our door is open to a family from Colombia (cheap coffee), an engineer man from Angola with a Swedish girlfriend (will fix the TV and we can practice the lingo) and a couple who work in the local post office (free stamps).

Our teachers try to prompt debate by including sensitive topics like how we’d feel living with a radical political students from the middle east or hippies. We tried to articulate as best we could how we’d feel sharing a ‘gaff’ with that lot.

To conclude we had ‘tala’ where an unfortunate Swede was wheeled in to chat to us chancers. Aren’t they an unusual bunch and I must confess I was hoping for the man with a moustache that would inspire face-rug envy from Friedrich Nietzsche. Alas we were moved from our comfy classroom to some kind of bunker where we were quizzed about the weather and learnt how to say my house collapsed because of snow. Taket rasar. Take note, you may just need it round these parts.

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My absence from blogging for the past week is not because I’ve been mitching class but as I was back in the old country for a while. For those of you who are of the belief that I was avoiding class to stay in and watch repeats of Knight Rider I shall provide hard evidence. I was roped into doing a radio interview back home, where I attempted to speak a bit of Swedish, and will post the link as soon as it goes up. Honest.

One thing about being back was that it sounded so strange to hear English being spoken all the time. I’ve grown used to hearing Svenska and the ear certainly adapts even if you don’t fully understand what is being said. On the plane back today I overheard some fellow ex-pats chatting about learning the language of the country they call home. A summary, “Ah jaysus no, it’s bleedin’ way too hard,” and “It doesn’t make that much sense.” I intend to not be uttering something similar in the near future.

Just before I departed snowy Malmö (it’s still caked in the stuff btw) I went out to practice my limited vocabulary in the local butchers. For some reason I had the word kärlek (love) on the brain instead of nötkött (beef) and almost asked for 500 grams of the stuff. Now I’m now sure how this would have tasted in the kalops and I’m certain asking for such a thing is probably illegal in most places. Anyway, the kind lady in the butchers got the gist and chopped up some quality beef for a fine stew.

Having missed a week I return to class tomorrow a tad nervous that they’re all miles ahead of me now. Plus, we have a test on the 26th. Gulp.

P.S. I got back into Sweden with a bang. Quite literally as the bus driver clobbered into a car and had to stop the vehicle so he could remonstrate with the motorist. A mild-mannered affair, all very Swedish…

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I’m beginning to wonder that I choose the wrong career by going into the broke journalism trade instead of the more lucrative investment banker division. Judging by my numeracy skills on our recent tests I’m a distinct loss to the thieves. Hmm, where is my fat expense account?

Bitterness aside I clocked up a high grade on my number test but (broken record moment) continue to trudge behind on the phrasing questions part of the exam. I simply can’t remember the correct order of vilket, vilken, vilka, vart(!) and the like. Vil you please go away and study them my teacher allegedly didn’t say according to a source.

In our last class we were divided into new groups and asked to rank in order of importance, frihet (freedom), kärlek (love), pengar (money), fred (peace), hälsa (health) and religion. Given the multicultural nature of my class there was a fierce debate over religion, so much so that our teacher scrubbed it off the list completely.

I was reliably informed if I followed one particular faith all my health issues would be taken care of while the love of rumbling around in a greasy till was universally despised. One of my classmates quizzed me on the political divide in my homeland and how our peace process could be applied elsewhere. I’m consistently amazed by how well-informed people from far-flung spots of the globe are about Ireland and it really puts my international knowledge gap to shame.

We completed the session with a crossword featuring new words we’ve, ahem, learned for our family members. Personal favs include farfar (literally Dad’s Dad) and systerson (nephew). Most of it makes sense as does the language once you stop translating it word-for-word into english. Now all I gotta do is figure out the tax system and I’ll be laughing, sadly not all the way to the bank. Damn career choice…

P.S. Many thanks for all the comments which I will be responding to ASAP. Your support and feedback is greatly appreciated.

P.P.S. Disturbing search results – Apparently somebody found my blog by typing in ‘Irish Grannies Sucking’ into Google. Weird.

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WE had a visitor today from Iraq. For a minute I thought we were going to be latest witnesses to be interrogated in the ongoing war trial a la Alastair Campbell. Who knows, perhaps those elusive WMD’s had finally shown up buried in the Malmö snow?

Twas not to be. Our guest was a young lady who fled Saddam’s brutal regime 12 years ago to move to Sverige with her family. She told us about her life in Iraq and how she ended up in northern europe where she is now pursuing a teaching career. She speaks fluent Svenska, Arabic, English and German. An impressive woman indeed who was then going to quiz us on our Swedish. Gulp.

Here though is where the (very) mini eureka moment happened. Get this, speaking Swedish to someone who is fluent in the language improves you immensely. Makes sense right? Reminded me of that scene in ‘Fawlty Towers’ where Basil mocks Sybil saying she should be on Mastermind with ‘the bloody obvious’ as her specialist subject.

Our Iraqi guest went round to each group chatting to us all and remarked that our Swedish was excellent given that we’ve only been learning it for three weeks. She told us how she made a narrow escape from a child bomber when she visited her homeland. With some added confidence I asked her, Vad tycker du om George Bush och Tony Blair? The longer we spoke to her the easier it became to communicate with words and phrases just popping into your mind.  I guess this is a normal feeling for someone who is used to studying languages but for me it was a brand new experience. A brilliant one at that.

I left the class invigorated and eager to learn more. All of which has convinced me that I must launch (weapons pun intended) myself into speaking the language all the time. With my nearest and dearest’s father I’ve become accustomed to chatting to him in English. Disclaimer alert: He hasn’t spoken the Queen’s brogue regularly in decades and I’ve noticed that he’s improving all the time. Erm, it’s meant to be the other way round.

Must put a stop to it. Our discussions about the finer merits of Sweden’s 1958 World Cup team will never be the same again. No, they’ll be better. That’s the plan anyway…

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Remember those days in school when you used to be terrified about standing up in front of all the class just to embarrass yourself? Today I got the chance to relive that experience not once but twice. Allow me to explain.

Part one was in my second lesson where my handful of classmates were each given a sheet of paper with a word including, verb, plats (place), tid (time) and I was assigned inte (not). Our enthusiastic teacher got us all to stand up and move around according to the sentence she was trying to construct which taught us that inte always comes after a verb. Hence, jag förstår inte which means ‘I don’t understand.’

Fresh from this experience we embarked on our final session of the day where we learnt how to talk about our family plus we revealed our ages in a peculiar way. In a lineup similar to the Usual Suspects we formed a queue complete with strange accents, though nobody was brave enough to imitate Benicio Del Toro, to show our range of ages from oldest to youngest. Why don’t I just go the whole way and take off all my clothes just to complete the nightmare.

Age has caught up with me so I wasn’t the baby of the group and nowhere near cool enough to be Keyser Soze. I’ll settle for the Gabriel Byrne role but then again that involves moving to Hollywood and coming back with a Dublin accent or so Colin ‘howya doin bud’ Farrell was telling me.

Forgive me for digressing. It has been a long day. Tomorrow involves more standing up and talking about our nearest and dearest for the amusement of the class. God help us…

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Back to the grind today for another week and yes the dreaded test results came through. Well, the truth is it’s the same old story – excelling on numbers and struggling with written words. In fairness I was absent for 25% of the test so that brought my grade down a bit. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking with it. So ner.

Today we listed our weekend activities including playing the Wii and going out partying. Neither were mine btw. We picked up a useful word, därför, which means because. Just like in English you can’t use it at the start of the sentence but in Swedish it is accepted if it’s a direct response to a previous question.

As mentioned before our class is a multicultural bunch. Our teacher gently prods us (not with a stick) to find out about our respective countries. Today I discovered that the hot topic in the Costa Rican election is about a candidate wearing a nappy! My classmate from Central America asked me a little about Ireland as he thought it was part of Britain. With the aid of a crude sketch I gave him a brief history lesson but as there was an student from England sitting directly behind us I omitted the ‘800 years of oppression’ spiel which is standard fare. Anyway he knows Ireland is divided and which half is better

Our final part of the day involved communicating with a native Swede who would test us on our progress. We got a delightful elderly lady who, with the aid of an atlas, asked us all sorts of questions about our lives up till now. She even revealed that she once lived in Italy and was convinced Czechoslovakia still existed. I had to point out that the atlas was out of date, either that or something is going down in eastern europe that only old ladies are privy to.

I surprised myself how much Swedish I actually remembered for this talking exercise. My problem is that I feel like an absolute tool speaking this weird language especially to a native. This evening I ventured to a Thai restaurant and ordered completely in Svenska. It must be pointed out this was only a handful of sentences as I was more comfortable speaking to fellow immigrants. Mind you my Thai isn’t too hot either.

Must catch some Z’s as we begin at 8:15am. Fresh snow continues to fall in Malmö

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Penning this on Monday as it’s the only weekday we have off from lessons. Last Friday was our first test and it was a reminder of being back in school as the teacher wisely broke the groups up to prevent cheating and there was much to admire in the inventive ways my classmates shielded their answers.

Much as I would like to boast and say I nailed the test the truth is I did well in the things I know and less so in those I don’t. Namely the numbers and phrasing questions in that order. Tis ironic as I was pretty useless at maths in school but always good at piping up with enquiries like ‘why on earth am I here?’

I must admit that thought did cross my mind on occasion at times during last Friday’s lessons. Malmö remains knee deep in snow and by this stage the novelty of creating offensive looking snowmen has long since worn off. It’s inevitable to sometimes wander off and gaze out the window wondering how you ended up in such a bizarre situation. Bear in mind I had never even been to Sweden until last year and now I’m studying a language for the first time in, well, longer than I’d care to remember.

Okay enough with feeling sorry for yourself. I’ve been given a great opportunity to live here and the Government are lobbing free lessons into the mix. Socialism can’t be all bad can it?

Once the test was over we were asked to practice our new phrases and I learnt from my mistake the previous evening when I proudly announced that I drank oranges for breakfast. You see the word for orange and orange juice is…oh forget it. Just piss yourself laughing like everybody did.

Mind you, I did move onto communicating last week – albeit with a three year old. A fierce (five sentence) debate was raged between myself and a friend’s son over the ownership of a toy lorry or lastbil as they say here. Needless to say the toddler won but I’ve been reliably informed my Svenska is on the same level as a three year old.

It’s called progress. I think.

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