Language, Culture, and the Brain

September 28th, 2017

I'm no linguist, and am therefore unlikely to have anything profound to say, but I have been thinking about language a lot lately.  I've been thinking about the mechanics, like how language is acquired and how the brain switches between languages.  I've also been thinking more broadly about our visceral reactions to languages, and how language interacts with social structures, connecting, dividing, and stratifying us.  One interaction in particular got me thinking.

I was standing on a sidewalk with a group of parents of children at Kate's school.  There were a few Americans, two Turks, a Colombian, and a Mexican, I believe.  Although some of us spoke French to varying degrees, our common language was English, and that's what we were using to converse.  We were not speaking loudly or being obtrusive.  A French man, whom we did not know, walked over to us and chastised us for speaking English.  "This is France," he said.  "You need to learn French and speak French." 

We thanked him for his kind advice and he moved on.  I was annoyed.  I thought of all of the times that I have heard foreign languages spoken in the United States:  in my neighborhood, in restaurants, on the subway, in my office, at my children's schools, etc.  I would never dream of scolding any of those people---they have every right to speak in whatever language they choose.  Why did this man feel like he could and should scold us?  

I could dismiss his absurd behavior by classifying him as an ignorant xenophobe.  (Note that France has no monopoly here.  I'm sure one could find many equally boorish Americans who would admonish foreigners for speaking languages other than English on the street in the US, even though I certainly would not be among them.  And, furthermore, most French people I have encountered have not said anything about my speaking English.) 

I could also think of the political and historical content of his attitude.  Immigration is not in France's DNA like it is in that of the US.  Americans do not always live up to the ideals inscribed on the Statue of Liberty, but we do, more or less, all believe that immigration has made the US what it is.  It is a crucial part of our national narrative (unlike whatever the French national narrative is).  That relationship to immigration and the role that it has played in our national history could be part of the reason for a different reaction in France to hearing a foreign language on its streets.

I think some truth lies in both of these notions.  But I wonder if it might be helpful to make another, more basic and even neurological, point about our visceral reaction to hearing foreign languages:  perhaps it is simply more mentally taxing to hear language that one does not understand.  I suppose it's because our brains are trying desperately to place some structure on or ascribe some meaning to the noise and failing.  So it is just noise.  It is not unlike overhearing someone speaking on the phone to a third person.  The conversation has some meaning, but you cannot quite make it out because you can only hear half of it.  The annoyance-through-mental-taxation theory could explain signs in waiting rooms forbidding cell phone conversations but, by omission, being entirely tolerant of other conversations.  It must be because there is something fundamentally annoying or taxing about hearing one half of a conversation instead of the whole thing.  And it seems to me that some of the annoyance that people experience when hearing foreign languages could be similarly explained.           

Update:  Upon reading this post, my friend Elaine, who does not speak Hebrew, said that she found going to Israel and being surrounded by Hebrew speakers relaxing, almost like background music.  I suppose one's reaction to foreign languages must be a very complicated combination of setting, state of mind, cadence, register, familiarity of the sounds, and so forth.  My theory is certainly not complete!   

Saint Germain des Pres and Saint Sulpice

September 27th, 2017

Kate and I have tried going to mass at two different churches near us so far, Saint Germain des Pres and Saint Sulpice.  Both are imposing buildings with fascinating histories.  Both are short walks from our apartment.  We may continue to split our time, or perhaps we'll come to prefer one over the other.  (My friend Marie Claude told me that we would prefer the style of worship at Saint Germain des Pres.  I feel like, at least for the time being, subtle differences in theological leanings between the two churches might be lost on us.) 

Saint Germain des Pres:

King Childebert I founded the abbey at the site of Saint Germain des Pres in 558AD on the ruins of a Roman Temple.  It served as the burial ground for the Merovingian Kings until the 7th century.  It was destroyed by the Normans in 885 but was rebuilt as a Romanesque church between 990 and 1021.  It has undergone many renovations and transformations since then, of course, and is currently undergoing a major restoration.  There is scaffolding and plastic sheeting everywhere, but I was able to take some photos of areas that have already been restored.  You can see something from the photos about the aesthetic of the church, almost Byzantine styling with a dark, rich palette.  Stained glass windows tend to be jewel tones.   

Saint Sulpice:

Saint Sulpice, only two blocks away from Saint Germain des Pres, has a completely different feel: 

 The colors are subdued and pale, with a heavy emphasis on gold.  Here's a wider view.

 Saint Sulpice, of DaVinci Code fame, is the second largest church in Paris, behind Notre Dame.  It was built starting in 1646.  Marquis de Sade and Charles Baudelaire were both baptized there, and Victor Hugo was married there.

Aside from the climactic scenes from The DaVinci Code, the church is probably currently most famous for housing one of the finest organs in the world and, along with it, one of the finest organists in the world, Daniel Roth.  He will typically play at 11am mass on Sunday, with short recitals both before and after mass.  It is quite something to hear.

Finally, here is a holy water basin at Saint Sulpice made out of an enormous clam shell and a stone sculpture.  I should have included my hand for scale.   

Doors of Quartier de L'Odeon

September 25th, 2017

Well, it's been a while since I posted.  I have a few posts saved up, which will come out in the next few days.  Herein is a small photographic study of doors in our neighborhood.  (I recall the famous "Doors of" posters from several years ago---perhaps starting with Dublin?  Walking around the area near our apartment convinced me that there should be a reprise:  Doors of Quartier de L'Odeon.)

Prepared for painting---I wonder what color it will be?

  

Le Metro

September 8th, 2017

Detail at the Odéon Metro stop

Part of a mosaic map at Bercy Metro stop (I think)

I love the Metro.  For the first 15 years or so that I lived in Boston, I lived somewhere along the Red Line (Charles, Porter/Harvard, Davis, and then Porter/Harvard again).  Since moving from Cambridge in 2003, I haven't had regular access to a subway system until this year.  I had forgotten how much I love it.  And even people who do not ride subways should love them because they confer so many benefits on a city and its citizens.

 Let me count the ways:
1.  I love that subways are energy-efficient and environmentally friendly.
2.  I love that they naturally encourage high-density living.

Dupleix station (above ground)

3.  I love that they avoid traffic snarls and stoplights and suboptimally-positioned roads by slipping under them.
4.  I love that they also mitigate those traffic snarls by getting people off the roads.
5.  I love that I am forced to walk, at least a bit every day, to get to and from the stations and up and down the stairs.
6.  I love that I get to see what people are reading every day.  (Admittedly, this advantage has been waning in the digital age.  When I first started riding the Red Line, reading material was always in evidence.   I might notice how intently the guy across the car was studying the box scores from yesterday, or be assured that the classics were not dead if Moby Dick and 1984 were both being read by other commuters near me.  Now it's mostly a sea of cell phones.)
7.  I love the ads, from both an aesthetic and informational perspective.

Port d'Orleans station

8.  I love that I get to see what people are wearing every day.   
9.  I love that one interacts with other inhabitants of the city regularly, even if it's only a glance or a small smile or a tap on the shoulder for a forgotten umbrella or a shared eyeroll after an announced delay.  
10.  I love that subways have a democratizing and leveling effect, the same subway ridden on by rich and poor, black and white, native-born and foreign-born, resident and tourist. 
11.  I love the overall design aesthetic of the stations (e..g., subway tiles, wrought-iron girding, pop-art-style signage).
12.  I love that I don't have to find a parking spot. 

13.  Finally, I love that someone else is doing the driving.

Stylized, brightly-colored Paris subway map

Redhead Days 2017

September 3rd, 2017

Kate and I spent the weekend in Breda, Netherlands.  It's a medium-sized city, half-hour train ride from Rotterdam, with a beautiful Gothic church, a vibrant and well-preserved city center, and an interesting history as the ancestral home of the Dutch royal family.  The food was good.  The beer was great.  Was that why we went there?  Oh no.  It also happened to be hosting the world's largest collection of redheads.  See https://www.facebook.com/RedheadDays/

Kate posing under the balloon version of the Redhead Days logo

We had a fantastic time.  Kate was so happy, giggling and smiling the whole weekend.  There were carnival games, pub crawls, speed-dating, redheaded musical acts (including a group consisting of two identical twin redhead brothers singing Ed Sheeren covers), lectures on the history of redheads, and lots of lots of great photo ops.

Kate's curls flying on the bungee bouncing thing

Here are some of the photos I took over the weekend.  Also check out the Facebook page for many other photos and comments.  It really was quite an event.

During the big photo shoot

I made her pose here

Information booth at Redhead Days

Kate with a lovely singer from Germany, Joules the Fox---we really enjoyed her set.

Some interlopers, or as Kate would say, redhead enthusiasts

Offering free cuts and styling to redheads

Just an average afternoon at Redhead Days

We did also have time to see some of the sights of Breda and enjoy a relaxing weekend in a lovely city.  We especially enjoyed the tour of the church.  We learned that it was originally built as a Catholic cathedral, of course, but then was damaged during a four-day "iconoclasm" by Protestants (see damage to choir stall at right).  The Protestants repurposed the church as their own, painting over much of the Catholic iconography that was not destroyed.  Recent restoration efforts have uncovered old Catholic paintings and frescoes.  We also climbed the tower, about 300 steps, saw the enormous bell and bell-ringing mechanism, and took in a spectacular view of the area.  Below are pictures showing some restored images that had been painted over hundreds of years ago.

   This final restored image is a how-to guide for praying.  The one on the right is directing his prayers to Jesus.  The one on the left is praying for all of the worldly goods pictured above him.