Ceci n'est pas une endive

Music to a Dance With Death

notafish — Fri, 23 May 2008 12:52:00 +0200

Back to Alexandria, Egypt. So you've got the dance, but you also have the music, and the lighting. Unless you're the Mime Marceau (and probably some dancers I don't know), you need the music to dance to, and in order for your audience to see you well, a good lighting might come in handy.

When it comes to music, I'll pass on the actual noise of rush hour traffic, caused by an unusually high number of old cars, which make did not include silence as the primary concern, and by the high speed of them on the streets. More interesting to listen to is the actual conversations that go on between drivers. Those are primary led through the car horn.

Seriously, when you observe a driver, you realize that their hand spends more time on the horn than on the stirring wheel or the shift (not exactly reassuring, but hey...). I seriously believe that driving without a functionning horn is like driving blind (and when I actually asked the question, they said that it was the case). After three days, I was however able to recognize that there were very different uses of the horn.

Some were briefs honks, others repetitive patterns, other again long pressures. Something that could pass as morse code. The Egyptians I was with confirmed that there were actual phrases you could say with your horn, universally recognized. Those range from "hello", to "you as**ole" via "I love you". Yes, you read well, you can actually say "I love you" with a honk on Egyptian streets. I failed to note all the meanings, which I regret, but even non drivers have trouble interpreting them all.

The second means of communication between drivers are the lights. Those are mostly used during the night, which makes sense, but not much in the way I at least, use them. The default driving at night occurs with no lights, and the drivers use them to either wake up the other drivers, warn them that they're going to pass them, on the right, on the left, in the middle. The patterns did not seem to me to be as complex as the sound ones, but interesting nonetheless.

My conclusion would be that driving is a very complete activity, much like roaming, which really appeals to very many senses. Much more than it is in Europe. Mind you, the Italians would probably feel at home in Egypt, the Parisians would take just a while to adapt, and the Germans would rather die than try their luck at it!

A Dance With Death

notafish — Tue, 20 May 2008 12:18:00 +0200

I spent three days in Alexandria, Egypt two weeks ago. It was my first time in Egypt. And since my quick stop in Naples a few years ago, the first time I thought my life was really in danger by *just* crossing the street. As a matter of fact, no tourist or unpracticed individual should ever try to be a full-fledged pedestrian in Egypt, or a driver, for that matter. Unless you're suicidal, or like Russian roulette. The first contact I had with the driving habits happened at 3 am, when I landed in Borg-El-Arab, the far-away airport for Alexandria. A taxi was waiting for me, which is always a great relief when arriving in an unknown country at odd hours. The driver was very nice, and listened to French music (from old French crooners to Emilie Jolie, the Halliday version). And he drove without lights. I mean, it was 3 in the morning, and it was night. And the road was not exactly a very new highway, but rather a bumpy road full of strange holes, not mentionning the in-the-middle-of-the-road boulders or unknown lying objects. After a few kilometers, I asked him. "Why are you driving without lights?" To which he answered this very obvious thing: "Well, there are lights on the road." And sure enough, the highway we were driving on was all lit up, all the way from borg-El-Arab to Alexandria. But still, it was 3 o'clock in the morning, and no-one had lights. And I couldn't see them well. And those trucks we passed (with no lights) were looking very sleepy, hovering from one side of the road to the other without warning. But that was just a night trip, and you only really understand the extent of skills needed to drive in Alexandria in broad daylight. Which happened the day after, when the friends I was meeting there came to get me.

Alexandria is a very long city stretching along the Mediterranean. Its biggest street is a 3 to 7 lane (each direction) boulevard along the sea. It is the main artery in the city, which allows you to go from the citadel and presidential palace on the one end to the Montazah gardens on the other. Along the 20 km or so of this street, there are no red lights (although I must say that the meaning of street lights in Egypt is a theoretical concept). And no zebra crossing. None. Maybe one or two pedestrian bridges? Anyway. In order to go anywhere in Alexandria, you *need* to take this street. And if you don't yourself have a car, you need to take the bus, or the micro-buses (hop-on taxis that cruise the street). And, to do so, at one point, you *must* cross the street. And risk your life. As indeed, in Egypt, crossing the street, as well as driving, is an art. Something of a dance with death. I would have given my shirt to be able to film the traffic from above, and watch the impromptu choreography of it. Man and machine, forever avoiding each other. It is really an amazing sight, something of an endless ballet. Cars smoothly fitting themselves in one small opening in the traffic, or firmly pushing their way into a lane, bumpers flirting with other bumpers, carosserie flirting with people's feet or behinds. Since then I learned that Egypt had one of the highest mortality rates caused by traffic... Deadly choreography indeed.

Addressing an International Audience

notafish — Mon, 19 May 2008 11:52:00 +0200

Last Friday, I attended the Going Solo conference in Lausanne, a one-day conference for freelancers. I was very impressed with the quality of the speakers and of course, I tried and observed the cultural bias/questions/issues that came up. Here is a little rundown of the things I noticed.

I consider myself a pretty good measure of the level of English. As a non-native English speaker having learned English in the US, but in an international setting, I tend to understand many accents and idiomatic expressions. However, when I don't understand, I have found that there is a good chance that other non-native speakers won't understand either. The audience was a very international audience, among which many French speakers. I would say that overall the English in the talks was of a very acceptable level for us foreigners, easy and clear, with maybe just a few lines that you can't pick up. That's for the language. But the interesting part is not so much the level of the language itself, but rather the illustrations used by the speakers, their metaphors and their examples.

The first talk of the day was given by Laura Fitton, and I found it a very inspiring talk ^[1]. Up to the conclusion, which was supported a slide reading "Surrender Dorothy". Laura used it to illustrate the fact that we should "give up control". However, if slides are a visual support to a presentation, this one failed to talk to some of us. "Surrender Dorothy" comes from The Wizard of Oz, a movie probably all Americans have seen (along with It's a Wonderful Life, I suppose). A movie too few non-Americans or non-English speakers have grown up with for them to understand the image. I asked Laura what the reference was. Which she explained. Thanks.

Later in the questions session, Laura gave another culturally bound example, explaining how she got her father to care about blogs by getting him to read his favorite baseball player's blog. She quickly realized that the example did not carry the weight she had intended at first, as the audience, very mainly European, was trying to get a clue as to who the Redsox were (I personally get confused with American Football and Baseball teams!) and had to walk us through her example again, with explaining who the Redsox were, who the basebal player was, much more than she would have had to do with an American audience. The interesting part being that where in the heat of the presentation Laura did not pick up on people not getting the Wizard of Oz connection, she picked up very quickly on the baseball stuff. Attentive to her audience indeed, I appreciated that.

What I find confirmed by these examples is that as soon as we address an international audience, we probaby should test (as far as it is possible, of course) our illustrations for anything people might simply overlook, or worse, plainly not understand. As soon as we're using references that are strongly tainted culturally, to reinforce a point we're trying to make, it becomes much harder to be sure that they are universal enough for the audience to pick up on them. Laura illustrated that issue with the example of the talk she gave in India, and discovering before her talk that she had to refocus her presentation because her audience in reality was very different from what it was on paper. Too often we forget that things that are very obvious to us might not come across borders and oceans.

Notes

[1] read the excellent notes taken by Suw Charman-Anderson

Choosing a Name: The First Name

notafish — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 11:54:00 +0200

I never got around to telling the story of our daughter's name. It is, indeed, one heck of a story, which starts even before she was born. You have to remember that she has a German father and a French mother. This led, before her birth, to endless dicussions about what names are suitable in both languages. We had a few criteria we tried to respect when choosing her first name.

The first criterion was pronunciation. We wanted to make sure that the name would not vary to much from one language to the other. This rules out all the names having very specific pronuciations, such as names starting with "J" for example, which the Germans make soft (as in yum) or "H", which the French tend to forget to pronounce altogether (Hans is "Ans" in French, and "Hans" in German).

Pronunciation is one thing, but spelling is another, which is actually related. We couldn't take a name that people couldn't read in one or the other language. This ruled out my favorite "Benoît" (Ben-o-wha in French, Ben-o-it for the Germans) and names with French nasals or specific French spellings (Agnès is read A-ni-es in French, Ag-ness in German, I find on nice, the other one not so).

Another criterion was ambiguity. Some names are very easily recognizable as female or male, others are just extremely ambiguious in one language, when they are not in the other. Again, Delphine is very French, but never leads to confusion about the gender. Arne, on the other end, written or spoken, for people who are neither Swedish, nor Northern Germans, is often mistaken for a woman's name. So we needed a name that would be very clear.

And finally of course, a name we both liked. Which is, as we found out, probably the hardest thing of all. Not som much because we have different tastes, but because cultural differences kick in very fast. The German sounding names I liked were either terrible, out of fashion, too fashionable or plainly unheard of, the French sounding name Arne liked were either terrible, out of fashion, too fashionable or plainly unheard of. Funny to see how much culture the name carries.

Well, we settled for the first name Emma, classic, simple, read and pronounced in most languages in exactly the same manner, hardly ambiguous, and which we both liked. It took us around nine months... And then came the last name. But this will do for another post.

Truly multilingual

notafish — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 23:35:00 +0200

Our neighbours are what one would call a really truly multilingual family. The mother is Swedish, the father is Italian. Together they speak English. The kids speak Swedish with their mother, Italian with their father. They lived the first years of their life in Switzerland, which means the children speak "Swiss German" (believe me, it's as far from German as Chinese from English) , They now live in Germany, so everyone is learning "High German" (Hochdeutsch, the "clean" German), and the kids are in an international school where English is the primary language, practicing the English they've picked up from their parents. In short, you have 3 kids aged 8, 6 and 3 who understand and speak 4 languages, 4 languages that their parents don't even all master.

Apart from the amazing-ness of it, I found it to be truly encouraging, to see that kids that young could simply pick up all those languages and feel at ease in any of them. We had coffee one afternoon and the kids indifferently spoke German or English with us, while conversing with their parents in Italian and Swedish.

I can't wait to ask my daughter questions about what it is like to learn more than one language at once. Although I now speak and understand four foreign languages myself, albeit at different levels, I learned them once my French was already there, meaning that gender, concepts and thought structure were already shaped in my mother tongue. I am especially interested in trying to understand what it feels like having different words for a same "thing" especially when those words convey different impressions or feelings, such as different genders for example. It'll be interesting, for sure.

The language before the language

notafish — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 13:49:00 +0100

I am still reading the book about bilingualism and before I write a more detailled review about it, I wanted to share my last experiences in terms of communication and languages. As you may know, or not, we had a baby. Emma was born a few weeks ago and I must say that the greatest challenge her father and I have been facing since she was born is not so much the short nights (although those are real), as it is understanding her.

At first, a baby's language is binary. Either she cries, or she doesn't. After a few weeks, there are some notions in between, but it is really not that different. The challenge thus resides in understanding the cries. Why on earth is she crying? Is it hunger? Pain? A way to communicate? Fear? Trying to practice her singing? Well, it can be all of those and more. Her cries can mean a number of things, all different. How many times in the course of the past weeks have we looked at her right in the eye and asked What exactly are you trying to tell us here?. A million times already, I believe. And she does not answer. At least not in so many words.

So we have been forced to develop a finer understanding of her language. Mind you, it is interesting to note that babies don't "cry", as in they don't really go with the tears and such. They cry, as in 'shout' or yell, or "express themselves loudly.".The actual tear part comes up seldomly and it's rather the result of intense crying than a part of the crying altogether. This is the first clue as to why the baby is crying. If she sheds tears, it is usually pretty serious. As such, it comes with stomach aches for example, or terrible hunger.

With time, here are the clues we've been able to gather, the signs we're looking for to decode her language.

The length of the cries: is it a steady cry? then she's probably hungry. A more intermittent cry? Then she's probably uncomfortable (gas, diapers need to be changed...)
The intensity of the cries. Is it really loud? Then she means business. Rather a puppy-like yapping? Then she's warning you that this might get more serious.
The color of her skin and her breathing. Is she getting really red as she cries, and holds her breath? Then she's frustrated and unhappy. Keeping her milk-like complexion? Then she's rather asking for some conversation (I swear, babies sometimes ask you to talk with them).
Observe body language. If she folds and unfolds her legs, she might be experiencing digestion problems. If she's sucking her thumb like crazy, she's probably hungry.

All in all, with a little practice, I would say one learns to decipher most of the baby's needs by observing and listening closely. It is, if nothing else, a great exercise in observation and taking into account other things than just words, something we probably should be doing in our everyday life more often, so as to make sure we understand not only the words, but also the environment surrounding them. Looking at people's body language, analyzing the tone of their voice, understanding whether they are anxious, angry or happy probably goes a long way to help us understand what they are really saying. A lesson in communication. And she's 2 months old!

Holy state! the Church got me (again)

notafish — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 15:32:00 +0100

Well, here is the sequel to my very interesting story about the German Church getting a hold of me.

Actually, I probably need to rectify something. It is not so much the Church that got me, but the German State. So let me explain the next steps.

When I saw that the Finanzamt (Tax office) was ready to take away this "Church tax" on top of my normal taxes, I appealed. And said that I ws never told, as I registered at the townhall when I arrived in Germany, that checking that little box would make me a catholic in the eyes of... the State. I called the Finanzamt, talked with the person in charge of my file for a while, she was pretty comprehensive and said Well, why don't you write this down and send it to me, we'll see what the next step is. Which I did. That was back in November sometime. I finally got an answer a few days ago, which went something like:

According to § 5 Alinea 1 sentence 1 of the Church tax law, the obligation to pay church taxes starts on the first day of month following the date at which you have registered your residence. ... Since you have registered on the 15th of JUly 2005 and did not register your lack of confession (keine Konfessionslosigkeit), Church taxes are due as of the 1st of August 2005.

As the Germans say: Pech gehabt! (Too bad...). There is one thing that totally strikes me here, it is that they don't say "since you have registered that you were a catholic", no no, they say "since you have not registered that you were without confession". I find the phrasing (a double negation) at best uncomprehensible, at least quite ambguous. But it goes back to what I said in my earlier post, which is that basically, I failed to prove my innocence, so I'm guilty.

Well, receiveing this letter, which basically discarded the explanation I had given (ie. "I am French, in France we don't do this, when I registered, I was not made aware of the consequences of my checking that box etc.), I tried to see what I could do. Answer from my accountant: Two options. Either you can make the Town's administration change the check box by convincing them that you weren't aware of the consequences, or you have to take the necessary steps to get out of the Church..

Well, I tried the first option. And heard in so many words from the woman who registered me at the time (2 and a half years ago) that she had explained to me everything at thetime about the consequences of checking that little box. Guess what, she already had told the Finanzamt about the fact that she *always* explains to foreigners very exactly what that little box means. Huh? If that were the case, I don't see how much differently I could have understood the thing two years ago and today, and if I had been aware of the implications, I am not sure I would make all this fuss about it today. But you see, it's her word (German, civil servant) , against mine (French, freelancer, broken German). Tell you what, I've lost to start with.

So my only option was to get out of the church. This famous Church I never got in in the first place. Epic story if there ever was one.

In Hessen, you need to go to the Amtsgericht (municipal court) to "leave the Church" (or opt out, escape, resign, contract out...). When you get to the office "Kirchen Austritt", you need to provide an up to date registration form (the famous one I had checked wrongly), which means that basically, the one that you have checked in the first place is not valid anymore (go figure!). Once you have that, you are carefully read what you are doing 'in case you're not sure of what you are doing). You then have to pay 25,00 €, get a few signatures on the paper and you are finally out of the church, effective on that day.

So, 2 years and 6 months after not having entered the German Roman Catholic Church, I am finally out of it. And I must say that I am also angry at the German culture like I have never been before. I feel betrayed, used, disregarded in my culture and beliefs. I think it is the first time in my life that I am so bitter at one of those ever present administrative glitches, because the German State has coerced me into supporting a Church that I not only do not support, but have clearly not supported in more than 10 years.

One lesson learned, I will never again go to a German administration without a German speaker, or at least a dictionary, and I will make sure that I understand everything, or simply refuse to sign.

Another lesson learned, no matter what your feelings about how close to your culture another culture can be, make sure you are not missing a vital piece of information like " The Germans, when it comes to matters of religion, are 100 years behind the French".

A few remarks out of the blue:

It seems I am not the only one who finds those practices (mixing Church and State) unbelievable: other foreigners, believers or not believers, catholic or not have had the same reaction as mine
There are Germans that don't like the fact that the German State is so tied to the German Church (See the Save Yourselves The Church website)
If I had wanted to get married religiously before I actually "got out of the Church", the Church would have asked for a certificate of baptism from me not older than 6 months. Can someone explain to me how come it's enough to check a box in a State office to become a full-fledged (paying) member of the Church, but not enough to benefit from the Church's services? What is valid in one place should be valid everywhere. But no, when money is involved, the Church is not so demanding as when faith is involved.
In my first tax receipt, in 2005, since I had not earned any money and did not have to pay any taxes, the fact that I was "Kirchensteuerpflichtig" (ie. that I had to pay Church taxes) was not even mentionned on my tax return form.
Several conversations with Germans of different affiliations (believers, non-believers, politicians, non-politicians) have shown me that this tie between Church and State is much more than just a legal bound, it is a very strong social pressure. But I'll talk about this in another post, another day, when I am less angry.

The Credit Card Hell

notafish — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 13:34:00 +0100

I have already tackled one of the aspects that sometimes makes me think that Germany is a backwards country. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's an OK backwards country, but there are a few things that just drive me nuts. One of those is the fact that having a credit card in Germany is like owning a useless piece of plastic.

Some will tell me that credit cards *are* in any case, a useless piece of plastic. But seriously, how can a country like Germany still not have taken the necessary steps to be tourist compliant? I just don't get it.

I know France is rather advanced in the plastic-money business, as are the US. But I have been travelling all over Europe, and Germany strikes me really as the most backwards country when it comes to using credit cards. Actually, even when it comes to using paying cards, period.

Let's try a desciption here.

On my French account, I have a debit card which *also* acts as a credit card (VISA), In French, it's called a Carte Bleue (blue card). With one bank account, I can have just one card, which acts both as a debit and credit card. I pay a monthly fee to hold that card, depending on the level of automnomy, credit and other things I want with that card. I can use it in France of course, but also everywhere in the world where Visa is accepted. I use it to withdraw cash in France as well as anywhere else. The fees on payments made with that card around the world are about 2%, I can withdraw cash everywhere for a small change fee, and I can withdraw cash in France or in the euro zone for no fee (up to 5 withdrawals a month not at my bank). The payments made with that card are withdrawn either right on the spot or at the end of the month, depending on the specificities of my contract.

On my German account, I have a Maestro card (called EC Karte) which works *only* as a debit card. I also have a credit card (in this case a Mastercard), which is a separate piece of plastic. I can use my EC-Karte to withdraw cash, however, if I use a different ATM than that of my bank (Naspa) or - fortunately- of all Sparkassen I immediately pay a fee of 5 euros to withdraw cash. Fee which I pay automatically as soon as I withdraw money anywhere else than Germany. It's worse with my credit card, the fee is 5 to 8 euros to use an ATM for cash *anywhere*, even in Germany. The payments made with my EC-Karte are withdrawn on the spot, the payments made with my credit card are withdrawn at the end of the month, with a change fee for international payments. I pay a monthly fee to hold that card.

This already shows you the differences. One card, little fee on the one hand, two cards, outrageous fees on the other hand. But that wouldn't be so bad if you could actually *use* those two cards. Well, in Germany, you can't. Or you hardly can.

It first struck me while standing in line at a Mediamarkt. There was a guy in front of me who bought a computer, something around 1000 euros altogether. And he was paying it with cash. As I was looking at the bills line up on the counter, I couldn't believe that anyone would

carry so much cash on them
even bother to collect and count the cash for such a sum.

But there it was, in front of me. And that is where I realized that Mediamarkt does not take credit cards. I mean, they take EC-Karte, but they don't take credit cards. Which basically means, if you're in Germany just when the last iPod comes out and you can't wait and want it right away, either you got a German account, or you gotta have the cash. Don't even dream of arriving with your Visa or Mastercard or American Express, all gold and international. You'll get a polite "we don't take credit cards". Punkt, Ende, aus. And guess what. IKEA does the same. "No credit cards". I find that, as a French who travels all the time, completely incongruous. Actually, I find that insane. I mean, I could understand that the little shop around the corner does not take credit cards, but for Heaven's sake, Mediamarkt and IKEA? I mean, it's not like you're going to IKEA to buy for much less than a 100 euros. And you usually come out of Mediamarkt with at least the same amount woth of wares.

Now, I've been in Germany two years, so although it still drives me nuts, I am getting used to it. But two days ago, I found reason to get mad again. I went to Mc Donalds. A huge, big enormous Mc Donalds, open 24/7, so full that you never find a place to park. And I didn't have any cash. And when I don't have cash in this country, I don't feel good (because I know that cards are seldom accepted), but I thought, come on, Mc Donalds, American imperialism, blablabla, surely they take credit cards. Still. I asked. Well guess what, they don't. But worse, it's not only that they don't take credit cards. They don't take cards at all. Only cash. Cash only. You'd think that given the number of tourists who end up in a Mc Donalds, Mc Donalds would make an exception.

But no. The German economy is shaped for Germans. No-one else. Tourists go home, because we won't adapt to your ways. I find this credit card no man's land totally unfriendly. You can't go to Mc Donalds, you can't go to a restaurant, drink a coffee, you can't go to a supermarket, you can't pay for all these things with a supposedly "international means of payment". If you're not German and have the right EC-Karte, or don't carry bills and coins in your pocket, you're doomed. For someone like me, brought up to carry around as little cash as possible, it's hell. Surely there is a reason behind this. But I don't get it. One day I might investigate.

On the other hand, you can pay with a credit card for a Twix in pretty much any gas station across the country. Go figure.

Ah and I almost forgot. McDonalds is having their annual game thing with Monopoly. Guess who's one of the main partners for the prizes? VISA! What a joke.

The Toilet in the Bathroom

notafish — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 10:50:00 +0100

We've just moved appartments. Apart from the fact that we now have double the surface, there is one very important thing to me, French woman, in this new appartment, and that is the toilet.

In Germany, toilets (except in restaurants) are in the bathroom. Ouch, with the common use of bathroon as a word for toilet in American English, I realize this is rather confusing. So let us agree on a definition here:

Toilet in this post is going to be the seat you sit on to do your thing,

while bathroom is going to be the room that contains, among others, a shower or a bathtub and a sink where you brush your teeth at night.

This agreed upon, let's go back to our toilets. So. In Germany, every single bathroom I have seen has a toilet. The reverse is not true, in the sense that there are houses (and restaurants), where there is also (keyword here being "also") a toilet in... well, a toilet room, by itself.

So we moved, and in this new appartment of ours, there is a "guest toilet" (Gästeklo), that is a toilet in a room by itself. And for me, French, this is great. I must say that I simply hate toilets in the bathroom. To me, the toilet is the seat of foul odors, whereas the bathroom is the place for soap and eau de toilette, i.e. it smells good. So having someone shit (pardon my French) in my bathroom is something I utterly dislike. My parents' home have two toilets, and two bathrooms, all of which are separated (so four rooms total, 16 walls). I don't like someone shitting in my bathroom, no more than I like someone looking at my destroyed toothbrush, or browsing through my towels, or even disliking my eau de toilette. In short, shitting and cleaning oneself are to me two different activities, as different as cooking and sleeping, which usually don't happen in the same room (except in small Parisian studios, but that's another story).

So while we were reviewing the different rooms of our new appartment, I told my German man that we could for example get rid of the toilet in the bathroom to gain space and us that to put a wardrobe, or a shelf, in any case something useful.

His look froze me on the spot.

- You mean get rid of the toilet in the bathroom?
- Yes, that's exactly what I mean.
- Can't do.
- What do you mean, can't do?
- It just can't happen. A bathroom without a toilet is not a bathroom, at least, not here in Germany.

And how can you answer this? You can't. Implacable cultural reality. There's no bathroom in Germany without a toilet. So I'll have to live with it.

Shifting Standards and the Center of The World

notafish — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 10:56:00 +0100

I have been working on an international survey in the past few days, which is being answered by 11 teams of 11 different countries. And one thing really struck me in the way answers were given to certain questions.

It was not so much the actual content of the answer which I found striking, but rather the way this answer was given, which made me think about what standards were "universal". I live in a country that is not the country I was born in or, more important, raised in, which means there are parts of the popular culture that I don't know about. This goes from political figures to humorists or famous TV presenters. There are also things that I have learned to recognize since I have been here, such as which newspapers are the most influent. I take the example of the newspaper because it is the one example that struck me in the answers given.

There was one question about the press, and how the team felt they were doing with it. Whether they had a good relationship with the press in thir country and also whether they had been working with them, through partnerships and such. One group answered and gave the name of a magazine with which they were talking on a regular basis and developping partnerships with. And they were kind enough to add, after the name of the magazine (something like "Zabadaba" to me), that it was the equivalent of Time or Newsweek in the US. Which of course was very helpful, because frankly, Zabadaba was completely unknown to me.

It then struck me that I would probably have not done that, had I had to fill the survey, and would have casually strewn my answers with Le Monde (the French newspaper), or "Frankfurter Allgemeiner Zeitung" (the German daily) without having thought further. After all, those are known enough to the people around me for them to know what I am talking about, aren't they?

I must say that La Repubblica, or der Spiegel, or even the Daily Mirror, or Newsweek are names of news organs I can associate with their country of origin very easily and I can even say whether they are weekly Magazine or daily newspapers. But that's me. I've read those, lived or visited the country where they are known. However, I am not sure how many people would actually have an idea of what exactly those papers represent in their countries if I didn't have the idea to actually compare them to wider known titles.

This struck me as an interesting way to look at the world, and see where the standards are. The interesting move here, was that the standard taken was that of the US, as if it was the one that would be mostly understood. More interesting is that if I know what Time and Newsweek are, I have no idea what their impact in the US are. ie. I know them through their international editions, and for all I know, those might be completely marginal in the US. But the comparison did help me get a sense of what Zabadaba might be. It also convinced me that there are people who are very aware that what is a well known entity in their country might be completely unknown elsewhere, and don't feel that they're living at the center of the world.

German punctuality is overrated

notafish — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 07:43:00 +0100

I am pretty sure that if you ask anyone in the world to give you one cliché about the Germans, there's a pretty good chance that "The Germans are always on time" or "The Germans are very organized" will come up more than once. In any case, that's what French people would say.

And after two years and some living in Germany, I must say that this is rather true. Except for one thing. Doctors. Seriously.

I never really go to the doctor to start with, so I have little experience with wiating rooms altogether. To top that, my parents have enough doctors friends for me to have always been privileged and able to get a consultation between two other patients, or after hours. But still. In a country where punctuality is erected as a national sport, I can't believe the time I have been losing in the past few weeks in doctor's waiting rooms.

First, there's the doctor that follows up on the baby. I think he's the worst. We have an appointement at say... 8.30 in the morning. It's the first appointment of the day. Still, we never enter the consultation room before 9.15, at the earliest. I's not even that the doctor stays stuck in trafic or anything of the kind. Nope. He just is late. So we tried the middle of the day. Appointment at 15.30, got in at 16.30. One hour right there. The end of the day. Appointment at 18.00 you get in at 18.45. The problem is, even if you know that, you can't really arrive half an hour later, because then the next patient will have been here before you (i.e., you're considered "late") and they'll be seen before you. That's the Ordnung (the order) talking. You just don't go before someone who was here before you, whatever your appointment time is.

So I thought it was just this one doctor. But it's not. Went to the nose-ears-throat doctor, same thing. Even better actually. They told me I could go between two people (it was an emergency, my nose was bleeding like a fountain). So I sat there, and waited, thinking I woudl have to wait 5 minutes. Nope, there were 5 people before me. Insane. So I went again and came back with an appointment this time. I only waited an hour and 15 minutes. That one was tricky though, because they had two waiting areas. One waiting room, with magazines, and then the waiting corridor, where you have to wait another 20 minutes. And see someone who arrived after you actually enter the consultation room before you.

Two doctors could have been a coincidence. But I went to a third (yes, you'll notice that having a baby is a very doctory thing altogether). Same story. I would either get an appointment two weeks from now (again, for something that should really not wait), or come tomorrow between 10.00 and 11.00. Which I did. The waiting room was minuscule and stuffy, and after 40 minutes waiting there, I just felt sick and had to go. Fortunately, that one doctor is across the street from our appartment, so when the receptionist told me "You're on in 30 minutes", I said "ok, I'll come back then". Which I did. To wait another 10 minutes in the entrance and yet another 10 in the doctor's office. Incredible.

Needless to say that in the past few weeks, I have read lots in waiting rooms, and if I have learned one thing, it's that Germans are not all always on time.

Put your money where your mind is, not where we tell you to

notafish — Thu, 29 Nov 2007 10:56:00 +0100

Dear potential donor, small or big, individual or corporate,

I am hoping that through this long post (I promise, I tried to trim it down) I can make light on one of the intriguing (at least to me) aspects of this fundraiser and tackle the purpose of this blog, i.e. “why give?”. I was wondering if all of you out there felt comfortable donating, if we had achieved our goal of talking to you.

I am French. Now, this is a trivial piece of information, but it is important for this post. I live in Germany, and work for an American organisation. As chapters coordinator of the Wikimedia Foundation, I get to meet and talk to people who have very different viewpoints from mine, especially when it comes to organisational matters. Which in a way, makes a lot of sense, because I work in a realm where culture (that of association, that of non-profit) plays an immense role.

So when looking at the message the organisation I work for is sending out there to ask for money, I look at it with my French-living-in-Germany-working-for-an-American-organisation glasses. And I’m sorry, but I have to ask myself whether we are delivering the right message for all. I mean, what about you, dear potential donor, does that message speak to you? What would make you give?

If I look at the reasons to give that we find on the donation web-page, they’re the following:

If you and 99 other people donate…

* $200 – We can make Wikipedia available in developing countries through DVDs, books and pamphlets.
* $100 – We can pay for two Wikipedia Academy events in Africa.
* $60 – We can send three students to our annual Wikimania conference.
* $40 – We can deliver 100 million pageviews of free information!

So let’s go and look at what your options are.

Wikipedia in developing countries: where and when do we start, when and where do we stop?

Now, these are all correct statements. With $20 000, the Foundation could make sure that projects are run which aim at developing offline solutions to distribute Wikipedia in countries where surfing the internet is not an easy thing. Trick is, I am personally not a big fan of shoving Wikipedia at the head of people who have hardly surfed before and therefore have no idea what the process behind Wikipedia is. Do the “poor children in developing countries” really need to know everything about Pokemon or every single Harry Potter character in English? And more important, do they need that before they actually get their hands on a really NPOV (Neutral Point of View) article about the history of their country in the language they speak everyday? I am really not sure about this.

I am French remember? We French have a long history of colonization. And probably some kind of a guilt feeling about it. Colonization=BadPeopleTramplingOnGoodPeoplesTerritory (™). Now, it’s a simplistic way of putting it, but fact is, I don’t like the idea that anyone imposes their way of thinking, living, eating or surfing the web to anyone else. So I’m not a big fan of exporting Wikipedia just like that to developing countries. It takes teachers, it takes time. It should not happen overnight. And if it does happen, it should happen through people who have experience with that kind of stuff, actually, it already does. As for Wikimedia, my take is that we will be ready to do this in 5 years. And do it well, because we will have developed the right partnerships. Today, we’re just starting. I believe it’s a long term goal, not a today thing.

Pay for Wikipedia Academies: right, but why in Africa?

That's your second option. Wikipedia Academy is a cool concept developped by Wikimedia Deutschland, and now spreading in many different circles (a colloque organized by Wikimedia France this year, Wikipedia Days by Wikimedia CH, Wikimedia Conferentie NL by Wikimedia Nederland, and the newly born Wikipedia Academy in South Africa). To make a long story short, it aims to help students, academics, and pretty much whoever is interested, to learn how to edit and use Wikipedia in the best possible way (you know, tips about quality, checking your sources, using Wikipedia as a trempoline to other kind of knowledge sources etc.).

Now, here’s an event that I would support, because I believe that is definitely one of the most important responsibilities we have (and this is a very general “we” including editors in the projects, the Wikimedia organisations, and all supporters of the Wikimedia projects). So let’s make Wikipedia Academies. But again, I have to ask myself, why in Africa? I mean, in Africa, sure, we need the African Wikimedia Projects to take off so people can actually write their own history (and not have it written by others, as I pointed out above) but I think that our Western societies are at least as needy in terms of learning how to use the Wikimedia projects and further than that, the net. Wikipedia is among the 10 most visited websites in the world, it comes up first as soon as you type anything in search engines, so we have a huge responsibility to teach people how to use its content, as well as teach them to contribute to its overal quality.

This is all about (and although I don’t like the buzzword) media competence. Yes, you find errors in Wikipedia. But then, other sources have errors too. And there is so much information. So let’s teach people how to digest the information they’re fed and make sure they realize that they don't just have to digest it, but the can also participate in gathering it and bettering it. Not just in Africa, but everywhere. Let’s have Wikipedia Academies in the neighbour university, in Timbuktu, at your local Rotary Club, at the retirement home across the street. Everywhere.

Send students to Wikimania: Which students? Wikima…what?

That’s your third option. Well, errr, first and foremost, what on Earth is Wikimania? Well, it’s Wikimedia’s international annual conference. You’ll find everything about it on the official website. This year we had it in Taipei, next year we’ll have it in Alexandria. I love Wikimania. It’s like a little miniature world recreating in one place. But do our readers really care about it? I mean, it is an important event for the maintenance of the Wikimedia websites, for their reliability, their sane development, because editors and scholars and passers-by meet and discuss the future of Wikimedia projects. But I’m not sure you, our individual donor (the one who gives 60 dollars), are ready to support sending students there. Actually, I would say, keep your money and join us there. However, Wikimania is a great sponsorship opportunity. I mean this year, we’re having it in Alexandria, Egypt, home of the Library of Alexandria, no less. Sooo, dear corporate donor, contact me if you want to be part of this fantastic adventure. Dear individual donor, if you’ve come thus far, please continue to the next paragraph.

Deliver 100 millions page-views: the core idea, keep Wikipedia running

And we finally come to the real thing. Well, it’s kind of phrased awkwardly (what are pageviews? Aren’t they a measure used for getting money out of ads? Oh but wait, Wikimedia projects don’t do ads!), but basically, it says “support Wikimedia so that Wikipedia stays up”.

Now we’re talking! I mean, how many of our friends out there don’t even know that Wikipedia is hosted by a non-profit? How many of you out there are ready to give $20 (actually, make that 20 euros these days) or $20 000 (well, maybe fewer of you, but it does not hurt to try) to make sure that they can use Wikipedia further (or that others can use WIkipedia further)? Because that is also what, in the much longer run, is at stake. Whether Wikipedia continues to run, or not. The Wikimedia Foundation needs the money to make the sites go on.

Put your money where your mind (and your heart) is

In the end, the important message is that Wikipedia and the Wikimedia projects can achieve great things. In Africa, in developping countries, or in your neighborhood. But they will only be able to do so if they stay up, and free, out there for everyone to use. Mind you, I am one of the strongest advocates that the Wikimedia organisations worldwide need to focus on education, free knowledge for all and that in the long run, our budget should reflect clearly that. Running the websites in 3 years should not be our main worry (I can imagine an operational budget that has something like 10% devoted to server maintenance and 90% devoted to cool educational projects all over the world). But frankly, today, it is our main focus. The sites must go on. We’re working towards diversification and sustainability, but we need your help for that.

So, if you give, and if we’ve failed to talk to you, forget about all the words on the donation pages. Just give because of why you think Wikipedia is worth it.

Wikipedia has helped you stay in touch with the fast changes in your professional field? Give for that. Wikipedia has gotten you through school? Give for that. Wikipedia has allowed you to interest your grand-children in World War II? Or your grand-father in World of Warcraft? Give for that. Wikipedia has netted you your new job because it gave you all the background info on the company you applied to? Give for that. These reasons, and all of those you care to come up with, are the reasons why you should give, not the ones *we* may think are cool.

So, dear potential donor, small or big, individual or corporate, although we’re trying hard and might not be succeeding, help us understand why you give, so we can talk to you, and even better, with you.

NB. This post has been written for the Wikimedia Foundation fundraiser blog 2007.

Holy shit! The Church got me.

notafish — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 10:25:00 +0100

Or where cultural differences have legal roots.

This afternoon, my accountant calls me to tell me that the tax office has finally finished reviewing my tax declaration. And then she asks me this very personal (at least in my books) question: "Are you a catholic?". Now. The reality is, I've been raised in the catholic religion by my parents, went through the whole baptism, communion etc. I had my religious and mystic moments, but they went. As a matter of fact, although I still claim that my "beliefs" (for lack of a more accurate word) are shaped by the catholic religion, I lost faith about 10 years ago. It was abrupt, it was hurtful, also liberating and good. In short, I have not been a *good* catholic in 10 years. I have occasionally gone to church, I still believe in some kind of entity somewhere out there. An agnostic of sorts. But if people asked me: "Do you feel that you belong to the catholic Church today", I would say no. In fact, I tell you, no, I don't. But if people asked me what religion I am, I would probably answer that my beliefs are shaped by catholicism, or even that I am a catholic. Some kind of a cultural background. Problem is, what is really behind this question "What is your religion?"

Well, when I arrived in Germany, I had to register at the local administration. And they asked me what religion I was. I answered catholic. Big mistake, huge. To me, this was in the middle of tens of other questions such as how old are you, where were you born etc. In short, some kind of census information which would be used for statitstics. Nothing more, nothing less. Well no. In Germany, when you say you're a catholic, it has nothing to do with your beliefs, it has to do with your membership. The real question should be "What church are you a member of?". Because once you say you are a catholic, that's it, you're listed as one, receive papers from the local church, the this-and-that journal of the catholic church, in short, you're a member. And, last but not least, the State (yes, the laïc state), actually adds 8% taxes on your income tax at the end of the year, which will be distributed to the catholic church.

Mind you, I learned about that last year, when I did my tax declaration, and my tax adviser already asked me the question and listed the caveats associated with being a catholic in this country. To which of course I answered, I am "without confession", because well, it is the truth. So one year went by. I had no taxes to pay, so nobody really paid attention. This year it seems, there was money to take, so the tax office added those 8% to my total. And I don't want to pay them. Mind you, at this stage, it's not so much about the money, there isn't much to pay. It's about the principle. You see, I come from a country where the separation of State and Church occurred in 1905. And when we mean separation, we really mean separation, it is entrenched in our culture. The Church is on its own. And as a matter of fact, the French Catholic church appeals to its followers to help, through the "denier du culte" and other means to get money. In short, there is no tie between the State and the Church. and certainly no financial tie.

Now, the most interesting thing is, my accountant was trying to convince me that "this is the law". ie. that if I've said once that I am a catholic, I need to get a paper which proves that I am not. In short, you're guilty before you can be innocent. *I* am the one who has to prove that I am member of a church I never entered in the first place (at least in Germany), in order to leave that church. And I was trying to explain to her how shocking this forced membership is to me, and that if anyone had to prove anything, it should be the German State or the German Church which would have to prove that I am, indeed, a catholic and an active member of the Catholic church. I must say that to my French mind, the mere idea that by crossing inadvertently a checkbox one day makes me a life long member of the Catholic church is at best a big mistake, at worst an act of coercition. The joke being, that in Germany, to get "out" of the Church, you need to pay and make a whole lot of administrative steps which finally end up in the deliverance of a piece of paper which confirms that you're out. I am not even sure that exists in France, and even if it does, there is no way I am going to "get out of the Church" that formally, because in my culture, it's a personal choice, as I believe any religion should be, not a legal or tax-bound choice.

The next steps promise to be interesting, since at this stage, I am not sure what I have to do to "get out of it". Stay tuned.

The bilingual challenge

notafish — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 10:24:00 +0100

I have written about the interesting differences in cultural perception of the same objects, or rather of the same words. I have always been fascinated by the easiness with which I navigate from one language to another, namely French and English. And I am equally fascinated by the difficulty I have to do the same thing with German, which could probably be tagged as my third language.

Here I am for example, sitting in the waiting room of a German doctor, writing in English, while understanding the radio in the background in German, and recalling to write this note the words I have just read in French. I am reading a book about bilingualism "Le défi des enfants bilingues", to try and understand what Tuinkel will have to go through with a French mother and a German father. I am just at the beginning, but there is one image the author recalled which really lit my understanding of what bilingualism could be all about.

The first part of the book tries and defines bilingualism, to come to the conclusion that there are probably as many bilingiulisms as there are bilingual people. In short, it is very difficult to pinpoint when exactly someone can be considered "bilingual". It is also very difficult to actually compare the degrees to which one person masters two languages. Mainly because this measure can only realistically be taken against that of monolingualism, ie. a state where the person who learns a language uses it at every single opportunity; whereas a bilingual person probably makes use of their two languages in different circumstances (at home for one, at school for the other, on holidays for one, at work for the other etc.).

Abdelilah-Bauer recalls an example given by François Grosjean in his book Bilinguisme et biculturalisme, essai de définition. I am paraphrasing:

It would probably never come to the athlete's mind to compare the performances of a hurdles runner to those of a 100m sprinter or those of a high jump athlete. In short, although the hurdles performance actually takes from both sprinter and high jumper, noone would say that a hurdle runner is a bad sprinter, or a bad high jumper. Bilingualism can thus be measured as a different set of skills which, if it fishes in different pools, constitutes a discipline of its own, independant of monolingualism.

I found the image very interesting, because it somehow broke one of the ideas I've always had at the back of my mind, while finding it really weird, ie. that languages coexist as separate pools from which I fish from. In short, thinking that my brain has some kind of switch that goes from one language to the other and that switching on one language, I switch off the other(s). At the same time, the situation I described above and the difficulty I have had to translate the illustration of the hurdle guy definitely proves that all the languages I speak are always there for the taking.

I'll share more of my thoughts about this book which I find extremely interesting as I get along.

About "Ceci n'est pas une endive"

notafish — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 07:53:00 +0100

This blog has been turning in my head for quite a long time, actually ever since I gave a presentation at Wikimania last year in Taipei, about cultural differences.

The name is a funky one, but has a real history.

First, why an endive? Well, even though I did not really participate in it, the deadliest edit war I recall witnessing in the French Wikipedia was about the article endive. And the whole problem about this article was a cultural problem. In Belgium, and endive is called a chicon, not an endive (yeah, notanendive). So the whole question was whether this artcile should be called Endive, or Chicon. I will pass on the many qualificatifs used during that edit war, on the number of editors participating, on the people hurt in their cultural sensitivity etc. It was, as I said deadly. In the end, when one looks at the article, You might notice that no-one really won. Well, the article *is* indeed called "Endive", but throughout the text, and even if your French is non-existent, you will see that the word "Chicon" appears more often than the actual word "Endive". Which means that in a very wiki way, the authors of the article actually came to kind of a consensus concerning this article. (One might also notice that the page "Chicon" redirects to the page "Endive".) The apparent "French from France" supremacy - which one can see in the title of the article - is undermined by the Belgian cultural squad. (please, note the irony in the previous sentence).

I remember watching this from afar at the time, and thinking that there was, in the end, no real solution to the problem. The software is built in such a way that there must be a winner (a title to the page) and that this was a war lost in advance. Short of starting a Belgium-French Wikipedia, which probably would make little sense (as little as starting a whole France-French Wikipedia), there is little one can do not to show the one or the other "supremacy".

This endive/chicon example was one of the pillars of my presentation at Wikimania, because it illustrates one of my favorite themes, the trickiness of cultural differences in our every day life.

Second, why a French title for what intends to be an all-English blog? Well, as a tribute to the Belgians, which I am probably frustrating by using the word "endive" rather than the word "Chicon" in the title, I have chosen to paraphrase and pay hommage to one of their greatest painters, Magritte. You may know this painting:

Well known as a representation of Magritte pertainance to the surrealism movement. I thought that the allusion to a Belgian painter who stated the obvious would actually be an interesting way of introducing those ever underlying cultural trends which actually govern our lives and that we just don't know about.

Magritte's painting is in French, so I thought that would be a good tribute to my mother tongue. I however decided to use English as the main language of this blog. Not an easy decision, actually, but the one that makes most sense to me at this stage. I thought I'd use my own lingua franca to share my experience. It might occur that I will write in French when the post requires it, but I will try and make a point of providing English summaries to all my posts, as well as French summaries to all my English posts.

To finish, this blog intends to be a semi-serious blog about multiculturalism, living in another country, experiencing weird cultural shocks. It will probably be tainted by thoughts about non-profits, Wikimedia projects and other things taht have little to do with culture at all, but I promise to try and keep it on track.