To many Cantonese, everything north of the Nanling mountain ranges (南嶺) might as well be Manchuria (or Mars). After finishing my pipe I went over to Walgreens on Stockton Street, where an American Chinese woman a year ago had tried to convince a Mandarin-speaking couple, in both Cantonese and English, that she. Did. Not. Speak. Mandarin. And. Didn't. Know. What. They. Were. On. About. I complimented her again on providing me with my best Walgreens experience to date. It had been very entertaining. If it weren't for an acquaintance who buys Esoterica Tobacciana products, I would hardly ever need any Mandarin myself. Sadly, he speaks neither English nor Cantonese (and no Dutch or German either, but those would be very long shots). Smoked two pipes in C'town today.
To one of the old gentlemen I see at the bakery every Wednesday, there are three languages in China. Cantonese (which he speaks), Teochew dialect (his girlfriend speaks that), and "good lord what is that horrible sound?!!?", which is spoken everywhere else.
All the way to the Korean and Russian frontiers.
Guten tag, Herr Verarbeitungsabteilung, wie ist ihr vorrat an seltenen tabaken?
My command of Mandarin is more than haphazard. There are murmurs in the ranks, and there might be a mutiny. Suffice to say my orders are seldom understood.
I may be relieved of my command if this persists.
Succintly put, it sucks eggs.
Good lord, what is that horrible sound? Nothing. It's just a Dutchman attempting to speak Mandarin, whatever that is. Pay it no mind. It will go away soon.
On a fairly regular basis I give my downstairs neighbor (Chinese from Indonesia) some vegetables which I got in Chinatown, because I am younger and more mobile, and, because she's spent the last thirty or forty years surrounded by fervent Christians she does not feel quite at home there. And can't speak Cantonese. No, the picture above is NOT what I bought today, which was fresh asparagus and a jar of sambal oelek, but a scrumptious pastry still warm from the oven.
It was wonderful with a spot of milk tea.
What she and I have in common, aside from the building where we live, is the Indonesian language and, I presume, a fondness for sambal.
Everything tastes better with sambal. Even hospital food. Always have an extra jar in your emergency overnight bag in case you suddenly need to spend a few days in the ICU.
Or the Midwest. Iowa, for instance.
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