Serbian commentary 4 — Signs from last summer’s trip II

The pictures in this post are from Bar in Montenegro. I call the language Serbo-Croat for simplicity, even though we’re not in Serbia or Croatia.

I dalje si felje, with lj ligatures, written on the pavement. What does it mean? Google Translate says “You’re still a fella.” Dalje means “still”, and seems to be related to daleko, meaning “far”.

A bookshop. You can see here that all foreign names are transliterated into Serbo-Croat phonetics. Jamie has morphed into Džejmi. The same happens to foreign words. This would be like me writing that I’d eaten a crwasson or that I like paintings by Clawed Monay. Jamie Oliver’s book is called Meals in 15 Minutes in English, but the translated title just means All in 15 Minutes. The title of the book about mushrooms simply means What is this Mushroom? The word koja really means “what” instead of “which”, but “which” is used more generally than in English. It’s the same in Romanian: Care este numele tău? literally means “Which is your name?” It’s more complicated in Serbo-Croat though, because “which” has to agree with the noun. Here it’s koja because gljiva is feminine, but if it would be koji for a masculine noun and koje for a neuter noun. Gljiva is one of two words they use for mushroom; the other is pečurka, a cognate of Romanian ciupercă (meaning the same thing), but it’s a mystery how the consonants got swapped between the two languages.

The large brown book on the right is entitled Sto događaja iz istorije Crne Gore: One Hundred Events from the History of Montenegro. The local name for Montenegro is Crna Gora – Black Mountain. The English name (which obviously also means Black Mountain) comes from Venetian, and I wonder why we don’t now call it Black Mountain. Some grammar: because we’re saying “history of”, Crna Gora needs to go in the genitive, which means the final a‘s become e‘s. As for “event”, that’s događaj, but when you’re talking about 100 of them, you need that final a. If it were just “events”, without a number, you’d have a final i instead.

You don’t see much Cyrillic in Montenegro but you can see it on some books here. Поуке старца Тадеја (Pouke starca Tadeja) means “Lessons of the Old Man Tadej”. Star means old, starac means old man, and “of the old man” requires the genitive (add an a to the end but remove the a before the c). The old man is Tadej Štrbulović, a Serbian Orthodox elder who died in 2003. His name Tadej is equivalent to Thaddeus in English. I did once meet a Thaddeus in New Zealand, back in 1997 – he was a friend of a friend of my grandfather’s, and was known as Thady (rhyming with “lady”).

In the top right we have a book with a Cyrillic title in quite a traditional font, similar to one commonly used in Romania (but to write the Latin script). When reading something in an unfamiliar script, unusual fonts only complicate matters. The title is Тешко побеђенима, or (in Latin) Teško Pobeđenima, which either means “Hard to Beat” or “Badly Beaten” (two very different things, but I can’t tell which it is). Pobeđenima is some sort of passive version of the verb pobediti: to win or to conquer.

Blissful

It was blissful outside today. The river, the trees, the birds and not much else. I’ve been getting used to the quiet⁠—it’s easier for me than for most people⁠—and weekends are when the difference is most stark, but we now only have two weekends until the lockdown begins to ease. On a day when Romania has recorded 34 deaths, the highest daily figure so far, there are articles (advertorials?) giving advice on where to fly for 100 euros, after flight bans are lifted next Saturday. Ugh.

Yesterday morning I woke up, felt cold, then immediately hot and clammy. My forehead was sweaty. Oh no. This can’t be, can it? I don’t have a thermometer at home. Luckily it was time to get another batch of antidepressants, so I rang my doctor and soon I was able to pick up a repeat prescription from the clinic and get my temperature checked at reception. It was fine. Everything slightly out of the ordinary is magnified right now. (I pretty much always have a productive cough, so that doesn’t count.)

Today is Anzac Day and my sister-in-law’s birthday. I spoke to my brother this morning—he still thinks the British government is doing a decent job. I disagree. I think they messed this up right from the start. They were nowhere near proactive enough. The lockdown was too soft and came two weeks too late. And it still isn’t much better now. Testing is a joke. Fifteen thousand people are still flying into the UK every day, and nobody bats an eyelid when they arrive. I’ve watched a couple of the press briefings—what a waste of time. No real information, no real questions. At least nobody has advocated injecting Dettol yet. My brother reckons everyone needs to be supportive of the government and blindly optimistic no matter what, but then again he said the same about Brexit. All those years of immature chaotic faff surrounding Brexit are partly to blame here—Britain’s resources for an emergency on this scale have been shot to pieces. He also said that New Zealand is being unduly smug over their low casualty rate. Yes, time and space have been on NZ’s side, but that’s only part of the story. They’ve been dealt a good hand but they’ve played it jolly well.

Update: Just had a good chat to my sister-in-law on her 35th birthday.

Lockdown breakdown

There are signs of breakdown in our lockdown. The official case and fatality numbers here are low compared to the tragic figures in western Europe, and there’s a sense that we could be over the worst of it. Foot traffic was up today. I’m concerned by all the non-essential work on our pavements, carried out by men in orange hi-viz jackets, often centimetres apart from each other. Some of it has already been completed, and it looks smart, but I doubt any of it would have happened in normal times. There are also people working in the parks and gardens, as usual (Timișoara has always done a good job there), and honestly that’s fine – you can keep your distance fairly easily.

Our shiny new footpath, complete with bike lane

I’m still watching John Campbell’s videos with interest. How and when will countries (or parts of countries) relax their lockdowns? Just how terrible will it get in Africa? Does warmer weather help significantly? Of particular interest to me: Can New Zealand eradicate the virus completely? (He thinks they can.) There are so many inter-related difficulties and issues that I never would have imagined. For instance, an oil from a specific type of Chilean tree is often used as a binding agent in vaccines, but that tree is only harvested in the Southern Hemisphere summer. Glass is used extensively in medicine (it’s inert, unlike plastic), but there’s a shortage of sand because so much has been used in construction.

The lockdown cracks are only emerging in the daytime, as yet. It’s 9:45 pm and I can hear an owl and intermittent trains.

Serbian commentary 3 — Signs from last summer’s trip I

It’s a long time since I wrote about the Serbian language (summer of 2018, here and here), but I’ve had a bit of extra time on my hands, so here I’ve decided to post some signs from last summer’s trip to Serbia, Montenegro and Bosnia. (Montenegrin and Bosnian are basically the same as Serbian, as is Croatian.) Most of the signs presented some kind of puzzle, which I’ve attempted to solve, so here goes:

Belgrade wall plaque

The main text on the plaque above would read SAVEZ ENERGETIČARA SRBIJE in Latin. This means Serbian Association of Energy Workers. The G is pronounced hard, as in goat. Serbia is Srbija in Serbian, but here it’s in the genitive case (“of Serbia”), where the a changes to e. At the bottom it says Beograd (Belgrade), Zetska 11, which is the address.

Buskers Belgrade

The buskers above have a sign that says NISMO NA BUDžETU, meaning We’re not on a budget. “We are not” is a single word, nismo. They’ve taken budžet directly from English ( counts as a single letter in Serbian and is pronounced just like the j in just—sometimes the ž part remains in lower case even if the rest of the text is in caps, as in here). The word budžet gets an extra u because it’s in the locative case. Cases tell you what the word is doing in the sentence—they’re an essential part of Serbian, which has seven of them.

Belgrade biilboard

The billboard above is printed in italic Cyrillic, and that opens up a whole nother can of worms. Some of the letters look quite different from upright Cyrillic. What looks like a g is in fact a д, equivalent to latin d. The barred u is actually a п, equivalent to p. The barred upside-down m is a т.

In non-italic Cyrillic, the slogan above would read “Ко сме, тај може. Ко не зна за страх, тај иде напред.” In Latin, that would be: “Ko sme, taj može. Ko ne zna za strah, taj ide napred.” This means “Who dares can. Who knows no fear goes forward,” and is a quote from Vojvoda Živojin Mišić (1855-1921), a commander in Serbia’s wars. You can partly see his name at the bottom.

McDonalds billboard - Belgrade

Still in Belgrade, the billboard above has the word “shake” printed in Serbian phonetics. The milkshake has been reduced to 100 dinars, or about 75 pence.

Handwritten restaurant sign - Belgrade

We’re still in Belgrade, where these handwritten Cyrillic bar signs weren’t easily decipherable. Handwritten Cyrillic is very similar to italic Cyrillic, only harder to read. The large sign in the frame reads:
Марина Милорадовић П.Р.
Услуге припремања и послуживања пића
Лутић
Београд – Стари Град

In Latin, that would be:
Marina Miloradović P.R.
Usluge pripremanja i posluživanja pića
Lutić
Beograd – Stari Grad

The top line is the name of the woman who owns the place, I guess. I don’t know what P.R. means. The second line means “preparing and serving drinks”. The word for drink is piće which is a neuter noun. The e changes to a in the plural. I think we need the accusative case here, but pića is the same in both nominative (vanilla, if you like) and accusative. I think it’s only masculine nouns whose plurals change between nominative and accusative, but don’t quote me on that (!).

They’ve switched to Latin for small signs on the right; the top one simply says otvoreno with “open” in English, while the bottom right sign says radno vreme (opening hours), which are 4pm till midnight, except Fridays and Saturdays (a subotom i petkom), when the place is open from 5pm till 1am. The words for Friday and Saturday are subota and petak in the nominative, but this sign is using the instrumental case, just in case you haven’t had enough cases yet. Nouns which end with the letter a followed by a consonant (like petak) lose that a when a case ending (the -om here) is added. Note that Serbian has two “and” words: i (a general “in addition” type of “and”) and a (a “but” or “whereas” kind of “and”).

Now it’s my first morning in Bar (Montenegro) after my long train journey. Although the language is substantially the same, there’s virtually no Cyrillic in sight now.

The sign on the right above is a road safety message. It says Ne brže od života: “Not faster than life”.

Brz (one of those no-vowel words) means “fast”, but it has comparative forms (“faster”) which are brži (masculine), brža (feminine) and brže (neuter). The z changes to ž, which is equivalent to the sound at the end of “massage”. I guess you use the neuter version in this general situation. Od can mean “from”, “since”, “of”, or (here) “than”. Od is followed by a noun in the genitive case, which is why the word for life (život, masculine) is written with an a on the end.

This beachside restaurant is built around trees, and that’s why I was confused when I saw the sign. I knew drvo meant tree, so I thought Pizza na drva probably meant “pizza in the trees” or something. It actually means “pizza on wood”, i.e. “wood-fired pizza”. I don’t know what case drva is in – Wiktionary isn’t helping me. Roštilj na ugalj (it should have an accent on the s, making the “sh” sound) means “barbecue on coal”.

The big four-oh

Forty. I’ve made it. I’ve had a fairly busy day of birthday phone calls with people in New Zealand and the UK, mixed in with a pair of lessons. I even got a knock on the door from the chap on the sixth floor – he handed me what looked like homegrown apples, some sarmale and more pască. Bizarrely, he also gave me a pair of trousers that he said were too big for him.

After last night and this long weekend in general, it’s pretty clear that Orthodox Easter is a really big deal for Romanians, and something that they find hard to let go of, lockdown or not. Older Romanians, even more so. I’ve had eighty Easters goddammit, and I’m gonna have my Easter even if kills me. Last night they told me that grocery shopping is a three-hour round trip from them. I’ll do it for you in a fraction of the time, I said. But they didn’t trust me to get “the right stuff”. I trotted off to the supermarket this morning, masked and gloved, but it was closed for Easter Monday.

I can make no complaints about the weather for my lockdown birthday, a day when US oil prices dropped below zero. They are paying you to take it away. Oh, and I just tried on those trousers, for a bit of a laugh. They’re enormous, and far too short.

Dangerous dessert

At around six I called the elderly couple on the sixth floor, so I could pop up there and give them a box of chocolates. If I happen to have pre-symptomatic coronavirus, I probably gave them that as well. That would be terrible. The lady answered and said she’d call me back when she was properly dressed. All I wanted to do was leave the chocolates outside their door. I’d just finished my dinner when she called me back. I went up there, was invited in, and there was a table laid out. Oh no. What do I do now? I ended up eating some pască (which is a Romanian sweet bread filled with raisins and other fruit) and two big pieces of something like a rum baba. It was lovely to eat some typical Romanian Easter food, and it was good to speak Romanian, but I couldn’t relax. All I could think of was the bloody virus. I really should have made it clear on the phone that I wouldn’t be coming in. People have picked up this thing from courier deliveries, and here I was sitting with a couple aged nearly 80 and 90, both with a list of medical conditions as long as my arm, for more than an hour.

The couple are quite religious and have been on pilgrimages to Israel. When I mentioned that tomorrow was my birthday, the woman talked about all the round numbers. Yes, tomorrow there will be zeros everywhere I look.

Shockingly normal ⁠— what’s going on in the UK?

Nearly 900 deaths were added to the UK figures today, just like yesterday and the day before. Nine hundred. Nine Hillsborough disasters. A dozen Grenfell Towers. Every day. Granted, some of the deaths, perhaps 100 a day, are people who die with Covid-19 rather than from it, but there are also vast numbers dying in care homes who aren’t being counted. The daily tally of people dying from Covid-19 is surely well over 1000.

Those numbers are terrifyingly high. But what really shocks me is how normal this seems to have become over there. What has happened to the country I was born and bred in? How has life in the UK become so cheap, all of a sudden? How has being unable to breathe and drowning in your fluids, while your family can’t even say goodbye to you, become so acceptable so quickly?

Here in Romania we’ll be in lockdown, with armed police, until mid-May at the earliest. I’m glad of that. I agree with whoever said that lifting the lockdown now would be like flushing half your antibiotics down the loo because you’re feeling a bit better, and anyway we’re yet to even properly reach the “feeling better” stage. A huge hole was blown in my teaching hours in mid-March, but my volume is starting to pick up. Yesterday I had that lesson with Cosmin’s friend – it was probably as good for my Romanian as it was for her English. Now she wants a lesson every day including weekends (after all, what is a weekend now?). She should improve quickly.

It’s my 40th birthday on Monday. Yikes! All this social distancing means I won’t be having the massive rip-roaring party I would have had otherwise.

Timișoara really is beautiful in spring, and here are some more photos of the bits of Timișoara that I’m still allowed to set foot in.

Work slowly picking up

Tomorrow I should have four lessons. I’ve picked up another student, a woman who is friends with Cosmin, the ex-student of mine who recently contacted me. She called me today and she spoke so fast that I had put all my concentration into understanding her. I was very stuttery in reply. The difference in speed and clarity between people is vast – Cosmin, for instance, is much clearer and more deliberate. This woman said she’ll need to start from zero, which probably means she knows only 10,000 words and seven verb tenses.

Yesterday I switched on the radio and just caught the incredible last minute or so of a song I recognised but couldn’t put a name to. They played it right to the end. Then this morning I remembered it was Lucky Man by Emerson, Lake & Palmer. It’s just a beautiful song, and that synthesiser solo at the end takes it into the stratosphere. Hats off to Radio Timișoara for playing it and not cutting it off. I read that Greg Lake wrote the song when he was twelve. Sadly, both he and Keith Emerson died in 2016, leaving only Carl Palmer, the staggeringly dynamic drummer.

This afternoon I bumped into the woman who lives next door but one. She told me to be ultra careful because of all the people heading out to get supplies for Orthodox Easter. She was glad that Romania is not (yet?) at the levels of Spain or Italy, and was open-mouthed when I told her how many people had died in the UK. Yesterday I saw Bogdan, who lives on the second floor. He invited me over for birthday beers today, but I had to refuse.

Some figures from John Campbell’s latest video make the UK situation all the more alarming. There are considerably more additional deaths (i.e. deaths in excess of the average for the time of year) than there are deaths caused by Covid-19. That might be because some people are dying of coronavirus without being diagnosed, but it’s quite possible that people are dying of other causes because they are no longer receiving due care and attention, and if that’s the case it’s terrible. As far as I know, deaths in care homes still aren’t being included in the UK total. Common sense would suggest that the death toll is very high in care homes – they act as a petri dish for the virus.

Mum seems to have fallen out with her younger brother. He came to my brother’s wedding two years ago and then had a dreadful time with a bowel cancer operation that went horribly wrong. He’s also a Trump supporter who watches plenty of Fox News, and that’s where they fell out. When she told him to stop watching that piece of shit, he put the phone down on her. I don’t blame Mum, who after hearing over and over again from her brother how wonderful Trump is, finally snapped. Trump is a total arse, who in a parade of total arses manages to have no redeeming features whatsoever. He is quite simply all arse, and if you’re supporting him right now when far too many Americans are dying, that says quite a bit about you.

Finally, I played a game of Scrabble this evening for the first time since June. I was abysmal (which would have made a nice bingo). In the same vein, I played hangman with one of my younger students on Tuesday, the best we could on Skype. He found a site called something like “really hard hangman words” and gave me yachtsman. I got there, but heck, those five consonants in a row had me, um, all at sea for a while.

Chart chat

I’m now pinning the chart to the top of the blog, rather than redundantly posting successive graphs every day. Don’t know why I didn’t do that from the start. And another thing: the counts, in particular the case counts, are going up by now small percentages each day. That’s a good thing on the face of it, but whether it’s due to the lockdown, lack of testing, or both, I don’t really know. It does mean that from now on there simply isn’t space to put the counts for each and every day on the graph. I’ll make sure the latest counts are clearly visible, however.

No real news, but I’ve been busy with Serbian and working on the book, with two lessons thrown in. A pretty good day, even if the temperature has plummeted.

Stop watching the news. You’ll feel better

After only sleeping four hours last night and then falling foul of supermarket regulations, it hasn’t been a bad day at all. I was in the aisle with the canned and jarred fruit, when a security guard introduced himself formally with his surname first, and told me I was breaking the rules by having a backpack over my shoulders. That’s after the security woman last week explicitly told me it was OK. This man (55-ish, short and stocky) seemed new there, and I think he just wanted something to do. Everything was fine in the end, but after that incident I really just wanted to leave, and of course I couldn’t – I had to stock up for the week. I only just had enough cash to pay for my groceries. I’ve got so used to having bundles of the stuff that I didn’t even think. Good job I’ve managed to put a bit away in my Romanian account for a rainy day, because this is a deluge.

Lack of sleep seems to be a problem for a lot of people right now. One of my students called me to postpone our lesson scheduled for this evening because he said he’d hardly slept and felt like a zombie. I was happy to reschedule for tomorrow. So just one lesson today. That was the one on FaceTime with the ten-year-old boy, and it went great. We played Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? for the first time. That’s been a hit almost universally.

I did two hours of Serbian today and only half-followed the news.

The number of confirmed cases in Romania rose to 6633 today. That’s also the name of the ultra-marathon that Tibi Ușeriu won and wrote a book about – I got the book as a Christmas present. The number 6633 comes from the fact that the event takes place around the Arctic circle, at a latitude of 66 degrees and 33 minutes north.

Here’s the latest graph with a newly-extended x-axis. I’m just glad it wasn’t the y-axis that I had to extend first.