Euskera: Endangered Language

The language of the Basque Country is called Euskera, and it is currently on a list of endangered languages. It is slowly making a come-back thanks to nationalist sentiment but  is still spoken by less than a million people. Although it is the co-official language of the Basque Country, Euskera is actually spoken by less than half of the residents of the region; where I am you wouldn’t guess, but I suppose all the city-dwellers offset those of us in the boondocks.

It doesn’t help of course that dialects of Euskera are massively different, even in very small areas. There is a standardized language used for publications written in Euskera or for movies and television shows, but it is not the normal Euskera spoken by real people. When you can’t necessarily communicate with other people who are supposed to be speaking the same language as you… perhaps it is understandable that some people choose convenience over preserving a beautiful ancient language.

Despite the trouble involved in communicating in different dialects however, as little as 80 years ago Euskera was “very widespread and inescapable in daily life” (http://www.unc.edu/~sdteeter/basque.html). What happened in the past century then? The Spanish Civil War. When Franco assumed power, he banned all of the languages aside from Castellano.  When he died in 1975 and Spain finally became a democracy, the four provinces making up the Basque Country were allowed a large degree of autonomy, and the Basque language was once again allowed.

Now schools in the Basque Country are taught in one of 3 models: Model A in which classes are taught primarily in Castellano with Euskera as a separate subject, Model C in which classes are taught in both languages, and Model D in which classes are taught primarily in Euskera with Castellano as a separate subject. There are also night schools offered to give adults the chance to learn their ancestral language. Hopefully these measures can save the oldest language in Europe from extinction.

Languages

As you may have noticed, I keep referring to Castellano instead of Spanish. This is because I have been informed that I do not speak Spanish. I speak Castellano. Castellano is the language of Castilla, a central region of Spain, but since the Castillians took over everything a few hundred years ago, everyone in spain Speaks Castellano now. But not exclusively.

Castellano is the only official language for Spain as a whole, but in the various different territories there are various more languages that have official recognition as well (and some that aren’t official but are spoken nonetheless). In addition to Castillan the current Romance languages spoken are Catalan in Catalonia, Aranese in small parts of north-western Catalonia, and Galician which is spoken in Galicia (basically the midway point between Portugese and Castellano). And then there’s Euskera. The language of the Basque country (where I am). It’s not a Romance language and doesn’t resemble Castellano at all….. It is in fact the last remaining pre Indo-European language in existance.

If I may be pardoned for using wikipedia, there is a graphic which beautifully illustrates the languages spoken in the Iberian peninsula over the past 1000 years: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Linguistic_map_Southwestern_Europe.gif

Good Thing I’m Not One of Those People…

You know. The people who sit around complaining “Yur in ‘Murica. Speak English” Because I’ve been in Catalunia, the Basque Country, and France without knowing the languages of said countries. I do make the effort whenever possible; at least in Catalunia and the Basque Country I can speak Castellano, but the world is a massive place full of so many languages that I do not speak. I feel as though my world would be so much smaller if I only associated with people who spoke English in countries where English is the primary language. Even if I were to include all the languages where Castellano is spoken, my world would be so much smaller.

Add to that the fact that it is stressful and scary to go somewhere where you don’t speak the language, and far from being angry at people who come to the USA without knowing so much as a word of English, I have developed a great respect for them.

“Working Like a Negro”

Apparently this phrase is 100% acceptable in Catalunia and the Basque Country (and the rest of Spain as well I imagine). I suppose when your country’s history isn’t marred by racism and slavery, it is easier to get away with flippancy around said issues. Anyways, I sincerely apologize to any Americans out there who take offence to said phrase, but recently those of us here at Pikunieta have been working like negroes. The weather has finally given us a glimpse of what summer might be like… sun and heat in the 20s (aka 70s and 80s for those readers who, like me, are used to measuring such things in farenheit not celcius). I say all this in order to excuse how lax I’ve been lately about writing about keeping everyone updated on my farming adventures. Tomorrow I promise to talk about the exciting job of sheep shearing! (spoiler alert, I got to shear one sheep myself, it was so super awesomely cool!)

Sheep Cheese!

Perhaps it’s time I actually talk about what I’m doing here in the Basque Country?

As I mentioned in my very first post, I’m WWOOFing. WWOOF stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, and it is an international volunteer program in which people are given the chance to experience life on an organic farm. I am of course acquainted with the workings of small non-organic farms in the United States since my family owns Marquam Meadows Fruit Company (see their website here: http://www.marquammeadowsfruit.com/), so it seemed natural that I should take advantage of WWOOF. I get to travel, experience a whole new culture, practice my Castellano, and learn bits and pieces of a whole new language (Euskera), all while keeping the farm life I already know about as firm footing in a new world.

I registered with WWOOF Spain and sent e-mails around to some of the farms in the Basque Country that sounded the most interesting, and eventually ended up here at Pikunieta Baserria. A farm in which we raise sheep, then milk them and make said milk into cheese. Yup, that’s right. Sheep cheese. It’s actually quite tasty, I’d definitely recomend you try some if you ever have the chance.

So Apparently Twenty Years Isn’t Enough Either

Ok… I haven’t been immersing myself in Castellano 100%…. I still write this in English for example, and I write e-mails and letters to my American friends in English. I’m also currently caught up in a fantasy novel that just so happens to be written in English. I know English. Pretty darn well. It’s my mother toung, and the vast majority of the millions and millions of words that have passed my lips have been in English.

Why then do I now have trouble remembering words? Yesterday I couldn’t remember conveyer belt (even just now it took quite a bit of brain power to remember). The day before I couldn’t remember beret…. that one took me a good 17 hours to figure out. 

I don’t know the Castellano equivalent of these words, but I can’t look them up in a dictionary if I don’t know the word in English first. Le sigh…. All the problems that arise from communicating in different languages.

¡Besos!

I’m not in Spain…. but the Basque country does have some similarities with Spain. For example: the greetings. Everyone new I’ve met here has greeted me by kissing me. No joke(and only a tiny bit exaggerated)

Ok, so it’s the whole two kisses on the cheeks sort of thing, not a full on kiss-on-the-lips romantic style thing… and I definitely knew to be prepared… but it was still a bit unsettling. More unsettling than I expected it to feel. It doesn’t help that I spent most of my childhood not even doing so much as hugging my father. My mom would decide sometimes that she needed to demonstrate her love for me and that a hug was the best way to do so…. but it was always super awkward. I didn’t really learn to like hugs until high school when I actually made friends who liked hugging people. Needless to say… my kisses (even those on cheeks) have hitherto been reserved almost exclusively for romantic encounters….

Not that I mind really. It’s all a part of the cultural immersion, and it’s cool. It just threw me off a bit more than it should have. And it’s proof that no matter what they say, the people of Catalonia and of the Basque Country do have something in common with the rest of Spain after all.

Barcelona

Well, I’ve been in Barcelona two and a half days now. Overall… it was a lot less scary than I thought it would be, although I did definitely get ripped off by some cabbies that first day… they saw young American tourist who speaks imperfect Spanish and definitely took advantage of the easy extra money. Since then I’ve learned to use the metro, and now I don’t have troubles with cabbies.

Also, it rained yesterday. A lot. And hard. It’s funny… Barcelona is supposed to be a sunny city to go on holiday… but I come and bring Portland weather! Except it wasn’t really Portland weather. If it were, I wouldn’t have come back to my hostel soaked to the bone. The fun thing is though, there are so many balconies here in Barcelona that I was able to half hide under them…. it kept me a little drier at least!

Speaking of hostels… I really like them. Not only is it cheaper than a hotel (by a lot), but you get to know all sorts of interesting people who are also traveling… Unlike when I drove across the US alone in a Chevy Cavalier (although even then I did make friends in Wyoming).

Tomorrow I’m going to pack in as much sightseeing as I can before leaving in the afternoon for the Basque Country where I will spend the rest of my summer tending to sheep and making cheese out of their milk.

For now, ¡Addios!

The High Dive

Image

So, this is about how I feel on the subject of Spain right now. High dives are awesome, and I remember when I was young I was always mad that the lifeguards thought I was too little to jump, but when you get to the top of the high dive for the first time…. It’s ridiculously frightening. You may only be 10 feet up, but it feels like a thousand… And then you have to jump off of that? How! Well, luckily I have finances and the fear of wasting money to saw off the diving board for me. Thanks guys. *rolls eyes*

(photo from the following website: http://drgrobsanimationreview.com/2012/11/30/high-diving-hare/)

Since When is Impulsive a Bad Thing?

It’s time to admit something: my summer plans are not yet finalized. All I know for sure is that I fly into Barcelona on May 13, and fly back to Portland on August 1. The decision to spend the summer with WWOOF was a tiny bit impulsive, but then again, who would have the courage to do something so crazy if they took the time to think it all the way through?

I’m currently figuring out the application process, and since it is after all WWOOF Spain, the page is in Spanish (there is an English version, but if I’m going to be spending two and a half months in Spain, I’d better work on my Spanish right?). I have been studying the language long enough to understand the webpage, but it’s still a little daunting… I’m going to spend all summer not just reading, but also speaking a language that I am nowhere near fluent in. I’ll be the silly foreigner with an accent who tries to construct sentences as they would in their native language.

I suppose it’s like when I ran cross country in high school. The first couple weeks suck because you’re forming new habits, but then you get into the swing of it and feel yourself improving every day. Lets just hope I, and everyone I meet can live through those first couple of weeks.