Monday 1 August 2016

Learning Czech


I've been learning Czech for years.  I've taken classes, done exercises in the books, made lists, and engaged in informal group lessons with people who just want to better their Czech.

My Czech is abysmal.  Every year I come to Prague and and speak the language--badly.  I confuse the declensions.  I get genders wrong (I mean, four genders?  really?).  I now have a slender acquaintance with akusitive, which will disappear almost completely unless I find a way to practice it before I return next year.

The longer I learn Czech, however, the more determined I am.  The better I know the language, the better I understand the culture--and vice-versa.  Learning Czech isn't an intellectual exercise; it's about creativity and understanding how Czechs enter the world.

The language itself does provide clues.  Names of the week, for example:  Czechs--Slavs in general, really-- can't be bothered with obscure gods.  They are practical.  Sunday is Nedele, which means "do nothing" day.  Pondele is "after" doing day.  Wednesday, Streda is middle, and so on.  The months are  the same:  I am particularly fond of May, Kveten, meaning flowers; and November, Listopad, meaning falling leaves.

I know no Asian languages whatsoever, but I understand that tone and emphasis are as important as pronunciation and grammar.  I think the same is really true in any language.  There are Czech words, idioms and phrases that I know well enough to say like a Czech, that confuse actual Czech speakers into thinking that I am one of them.  This, of course, causes both pride and problems.  I love that my accent and pronunciation are so good that people think I'm a native speaker (with, apparently, a Prague accent, which "sings"); but then that native speaker will launch into an enthusiastic explanation or description or list of directions that I am utterly incapable of following.  The disappointment on her or his face when I admit, "Bohužel , můj český je špatně ; Mluvíte anglicky [unfortunately, my Czech is bad; do you speak English]?" is always such a blow.

Still, my familiarity with Czech and my ear for Slavic languages came in handy during my recent visit to Croatia.  Although some words are very similar (dobry den; dobar dan:  Good day; and rozumim; razumijem:  I understand), others are completely different.  Djekuji meaning "thank you" in Czech, is hard enough to pronounce; hvala in Croat is equally difficult.  You'd think that "thank you" would be an easy word, because it's so important.  Prosim; molim --please, you're welcome-- is easier in both languages.  But again, it's the accent that is most different.  If Prague Czechs "sing" their language, coastal Croats purr theirs.  The laid-back, easy going attitude of Italy and Southern Spain is evident here amongst the ruins from Roman times, and the people are not easily upset.

So another language, another culture.  Rather than give up b/c the process seems too hard, I just go easy on myself and celebrate my ability, now, to get a sense of the whole communication rather than work out what each word means (which leaves me behind in the overall conversation).  It's frustrating and more than a bit embarrassing to admit that with having lived in Prague for years and every summer since 2013; still, I won't give up.  I find it too valuable and too intriguing.

And also that expression of wonderment and often unexpected joy at rural Czechs on meeting an "Američanka" who speaks even a little Czech:  PRICELESS.