Adventures in "What?" -Hostel Creole

Written from: Lausanne.

“I can’t understand anything.” “No puedo entender nada.” “Non posso capire niente.” “Je ne comprends rien.”

These are the statements we hear throughout the Ushuaian Hostel lobby as we beat on in Day 2 of our conversation. She is Swiss, from the French speaking part, with her second language as Spanish, here third as Italian, and barely a fourth, English. I am American, with a second language of Spanish, a third of Italian, and barely a fourth of French (phrases mostly). Some how, in this descending order of languages, we are able to talk, joke, discuss, and edify each other in a Creole we invented in the moment as a mixture of all of these, a Creole that fluent speakers of each can’t decipher. It’s ours, and for reasons neither of us can understand, it works.

Fast Forward.

A: “Nous avons besoin d'un peu d'eau.”

B: “Je vais demander à la prochaine personne qui vient par la.”

A: “Perdón! Podriamos tener un poco de agua?”

C: “Olivia?”

In European thinking, it is completely reasonable to bring the featured cappuccino machine while hiking in Chalten, but I guess unreasonable to bring water. On this small, remote, and beautiful trail towards a glacier, we happened across each other again (the cappuccino machine and conversation were both functional yet confusing).

Fast Forward.

Now our Spanish is much better, and with her boyfriend who speaks the same (slightly better English) and some Japanese (which would be in 5^th place for my languages) we have the most in-depth conversation about the cultural effects of the varied languages in Switzerland (specifically Lausanne), which turns into all of us on our feet, starring a world map, engaging us more than any TV set could.

This is us in Ushuaiah, Argentina at sunrise. This is us in Lausanne, Switzerland at sundown. Hopefully there will be a midday picture somewhere in 18 months from now.

Blog #6. 9^th Day, 28^th Year. Complete.

Retrospection: When trying to correctly pronounce the name of a certain French city, my friend’s tip was to mimic the sound of a donkey. So French really sounds the way most of us think it does.