Carnett: In a small desert town, my wife’s Dutch came in handy
Not long ago my wife, Hedy, and I were hanging out in the town of Page.
The Northern Arizona community is a quiet burg of about 7,000 near Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell, on the Arizona-Utah frontier.
We stepped into a Walmart to buy a few supplies.
Hedy assumed the task with gusto. I pushed the cart while she took the point and deftly navigated our reconnaissance mission around the huge store, picking off vacation snacks and other essentials.
We’d never been there before. How does she do it?
In one corner we encountered a party of three, speaking Dutch. Hedy is fluent in Dutch. She was raised in the Netherlands and came to this country at age 10, speaking no English at all.
Six months later, as a Pasadena elementary school student, she spoke fluent English, without the hint of an accent. Young minds are amazing things.
As we walked by the elderly gentleman and two ladies at Walmart, they seemed to be engaged in a rather full-throated discussion. They weren’t arguing, mind you, just speaking at full volume, as Euros sometimes do.
Hedy looked at me and smiled.
“Are they speaking Dutch?” I whispered after we’d rolled past them.
Hedy nodded in the affirmative.
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“I thought so,” I responded, shaking my head. “In out-of-the-way Page, Ariz.!”
There are only about 20 million Dutch speakers in the world. That’s less than half the population of California. Only 20 million out of 7 billion-plus residents of our planet.
What are the odds there’d be three at the same time in remote Page? Four, counting Hedy!
We continued our mission.
Five minutes later we saw one of the Dutch ladies animatedly trying to make herself understood to a Walmart employee. She obviously wasn’t having much luck and seemed slightly exasperated.
The woman spoke no English — rare for a Netherlander, by the way — and the clerk spoke no Dutch.
As we came nearby, Hedy decided to help. She interrupted the conversation and asked the Dutch lady, in Dutch, if she could be of assistance.
“Yes,” the frustrated lady responded, seeming not the least bit surprised that a total stranger in an Arizona big-box retailer had just spoken to her like they’d crossed paths at a Rotterdam fish market. Surely she didn’t assume that most Americans speak her tongue. Because they don’t.
I’m guessing here, but I’d bet persons fluent in Dutch in this country number somewhere below 1%. By contrast, perhaps 80 percent of Dutch people speak fluent English.
“The Netherlands is small,” Hedy’s cousin Gerry, a Dutch citizen, once explained to me. “If we spoke only Dutch we’d be in big trouble in international business. By necessity, we must have command of many languages.”
Gerry, a translator by profession, speaks seven languages — seven — and his English is impeccable.
But, back to Page, Ariz., and our Dutch visitors.
“I’m trying to ask this clerk where they keep the pâté,” the Dutch lady told Hedy.
Pâté. Hmm.
It’s a European concoction of cooked ground meat and fat minced into a spreadable paste. It’s ghastly and brings to mind rancid liverwurst. That’s just my opinion, but most Americans avoid it. Just because we love Dodger Dogs doesn’t mean we stomach pate.
“This lady is asking if you carry pâté,” Hedy redirected to the clerk in English.
“Pâté?” the clerk responded. “What’s that?”
Exactly. The Dutch lady might as well have asked for Vegemite or minced truffles. Same result.
The clerk was speaking on behalf of 320 million Americans in that moment. Let’s face it; we’re mostly clueless about pâté.
“Sorry,” Hedy told the Dutch lady. “They don’t carry it here, and if they did, I’m afraid it wouldn’t measure up to your standards anyway.”
We don’t do pâté. How about Velveeta on a shard of rye crisp?
The Dutch lady ended the cross-cultural kerfuffle with “dank u wel” (thank you very much) and we went our separate ways, each bemoaning the state of American pâté.
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JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.
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