Rants

Birdwatching for Translators

Do you know what a twitcher is? No, I don’t mean a twerker. Or a birder? Or an “orni” as they are known in Germany? (Short for ornithologist)

My dad has always been a bit of a birdman in the sense that, if a black shadow ever passed our path in flight, when we were on a walk in the country, his arm would instinctively fly out, holding me back, making me stop to look and listen. As a kid he would go bird nesting (stealing eggs) and I still enjoy hearing his tales of near brushes with wild bulls and angry farmers.

0212

Boy bird nesting by Eric Ravilious

I started bird watching when I realised my dad wasn’t listening to me chitter on about school and friends, because he would stop dead in his tracks at any given moment. And the enjoyment followed when I realised that whatever was getting me down that particular week, the birds were just going about their business, building nests, feeding their young, learning to fly and hunt insects. And that was rather comforting to know somehow…that life just goes on.
Like any form of low-level concentration activity, it stops your brain from worrying. So the time I spent bird watching was automatically time where I was not worrying.

I started to see the parallels between bird watching and meditating when my friends kept trying to urge me to get up really early to “sit” and try to think of nothing. To me that seemed like a royal waste of time. But ask me to get up at 4:30am to take a kayak to a lake to be on the water by 5:30 to “get a bead”* on a white tailed eagle? Now you’re talking.

But as a bird-watching translator things get doubly interesting. Where you see one bird…I see two – through my binoculars, floating on the thermals of two completely different cultures.
I recently saw my very first male linnet close up. So far, so unspectacular. But a twitcher will tell you that a male linnet, despite its rather boring name, looks like it has blood dripping down its chest. Hence, its name in German: “Bluthänfling”, which roughly translates as “bloody skinny thing” – I imagine because the bird literally looks like he’s had a meal of red beets for breakfast and then wiped some on his head for good measure. It’s also known as Flachshänfling (flaxseed being one of its food sources and the reason why it is called linnet – flax is used to make linen).

Carduelis_cannabina_2

Although German is often considered to be an ugly language (see the Schadenfreude in those videos that went viral recently showing how Germans can manage to make even the most beautiful word sound like a weapon of mass destruction: butterfly = Schmetterling), it is also the language of philosophy, music and poetry. For example, a yellowhammer in England sings “A little bit of butter and no ––– cheese!” whereas in Germany a Goldammer (note the poetic addition of gold in the name…) sings “Wie wie wie wie hab ich dich ––– liieb!” (How how how how I love you). Nuff said.

Germany is a country so deeply connected to its forested landscapes that 38% of Berlin’s surface area is still made up of woodland and water!** German is truly the language of the poets and thinkers and this poetic nature is also expressed in the descriptive names of its birds.
Learning the bird names in German, after I knew the English ones, made something vividly clear to me: where the Germans tended to categorise birds according to their “spirit” and character, with a dash of humour, the English tended to be much more taxonomic, focussing more an appearance and size.

German Literal English Actual English
Buntspecht Colourful pecker Greater spotted woodpecker
Bachstelze One who stalks the stream Wagtail
Mönchsgrasmücke Monks grass midge Blackcap
Neuntöter Killer of nine Red-backed shrike
Dompfaff Cathedral parson Bullfinch
Haubentaucher Hooded diver Great crested grebe
Klappergrassmücke Rattling grass midge Lesser whitethroat
Nebelkrähe Fog crow Hooded crow
Trauerschnepper Mourning flycatcher Pied flycatcher
Trauerseeschwalbe Lake mourning swallow Black tern

Of course, dig a little deeper and the English language also has some lovely unofficial names – the red-backed shrike, one of my favourite birds because it looks like a bandit with its black eye stripe, is also known as the Butcher bird, for its gruesome habit of impaling the insects it catches on thorns to “mature” awhile, before coming back to eat them later.

There’s nothing more annoying for a literary birdwatcher than to read a sentence like “and a bird flew overhead” or “a bird called in the distance” in the middle of a halfway decent thriller. Even more annoying is Leonard Cohen with his “Bird on a Wire”. I mean, what’s wrong with “sparrow on a wire”. And don’t get me started on Hitchcock’s The Birds. At least the Beatles had the decency to be a bit more specific with Blackbird. Even though I do wonder which blackbird really sings in the dead of night. (Or hark, was it a nightingale?)
The_Birds_original_poster

You see these are the important issues literary birdwatchers have to deal with. And being a translator only makes things worse. I find it really hard to leave well alone and not add a flourish or two, transforming “a bird flew overhead” into “the velvet rook flew overhead”. Not true to the original, as my teacher would say. Good thing I am usually translating press releases or academic tracts on museum artefacts.

But learning bird names in two languages has given me a new window onto the differences in motivation of the act of naming. Having grown up with both languages I never realised to the full extent “why” different nations write and name. It seems to me, that Italians write simply because they love words. The more the better. Germans write to prove how intelligent they are. The more abstruse the better. The English write to prove how funny they are. The dryer the better. But when it comes to naming birds, Germans reveal their deeply romantic poetical side. Well, at least until we come to the topic of insults!

Time for another chart I think:

German insult Literal translation Bird name
Schnepfe unpleasant unlikeable woman snipe
Blödes Huhn Stupid woman chicken
Dumme Pute Dumb woman turkey
Dumme Gans Dumb woman goose
Rabenmutter Bad mother crow
Eitler Gockel Vain man rooster
Du hast ein Vogel! You’re nuts! “You have a bird!”
Ein schräger Vogel! An eccentric A lopsided bird
Spaßvogel Joker Fun bird
Schnappdrossel Heavy drinking woman liqueur thrush

But whichever language you use, the act of naming is a powerful thing. It usually has two aims: to assert power (naming of chattel and slaves, for example) or to get closer to knowing and loving (trying to describe and identify).

Everyone who has the privilege of speaking more than one language or dialect will know the joy of comparing and “doubly knowing” the nature that surrounds us. Robert MacFarlane, the inspired author of Landmarks and an expert in “knowing and naming”, writes of the deep connection people in Britain had to the natural landscape that surrounded them by way of naming. We can only protect and love what we know. And naming is an intrinsic part of that.

Footnotes

*to get a bead on is orni lingo for “see” (beady eye)
** http://www.bund-berlin.de/bund_berlinde/home/naturschutz/baeume_erhalten/wald_in_berlin.html
Cf. British Woodland stats: London has 8% woodland, and 11,2% in England as a whole.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/earth/environment/8039667/Forest-levels-booming-as-UK-woodland-returns-to-highest-level-in-more-than-250-years.html

5164_120230094923_7818317_n

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

TOP TEN TIPS FOR WOULD-BE SPEAKERS

Having taken my own advice and really moving out of my comfort zone to give my first ever talk in front of a large number of my peers and colleagues at a conference last week, I’ve put together a tongue-in-cheek list for anyone thinking about stepping up to the stage, mic in hand…

As I was talking about cooperation in the translation world, I was joined by my Trend Translations business partner Paula Hedley, which made things a lot more fun and slightly less scary. But if we are ever tempted to sign ourselves up for another instalment, we promised to remind each other about all the prep work and panic that precedes the actual fun part of getting up there and connecting with the audience. The entire process involves a lot of work and stress for the more introverted among us, but on the whole it was a really rewarding experience and definitely one to tick off the bucket list!elaine-dont-talk

My top ten tips for would-be speakers

  1. Have something to say.

This might sound obvious, but it really isn’t. A glimpse at the emotional actors receiving their golden statues at the Academy Awards or even a peek into a lecture hall full of students discussing Nietzsche will show you that plenty of people are happy to take to the stage and witter away simply because they can. Make sure you have a concise message you want to convey.

  1. Take your audience on a journey.

It took you time (possibly years!) and a measure of experience to come to the conclusions you have drawn, so take your audience with you on that journey, because that will be of  interest to them if they want to follow a similar path. Start from the very beginning and wrap things up with a solid conclusion.

  1. Don’t use photos of cats or dogs (or lions or any other animal) to illustrate your points.

Please. Just don’t.

  1. You got a mic? USE it!

Oh, and it won’t work if you wave it away from you to point at your pie chart.*

  1. Tell it to me like I’m five years old.

Things that seem completely obvious to you may be deeply mysterious and arcane to others, so break it down into bitesize chunks.

  1. Don’t rant or diss.

You feel like humanity is heading to hell in a handcart? Feel free to go and vent down your local pub or to your BFF, but don’t think ranting is going to change anything. Least of all on stage, in front of hundreds of people. Don’t just add to the noise.

babu

  1. Laugh at yourself.

We are all human. We forget to switch mics on, we mix up the slides. Everyone does that, but if you accept it with humour and grace it adds to the appeal of the fascinating talk your audience will get to hear, rather than destroying the mood. Perfection is boring.

  1. Keep it short.

Don’t drag it out unnecessarily. Apparently 18 minutes is our critical attention span, but however long you’re speaking for, make sure to repeat the message. And repeat it again. And again. Most audiences have the memory retention of a toddler and it might not sink in the first time, especially when they’re trying to simultaneously tweet about you.

  1. Don’t assume everyone thinks you’re stupid or boring.

If you are especially nervous, you might be worried that 65% of your audience seems to be busy texting their best friend. But don’t let that distract you. They’re most likely posting on social media about how awesome your talk is!

  1. Connect with your audience after the talk too.

If you get the chance afterwards, chat to the people who attended your presentation and answer any questions they may have. Ask them questions too. Find out what they thought and what they took away from your presentation. You’ll soon find out that they didn’t notice your knees shaking or that you were reading a bit too much from your notes. Ask them for feedback. You’ll be pleasantly surprised. Now breathe and have a drink to celebrate. You did it!

elaine-vodka

*And remember to switch your mic off at the end too – I spent a good ten minutes exchanging pleasantries with members of the audience before I realised my comments were still coming loud and clear from 20 different loudspeakers throughout the room. *blush*

images

 

The (Dis)Comfort Zone II

In an earlier post I talked about how, if you want to produce optimal work or push yourself to be that bit better, faster, sharper, the optimal place to be is outside your comfort zone. It’s where the zingy ideas happen.

But I also know how hard it is to leave the comfort zone, especially if you’re not the most daring person. But the only difference between you, and the slouch on the couch, is that one of you just gets up and does it anyway.

screen-shot-2017-01-05-at-17-05-27

One of the things that I used to be uncomfortable with was travelling. The absence of control over where you are going to get food, or a decent night’s sleep, or whether the Muezzin is going to lead his call to prayers at 6am, just freaked me out. But having forced myself to do it, and realising I was actually OK, I now also know that it helps me to prioritise better, to value my work, my free time, my friends. Travelling has direct knock-on effects on so many aspects of your life, as I mentioned in my last post, which make it an absolute must for anyone wanting to remain open to the world, especially for us translators.

So, without further ado, my travel tips on turning the fear into the fearless.

  1. Buddha nature

Cultivating your sense of childish wonder at each new situation is a great way of calming yourself. Instead of thinking “What if I miss my flight/train/don’t find my hotel…” take a look around and ground yourself in the details. It also helps to check out what children near you are doing. (Well, if they’re not in the middle of a tantrum or staring into a “device”.) Years ago, my children would be so busy figuring out and marvelling at the fold-down tables in the plane (or the ones stowed in the armrest), they didn’t have time to worry about “What if the plane crashes?” At least for the first five minutes…

p1020925

(This was taken by my ten-year-old daughter, proving that her experience of Barcelona was utterly different from mine. Her photos were often shot from a worm’s eye view, and were often close-ups. They made me think about how everyone sees the world very differently.)

  1. Having a reason

I’m not very good at doing things that don’t have a palpable result. I’m a utilitarian kind of girl and perhaps I’m also a little scared of “free-form time”, worried it will swallow me up.

So when it comes to travel, one way of providing structure and results is going to language school or taking some kind of course. Not only does it mean you are learning something, it also means you have a daily rhythm and you’ll make friends without even trying. And if something better comes up, you can always pretend you’re 14 again and bunk off!

  1. Controlling the chaos

When I went abroad alone for the first time, my biggest fear was losing my key or having it stolen while I was wandering the streets. I didn’t know a soul in the city and preferred to leave my mobile phone at the apartment so that it wouldn’t get stolen. So I knew that if my key was stolen I would have absolutely no way of getting in touch with anyone (because the only phone number I knew off by heart was the one belonging to my best friend at primary school, Helen Bothleswick, and she might possibly have moved house since the seventies). Obviously, it is slightly irrational to worry about someone stealing a key (what would they do with it?) but regardless, my solution was to hide the second key in a plant pot on the roof. You will not believe how calm and safe this made me feel.

img_3320

  1. Associations

You know the best thing about being a translator? They are EVERYWHERE. I don’t know if people have this with every profession, you know, secret little car mechanic clubs dotted all over the globe, where you get to talk about carburettors and turtle wax, or European hairdressing clans where they exchange favourite scissor-sharpening secrets and discuss and compare tipping rates in different European cities….but wherever you go, yes, even in South Dakota, you will find there are meet ups for translators. I joined a gang of about twenty very welcoming translators in a lovely little bistro in Barcelona where I ate the best pastrami sandwich this side of New York and got to talk shop and find out what it was like to live and work in the beautiful city. It’s nice to know you are never truly a stranger, wherever you go in the world. Especially as a translator.screen-shot-2017-01-05-at-21-29-07

  1. Getting lost doesn’t mean you’re going to die

Another concern I had was getting lost. Especially in the first few days with my children where I realised that maybe I am just not a map person. Initially I tried to navigate by the street names and avoided getting lost by poring over the map and boring my kids to tears. But thanks to them, I discovered that sometimes it really isn’t that important to know which street you’re on. And once you let go, it’s so much more fun. Barcelona’s old town is perhaps one square kilometre, so we’re not exactly talking Welsh hills in November. In fact, now I actually relish wandering around without knowing exactly where I am, as long as there are enough tapas bars along the way.

  1. The internet can be your friend

If, after taking yourself out of the comfort zone, you feel the need for a bit of company, it’s nice to know you can meet like-minded people anywhere in the world if you want to.

Back in the day, the only way to make friends in a strange place was by simply sitting at a random bar, preferably the same one night after night, or striking up a conversation with a stranger on a park bench. But these things happen less these days because everyone is of the “bowed head tribe”, engrossed in their mobile phones. If it doesn’t strike you as pseudo-modernist to be using social media to actually meet people IRL, then this is for you. There are a bunch of mobile apps beyond social tinder and bumble, like MeetUp, peoplehunt, and ATLETO if you’re looking for people who share your passion for wine or food, or for some sports buddies to go for a run with when you’re a stranger in town.

images

When it comes down to it, the desire for safety and security and instincts like fear are generally a good thing – they keep you from doing stupid things like jumping off cliffs and going home with strangers. But it’s knowing when the time has come to say “thank you primeval cavewoman brain, for worrying about me, but I think I’ll take it from here,” that keeps life special and exciting.

Translation Blues

Yes, we all have bad days. Even translators. We may well have the best job in the world, helping people to communicate across the globe using the tools we love, words. And if we are good, after a few years, we can work wherever we want, whenever we want, experiencing the digital nomad life that everyone seems to covet.

blues-brothers1

But the truth is, we often work alone, sometimes completely isolated from the outside world. Some days, my only face to face contact is with the DHL delivery guy who drops off packages for the whole neighbourhood with me because he knows I’m always home. He gives me updates on the weather, as clearly I am not in touch with how warm or cold it is outside, either swaddled in thick jumpers on a summer’s day, or wearing a T-shirt when it’s snowing out.

So, without the constant camaraderie of office colleagues, after-work drinks in the pub or morning breaks spent gossiping around the coffee machine, it’s not really surprising that, as freelancers, we sometimes find ourselves in the doldrums.

lost_in_translation_by_yinetyang-d5kce49

There are so many things that can kick it off: a random remark by a frenemy, bad feedback on a job, no feedback on a job, that sickly feeling in your stomach that you might have sent that document to the wrong person late at night, or a misunderstanding with a client…

I’ve been at the terminological coalface for a long time now, but I still get wordsmith burnout every once in a while. Days where you doubt your own skills, and wonder if it is even worth it. Recently I’ve been doing a lot of work that – how can I put it – ain’t exactly saving any lives. After translating brochure after brochure on how to look younger and banish wrinkles or keep fit with the help of various expensive items of sports equipment and makeup, I have had a few “put a paper bag over my head” moments.

And then, to top it all off, I had the frenemy experience: while out for a drinks I was discussing the debts being racked up by a mutual friend. I hated the fact that despite being a trained engineer our friend couldn’t get out of his cycle of debt because he simply wasn’t earning enough. Unprompted, a snarky comment followed about “people like me” (read freelancers in creative industries) earning “shedloads” translating “stuff no one needs or reads”.

I know I should have just walked away, and I generally don’t feel the need to explain or defend my work to anyone, but some days your bitch-shield isn’t as impervious as you’d like. And I suspect all translators have these days too sometimes. So here are my tips on how to deal with the translator blues.

1. Watch the world go by

Venture out into the world again for a couple of hours. Even if it’s just to sit on the next street corner, watching people bustling by, going about their daily business. Last week I observed some road workers from a café window and I found it strangely soothing to see them painting white stripes on the road and worrying about which sign to put where, ensuring our road safety. I wonder if they also sometimes keep themselves up at night, worrying they put that “Give Way” sign up upside down …

images-1

  1. Get in touch with nature

If I’m feeling really out of sorts, the only cure is to head out to the countryside and rustle up a good fire by the lake. I like to do this alone, crack open a beer and chew the cud for a while. Plants, animals, lakes, rivers and sky all have a way of tweaking everything back into perspective. Suddenly that press release doesn’t seem as “pressing”. After all, if the woodpecker is still pecking away and the ants are still busy, all will be well with the world.

img_2924

  1. Recheck your values

It’s not always a bad thing to have frenemies to “poke your bear”, so to speak. It often helps us question things we have taken for granted. In fact, everyone should have a bear poker in their lives. Maybe you’re a little bit too comfortable in your rut or perhaps it’s time to branch out and find a new client whose content challenges you more, or do some pro bono work.

4. Reach out to your peers

This, for me, is when social media comes into its own. Whether it’s through blogging or just taking part in online discussions, it’s nice to know you are not alone and that your experiences, whatever they may be, are often universal, or at least more widespread than you may think. Yes, even if you’re a plant-loving, budgerigar-breeding translator, you too have your tribe!*

For me, the Facebook forum Standing Out has been a game-changer, as a place I can go for advice, support or mostly just a little virtual chat over coffee. It’s like having your very own gang at work.

But basically, what I’m saying is – a bad day can also lead to a productive rethink. In the middle of such a day last week I got a lovely comment on my blog from someone who had noticed I hadn’t written for a while, which, apart from comforting me and cheering me up, led to me writing this post! Someone took time out of their busy day to let me know that, in my own small way, I do make a difference.

So instead of hating yourself for being weak and having a bad day, despite having the best job in the universe, see it as a much-needed break, pull the blankets back over your head and go wallow. And as for tomorrow: them words ain’t gonna translate themselves!
Happy translating to you all!

 

images-3

*Shout out to a translator colleague in Syria who I “met” on Standing Out, a wonderfully upbeat, generous-hearted Facebook forum for translators all over the world, who gave me invaluable advice about buying budgies for my daughter. You never know where you will find support and friendship.

 

 

The Glamorous Life of a Fashion Translator Part II

(Boredom alert! For fashionista word nerds and wannabes only!)

IMG_20160603_124131Having established in Part One that translating fashion texts isn’t quite as glamorous as you might think and that fashion translators aren’t necessarily always sitting in the front row in Milano or being showered with gifts from designer labels, it’s time to run through the real nitty-gritty, the actual working process. Or at least the one that works for us, and by us I mean Trend Translations (www.trendtranslations.de), my long-standing partnership with my translation colleague and proofreading sidekick Paula Hedley.

We translate everything from press releases for designers and collection descriptions for websites to invitations to Fashion Week parties but one of our favourite fashion clients is a specialist magazine for the fashion biz. It’s an invaluable source for the latest in jeans and contemporary trends and is published four times a year. Here’s how we tackle this particular job:

  1. We start off by being sent a rundown of the coming issue (“Ausgabenplan” in German) from the editor-in-chief, stating the various deadlines for delivery of text for the journalists and our translations, and also the time slots allocated for the correction period, layout etc. For deadline read “Time from which the editor will start hassling everyone and getting frantic.” Inevitably the whole process is stretched out over a few weeks so it’s best not to book our holidays until the issue is flying off the printing press and our job is officially done. Sometimes the contributors send their texts directly, but mostly they are sent by the editor after being tweaked and fact-checked.
  1. It’s always a bit like Christmas when we start receiving the texts from the various editors and contributors because the magazines we work for are usually packed with interesting interviews and articles about leading designers and manufacturers and brands, which are a real pleasure to read and of course to translate. There are also some witty puff pieces or lengthier in-depth articles and essays, as well as a city guide in each issue.
  1. Paula or I compile an Excel chart of the texts to be translated, which we upload to OneDrive in a file we are both authorised to update and read. We update as we go along, sharing out the texts between us as equally as possible. Then basically we get on with translating, using whichever method suits us best. Until now we’ve been very old-school – not quite paper and plume, but without the whole CAT tool shebang. However, we’re currently working on sharing termbases and translation memories and dipping our toes in the ocean that is Memsource and memoQ. And we find that Dragon (speech-recognition software) is very useful when translating interviews as it helps to capture the laid-back flow of the speakers, and of course speeds things up immensely.
  1. We upload all documents to Google Drive or OneDrive to make sure everyone in the team has access to them, even if one of us is working at an airport or sitting in a kayak in the middle of a lake, the digital nomads that we are! We send each other everything for proofing, sometimes bouncing a particularly tricky piece back and forth four or five times.
  1. There’s always lots of research to be done, the names and spellings of every brand name, manufacturer and store as well as their website URLs have to be checked and double checked, and I try not to get side-tracked by browsing Drykorn’s website or held up reading interviews with designers I admire. You have to be au fait with the latest terminology: what used to be a jumpsuit or a boiler suit is now referred to as “onesie” and what was known as a leotard in my day is now a “body”, for example. Heels are now sometimes referred to as “pumps” which reminds me more of stinky black rubber plimsolls from school sports than sexy stiletto heels.

Although major German newspapers have their own style guides, of course no German-produced magazine has a dedicated English style guide, so it’s up to us to be consistent, even if only galão-sipping transatlantic Parisians are reading us. So if we spell Cracow without an accent once we have to make sure we do it throughout the entire issue. That’s Paula’s specialty. And of course it helps that we both enjoy leafing through the latest issue of British Vogue and The Business of Fashion and checking out the reviews of Fashion Weeks in the New York Times and Harpers Bazaar, for a feel of the kind of language used.

  1. Once we’ve sent all our finished translations off to the graphic designer for layout, the editorial team will often come back at us with last-minute changes, urgent new texts or headings that might need translating etc. That might mean a phone call while we’re navigating the supermarket aisles with our trolley or a late-night one-liner on WhatsApp. We often work evenings when the deadline is nearing. It’s simply part of the job, and one we both take in our stride, trying to make sure we balance things out with a Thai massage, enough sport and some digital detoxing when the magazine is hot off the press. But you do need nerves of steel sometimes when fielding the increasingly plaintive demands of the graphic designer waiting to be “fed” with new texts and the in-transit messages from the editor who is already halfway around the globe at her next destination or interview for the next issue and doesn’t have the foggiest where the final version of the intro for the fashion tradeshow text might be.
  2. Paula, who is geographically nearer to the editorial team for our main magazine client, has the highly responsible and difficult job of checking the final proofs by hand with the graphic designer at his office. That’s why she is always a real stickler about removing any unnecessary mistakes ahead of time and has a pet hate of stray “straight” apostrophes that Dragon sneaks in. She’s the one who saves the magazine the embarrassment of printing the wrong year on the cover and can always be relied upon when it comes to spelling difficult designer names like Proenza Schouler and Walter Van Beirendonck.vogue_pool_2

Now for the pros and cons…

Pros:

  1. Freebies: I’m really bad at this, but I have streetwise colleagues who are always bagging themselves freebies and goodie bags like the cute monthly My Little Box subscriptions – as well as commanding top rates!
  2. Decent pay: Working for PR companies, as well as agencies who cater to big brands means they are willing to pay higher rates for your additional skills, which will include excellent copywriting, as well as ensuring you’re clued-up on all the terminology. They sometimes simply pass the cost on to their clients so they are looking for quality rather than a cheap rush job. I love these clients because they really value your language skills and know that one spelling faux pas (Columbia instead of Colombia for example) can ruin a whole advertising campaign. Fashion magazines and tradeshow guides generally pay less, but the upside is that it’s regular work and a large chunk in one go. So although it’s stressful, you can allow yourself a luxury break afterwards.
  3. Second-hand glamour: You can certainly ask your clients to get you into fashion shows, and some may even offer you clothing in lieu of payment. A colleague I know receives cool streetwear in return for proofreading texts for the label’s catalogues. Obviously that’s not going to pay the rent but it’s a very nice bonus.
  4. Being in the know: You will be one of the first people in town to know about new trends and upcoming collections. If you want to be an “early adopter” and wear culottes and blousons before they hit the high street, then this is the job for you!IMG_1969
    Another day at the office…

Cons:

  1. Online distractions: When researching whether that buckskin waistcoat has a vertical or a horizontal mid-seam, it is easy to suddenly find yourself filling up your shopping cart on ASOS or, heaven forbid, Maison Margiela, and spending every cent you earned that day in the process.
  2. Raison d’être: It’s hard to convince yourself you are truly making a difference when you translate fashion. If you are planning to bag a Nobel Peace Prize you need to look elsewhere, and translation-wise you should probably also find a balance by doing stuff that makes the grey matter cry ouch every once in a while. But we shouldn’t have to live under a bridge just to translate or write that world-shattering opus. Personally I love writing my own stuff, translating texts for documentary film narration or the odd stint for an art book or museum catalogue. But I also love the airy lightness and joy of fashion work.
  3. You will be asked to work for free a lot…whether it’s “just three Instagram hashtags” or “two Facebook posts, daahhling!” So you need to practice saying no and choose carefully when to say yes.
  4. Stress: Magazine deadlines, tradeshows, Press Days and the week preceding Fashion Week. Basically your yearly calendar has its stress curves already drawn in for you. That’s when everyone is scrambling to get their press releases written and sent out. Even if I am not planning any visits to fashion events I make sure I keep the week beforehand light in terms of social activities as that’s usually when emergency work comes flooding in. In the commercial world in general, where time is money, fast turnarounds are often a must. But especially in the fashion industry, where the large chain stores are taking inspiration from the catwalks and transforming them into off-the-peg cheap fashion within six weeks, every second counts.

So, if all this sounds like it would float your boat, and you are already an experienced translator with a penchant for creative texts, you will need to get out there and network with people from the fashion sector, meet young up-and-coming designers (offer to translate their “About us” page for free, for example,) attend tradeshows, or even study a particular aspect of the trade you find interesting (design, marketing, textiles etc.). Glass of champagne at Berlin Fashion Week anyone?vogue pool

*Photo credits Paula Hedley.

 

Where are you from? De donde eres? Wo kommst du her?

FullSizeRender

When travelling, or working with people from different countries, this is a question you will be asked a lot. And I mean a lot. In almost every interaction. They even ask you now when entering a museum, where no doubt some kind of statistic is created out of it. Perhaps, if we all started saying “Wales”, all the information panels would be translated into Welsh!

images

It’s a question that has me puzzled, yet I ask it myself all the time. I never really felt it contributed much to the idea of “who someone is”. Yet not to ask it seemed impossible too. And how to answer?  Where, really, really, do we come from?

As I was walking along the Via Laeitana the other day, a nice dark-haired “Spanish” lady smiled and stopped me and asked if I had ever heard of “doctors without borders”. I said, “Si, pero no hablo Español. She replied in English, “Oh, that’s no problem! Where are you from?” I said “Germany” as that is where I have lived for the past 25 years and I wasn’t sure of the relevance, seeing as she wanted money from me and not a tourist review. She raised her eyebrow rather gallicly and said “You don’t SOUND German!” I almost apologised. Next time I vill speek viz a German akzent. But we had a very interesting conversation (in English) and she told me about doctors without borders and I told her about translators without borders and after parting with some money, on I went. Later, sitting on a bench in the sun I was approached by a young dreadlocked “American” guy for a cigarette. “Sorry, I don’t smoke,” (why do we ex-smokers always feel so damn apologetic about the fact we have given up, or is it a British thing, simply apologising for everything?) but, instead of just wandering off, he said, “Where are you from?” This time I said “England.” And he nodded and walked off, as though his mission were complete. Was it the wrong answer? Or did he feel the interaction had had some degree of success once he had placed me geographically?
Of their very nature, many translators have a geographically chequered past, mixing Spanish, German, French, Welsh and English liberally in their linguistic evolution, yet even we, when first meeting, want to know: “Where are you from?” Convoluted conversations ensue with strings of place names: “From Warrington, but moved away at the age of seven, then spent three years in Malaysia, before moving back to Britain,” or “From Newcastle, but have lived in France for thirty years.”

I was born in Islington, London, but at two weeks I was in Hamburg. At three months in Berlin and at one year back in Southall, where on the streets only Hindi and Punjabi were spoken, and the fashion stores had Indian mannequins sporting saris.

southall-sign-1

I spent my early years being looked after by a Malaysian nanny, then a German one, spent time in a German kindergarten; London schools followed. I moved to Liverpool, to Manchester, then Berlin. Put me in a pub full of lairy Mancunians and the warm burr will also trip off my tongue; stick me in with a busload of Scousers and I’ll likely be calling you “la” before the trip is over.
We translators have this wonderful spongy tendency to soak up the language soup we find ourselves in. In Barcelona the Catalan “Bon dia” was quickly in my blood, much more than “Buenos dias”. (Even though I can’t say much beyond that!)
In 2014, Taiye Selasi ,the talented Nigerian/Ghanian/American/Italian/German writer, gave a TED talk about this very issue. She spoke eloquently of her feelings of home, the tastes and smells and sounds that denote her feeling of “Heimat” – for which most languages don’t even have a word!  She talked about Afropolitans, making me want to be a Europolitan, and asked, “How can we come from a political concept, a state?”

Of course, when I say Königsberg, it is a concept, it conjures pictures, perhaps smells, perhaps memories, in your mind. The same for South-West Africa or Kovářská. Perhaps even Berlin. The passage of time and the sweep of politics has pushed and pulled borders around like a giant bedsheet being shaken out and rearranged.

Bohemia7

Ask my mum. She was born in a place and a country that no longer exists. Even the name of the place has changed. From Schmiedeberg and Šmídeberk to Kovářská. And ask anyone born in the GDR. So what to do with that? When my mother wanted to claim her (West) German passport after reunification, they demanded to know if she did indeed have “German blood”, (as her (East) German passport stated Kovářská as her place of birth, which, in the new making of the postwar bed, had been placed behind the Czech border, despite having had a large German-speaking population). My mother held out her arm, pale side up, and said “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”
Taiye Selasi concludes that to a large extent many of us are “multi-local” feeling at home in several places, or indeed none. So surely the question should not be, “Where are you from?” but rather: “Where are you local?”

When I step out of my  flat in Barcelona to buy samosas from the Pakistani grocer across the way, who speaks with the same cadence as the Pakistanis in Ealing, and buy my bread from the local Panaderia every day,  I almost feel “local”; I feel “known”.
When I am in London and drop by the Chinese takeaway, as I do once a year to order the same familiar food, I feel “home” but I haven’t lived there for 28 years.
When I see the local supermarket in Berlin being demolished for a flashy modern new build in Prenzlauer Berg, where I raised my children and drank my first glass of Sekt, the “local” part of my heart hurts.
So now, when I look at someone and ask them where they are from, I usually know I will be settling in for a loooong tale of migration and flux, a fascinating story of roads less travelled: of places, cultures and languages that form and change us and makes us who we are. It’s something that can’t be answered in just one word, or be vouched for by one passport.

 

Screen Shot 2016-02-26 at 16.58.50

Which town is this? Answers on a postcard.

 

IMG_1332.jpg

And this?

207 bus at Shepherd's Bush

And an easy one to finish…

 

Here’s a link to Taiye Selasi’s talk. Well worth watching!

 

 

 

Putting the “Free” Back into Freelancing

Most people know that the term “freelancer” dates back to the days of chivalry and knights, when the “free” lances were basically guns for hire, medieval mercenaries with no allegiance to any king or queen. Sounds pretty romantic doesn’t it? A bit Lancelot and Lady Guinevere. But of course guns for hire are also lances to be broken. “To break a lance for someone” is now a little-used idiom, expressing a willingness to go all in for a person or a cause. In German we have the same idiom “Eine Lanze brechen für…”.Screen Shot 2016-02-08 at 10.38.13

I am certainly willing to break a lance for self-determination aka freelancing. For the idea of being able to decide for yourself where you draw the line. When to say yes, and when to say no.

We get to set the terms, and as long as we are supplying something that is in demand (freelance whingers are out of luck) we can (within the confines of market forces) set down our rules. So, if you are an urban nomad or want to work out of a backpack (with good hotspot facilities nearby) or in a wooden hut (ditto) or only at night, or only for Russian poets, or automobile PR companies, then go ahead. You got the skills, then you get the thrills.

But I had a few years where I forgot about the free in freelance. And I am pretty sure many of you will recognise yourselves in this scenario:

It was going to be a short break with the kids and friends. I had planned to hang out in the hammock, drink beer and shoot the breeze every evening, with days spent lazily watching the kids jump around in the lake. What actually happened was that I ended up bent over my computer in a shady corner of the garden (sometimes with a towel over my head to aid visibility!) where the internet was just about viable (I needed half an hour sweating bullets to send one document) for the entire three days of the “break” because I got a last-minute job that paid enough to cover my entire month of living costs. I almost got a stomach ulcer from the stress of it (it was also a field I wasn’t completely au fait with but when I had voiced doubts they were brushed away by the company, who were simply desperate to get the job done) and spent much of my free time apologising to my hosts (who possibly didn’t care that much, and certainly didn’t understand, because they all had regular nine-fives.) I would say the word “freelancer”, shrugging, as if that magical word was reason enough for me to forgo my holiday, because after all, I did get to drink coffees in the sun at random times of the day and pick my kids up from school myself.

It was less this:

Screen Shot 2016-02-08 at 21.34.41

And more this: Screen Shot 2016-02-08 at 21.40.47

It was that moment: where anxiety gnaws at your stomach, you realise you bit off more than you can chew, and yeah, the money is great, but this voice in your head is asking “When does it stop being worth it?”

I delivered the final docs to the client (who, when I spoke to him on the phone to clarify some terminology, was on a mountaintop in Oregon, skiing with his two children, and spent half the conversation shouting at them to be quiet. He didn’t really seem to care which words I used anyway) and I remember thinking, “So this guy is rich enough to go skiing with his kids in June, but isn’t rich enough to be able to switch off his phone?” So, a week later, when he confirmed everything was fine, I said “And by the way, please do not plan me in for any future jobs. The job is more suited to someone using CAT tools and would work out much cheaper for you that way too.” A consternated silence at the other end, and then “Really?” To his credit, he never called again.

And I remembered then, that the whole point about being a freelancer are the four letters at the front of the word.

Free.

When did the world of work get to be so omnipotent that getting a couple of days’ worth of work or winning a new client makes us want to break out the champagne? It’s great to love your job, and I mostly do, but nevertheless it is something I do mainly to pay the rent. Otherwise I would spend my time translating biographies for free. As freelancers we pay for our own healthcare, we forgo many benefits and safety nets that your classic employee enjoys (calling in sick anyone?) and for me the trade-off is clear. It means we should at least get to decide when and how. Of course nothing is going to protect you if you are not good at your job. But that holds true for any line of work. (Well, unless you’re a banker or a politician…sorry, couldn’t resist.) You need to get training, get qualified, go get. But for all others:

We need to RELAX!

We paid our rent, we will most probably continue to do so. And if we have a dry spell, we will figure things out. Which we have been doing all our lives. Barring major health issues, are our kids actively inhaling illicit substances as we speak? No? OK then.

No client is going to ask you if you are nearing breakdown when they request a quote. And they aren’t ever going to ask you when your last free weekend was. Why should they? That, as a freelancer, is your job too!

And because you shoulder all these extra responsibilities, it is also OK to charge more than your local barista. But above all, it’s about claiming the freedom that only you can claim. Going on proper holidays, writing an automatic reply that says “I won’t be in my office during this period. In the case of urgent translations feel free to contact Wilbur Wordsmith or Anna Apostrophe, my trusty colleagues.”

So….I am currently renting a pretty flat in the old town of Barcelona for a month. I have no phone and am only available via email or whatsapp. It is scary and new. But until now, my clients are still with me. I told them I was taking a holiday, and that I’d be back to work for the last two weeks, but Catalan-chola style. I want to wander around a strange town with my daughters without having to raise my forefinger at them when the phone rings, signaling that I need to concentrate on the call for a minute, even if one of them is about to do “the best handstand evah!”

It feels thrilling, exhilarating. And yes, I am grateful to be FREElance!

Screen Shot 2016-02-08 at 21.50.13