I don’t speak Dutch. In fact, I don’t speak any languages that are even remotely useful for my vaulting adventures. In a sport where German dominates and I spend the majority of my European training hearing Danish, my (once) nearly fluent Spanish is almost completely useless. Even though the European education system is wonderful enough to teach all its youngsters English, I would think communication is always best when each person speaks in his native language… not that I’d know from experience.
But back to Dutch. I spent all last weekend with the Van der Sluijs Family, a Dutch dairy farming family living in Olds, Alberta. The family’s farm is the vaulting headquarters for Meadow Creek Vaulting Club, run by sisters Angelique and Jeanine. The Van der Sluijs family made the trek to the “New West” (as Alberta likes to call itself) a few years back, but they still maintain much of their Dutch heritage. For one, they’re dairy farmers. Their house is decorated with speed skating posters (the Dutch’s favorite pastime), they eat yummy bread and cheese for breakfast (much better than the American cereal tradition in my opinion!), and, of course, they speak Dutch. Considering that Canadians use the metric system and speak with funny accents, it basically felt like I was in Europe… just a few hours north of our American border!
Whenever I’m in Europe, I’m almost always surrounded by people speaking a language I cannot understand. In this case, I was surrounded by Dutch. I’ve been here before… in this weird place between peace and loneliness that comes from not understanding the language of the house. I was here in Olds last year, also to teach a clinic to some of Canada’s top vaulters, and I remember feeling the same way the first time Jeanine (Van der Sluijs) spoke to her mother in Dutch and the conversation carried on in Dutch for the next five minutes. For the first few non-English exchanges, I tried to figure out what they were saying. Knowing absolutely none of the language, this was nearly impossible. I listened for names, looked for facial expressions and hand gestures, and then realized it was a moot point. So then I sat there, completely disengaged, and got lost in my own world… until suddenly (or so it seemed to me, not understanding whatever segue might have been uttered in Dutch) the conversation reverted to English, obviously for my benefit only.
I can never decide if I love being around families that speak a foreign language or if I actually loathe it. I’m starting to think I loathe the fact that I can’t understand but generally love the people I’m around so much that they kind of cancel each other out. Those first few times the conversation reverted back to Dutch, I almost enjoyed the liberty it gave me to think about other things. The family knew I couldn’t understand, so obviously whatever was being said was not of importance to me anyway. It is peaceful, even enlightening and freeing to be able to disassociate occasionally from the community around me. I can do my own thing, which I love to do, while everyone else does something else.
But at the same time, it’s never fun to be the stupid American who can’t understand. It can be a lonely and infantilizing experience being unable to understand, unable to connect. I always wonder what I’m missing. With the Van der Sluijs family, I only realized what I was missing as the weekend of vaulting wore on. These people are warm and wonderful. The sisters Jeanine and Angelique, as well as their mother and father are all kind and happy people, full of good stories and life experiences. Sometimes I forget to ask about them, forget that they would love to converse if only I seemed interested. Sometimes I forget that just because they occasionally speak Dutch has no bearing on the fact that they speak English fluently too.
So if nothing else, this rough draft of an entry is a little reminder to myself (and anyone else who cares) just to be yourself always… even if there seems to be a language barrier. With the right company, you can fly past all the obstacles. ☺
