Cryptograms

Cryptograms

I think this means we have positive birds and negative birds in Austria from 1950

Don’t you love all the cryptic symbols that are used instead of words?  I need a Google Translate for symbols.

The most memorable experience translating pictures was in a bathroom in some village in Poland. We stumbled into a very small café, only to find out it had been a favorite of Steven Spielberg during the filming of Schindler’s List.  What this meant practically was a small place to eat bursting with customers.  Small wonder it was a favorite, I can’t remember having much to chose from. But the bigger dilemma came when we tried to use the bathroom.

Each restroom was one passenger and unoccupied, the only empty seats in the house.  On one door was a square and on the other a circle. Now I think I would have chosen a triangle for myself, but that wasn’t an option. I searched my intelligence and experience for any help. Anthropology in Mexico! The ancient columns, carved before blue prints and written explanations, were said to represent female soldiers because they were round, not square.  Polish Restroom Anthropology as it turns out, says that the female is a square.  I think.  What I do remember is that I guessed wrong.  No problem going in, but an embarrassing one coming  out.

So, with a history of making guesses as to the cryptograms across Europe, we studied the train map.  This diagram lets you know what type of train you will be taking and which cars are first class.  Or more importantly for me, which cars are for hoi polloi, us plebeians, the unwashed masses, or in the case of Austria, pretty well washed and in Eastern Europe well-oiled by Friday afternoon. 

The train diagram had extra information. The first of the second class cars was without any extra explanation.  The second one had the profile of a person, with three concentric circles coming from their face, and a finger in front of her mouth.  Either it meant, “Be prepared to sing, ‘This little light of mine’,” “Check your breath,” or “No talking. “ All the snorers and shhshh-ers would be in there, not fun!

The next car had a seat with a cross on top, which could mean, Christians, or  disaster victims or handicapped.  Probably either way, no dancing in that car.

The last car had a sign that said kino.  Sounds good on a long train ride, however, although it was a word, a description was in the key.  A kino- cinema in both Slovak and German, for children, three hours listening to Disney in German. 

Needless to say, the normal car was pretty well occupied.  But thankfully, the bathrooms didn’t have a square and a circle on them or any other cryptogram, but instead German, and English, something I can feed into Google Translate if necessary.

American Through and Through

I am an American living in Slovakia. I have lived here most of my adult life. I finally found out that there is nothing I can do to make me not look like an American. I have asked my Slovak friends to give me tips. Through all the cultural anthropology classes, gaining insights on the actions and mindsets of other cultures, through all the lessons on how to love your host culture, and even through countless haircuts and shopping trips, no matter how hard I try to blend, ultimately I cannot. 

I can prove it.  I was at the swimming pool for my regular swim.  I knew the routine. Pay at the small window downstairs for both your locker and your entrance.  Give the attendant upstairs in the ladies' dressing room your receipt and your deposit for the locker and DON'T try to use a locker other than the one on the key, no matter how close it is the bank of windows that look out on the busy intersection.  Also don't go beyond her bench with your shoes on.  Fair enough.

I had finished my swim and was back for a shower. I am pretty sure I have been modest since before I was born.  My mom loves to tell the story of our trip to the playground when I was three years old.  Being a particularly hot day, my friend removed his t-shirt.  Appalled I ran to my mother and told her what had happened.  I can almost see a sweet three year old with all the indignation of a 70-year-old spinster.  My mom, completely clueless as to my duress asked, "Would you like me to help you take your t-shirt off too?"

Needless to say, gang showers anywhere still make me nervous (and fast). But as I said, Cultural anthropology classes made their mark and although I didn't want to blend enough to swim in a two-piece, I did go ahead and shower in the regular way.

As my Slovak haircut was being shampooed by my Slovak shampoo, I heard a voice behind me.  "Oh, your an American?"  (No, I have no tattoos, yet.) I turned my head to see two ladies addressing me in English.  They introduced themselves. (My first naked handshake-hopefully my last.) We talked a bit about living in Slovakia then I made my get away to the locker room. 

Deep in my heart though I was relieved. As much I as I try to blend and fail it is no one's fault. There is something about me that is as culturally bound to being an American as my birthday suit, and I can't get out of that.