I live on the fourteenth floor of the Studentencomplex Cambridgelaan, at the top of the bridge connecting the two towers. Not only do I get a nice grassy view from my room, but the trip from the bottom floor to the top offers a wonderful learning opportunity. Most of my Dutch practice comes from thirty-second conversations with whoever has the misfortune to be stuck in an elevator with me. Thirty seconds is enough time to spit out some introductions and fix the pronunciations of a couple words — or at the very least, provide some amusement to Dutch ears.
One of the professors for my education technology class asked me why I bothered to learn Dutch. “It’s a bit superfluous, isn’t it?” (his words; the first time I’ve ever heard superfluous used outside of a book). His tone wasn’t angry or dismissive, just curious. And he’s not the first person to say something like that. Most people here speak English, and they speak English quite well despite their insistence that they don’t. And as much as I may practice, my Dutch will never become as good as their English. They’ve got years of throat gurgling experience over me.
So why bother learning Dutch in the first place?
Well, all the signs are in Dutch. All the newspapers are in Dutch. And all the juicy conversations that the Dutch students have with each other are in Dutch. Language is such an integral part of culture and identity; to ignore this would be foolish on my part, especially since I’m living in the Netherlands for a full year. Plenty of time to become immersed.
Still, it’s difficult to practice Dutch even in its homeland, especially when most people can and will switch to English once they detect an accent. It’s much easier to learn a language when you have no choice but to learn the language if you want to survive. So I just try to ignore that and plug in whatever Dutch I know in-between English sentences. “Dunglish”, some people call it.
I was browsing the Couchsurfing website for Utrecht and noticed some ads requesting conversation buddies over a kopje koffie. I feel that would be like “the next level” for me. But for now, the elevator is my playground.
2 thoughts on “elevator pitches, or learning a new language”