Romanian commentary 4 (and some English too) – sounds stressful

As I’ve said before, Romanian has some complex sound changes. When you go from one person of a verb to another, it’s often not as simple as changing the ending. You’ll quite often get changes, or mutations, in the stem as well. This sounds a bit like genetics, doesn’t it? To show you what I mean, here’s the present tense of the verb a juca (to play):

eu joc – I play
tu joci – you play (singular)
el/ea joacă – he/she plays
noi jucăm – we play
voi jucați – you play (plural)
ei/ele joacă – they play

The vowel in the stem bounces around between o, oa and u, with the added bonus that because the stem ends in a c, you also get a consonant sound change in the second person singular (c before e or is the English ch sound). This doesn’t just happen with verbs; you see it with the different forms of nouns and adjectives too.

You also come across sound changes when you form a longer word from a shorter one. When you lengthen the word, one of the vowels from the original word will often change, and a syllable that was originally stressed will become unstressed.

Examples:
țară (country) → țăran (peasant)
casă (house) → căsătorie (marriage)

Yep, the Romanian word for “marriage” comes from the word for “house”, and why shouldn’t it? What you see in both cases is the sound being reduced to ă, which is a schwa. A side-effect of this vowel reduction is that the stress moves from the first syllable to later in the word. In țărait shifts to the second syllable (there isn’t anywhere else for it to go) whereas in căsătoriit moves all the way down to the fourth syllable.

On the face of it, this seems crazy. What’s going on in Romania that makes their language so unnecessarily complicated? And then I thought about it for a minute…

In English this happens, and worse, all the time. Take the noun equator. It’s got three syllables, and therefore three vowel sounds. Some small points before I go further:
(a) yes it’s got four vowel letters, but that’s not what I’m talking about;
(b) the second of these vowel sounds, represented by the a, is what’s known as a diphthong;
(c) there exist such things as syllabic consonants which mean that not every syllable has to contain a vowel sound, although the vast majority do.

Anyway, equator is a noun which has three syllables and three vowel sounds. The stress is clearly on the second syllable. Simple. But look what happens when you form the five-syllable adjective equatorial. Precisely none of the original vowel sounds in equator remains the same. All three of them change! And what’s more, the stress shifts to the third syllable, with a hint of stress also on the first. The second syllable, which previously had the stress, is now entirely stressless.

equator

While I’d be all for simplifying English spelling in principle, this shows one of the problems with fully phonetic spelling, in English at least. It’s quite handy that the word equatorial is just equator with some letters tacked on the end, even though the two words are pronounced quite differently. Under fully phonetic spelling, the words would be spelt something like ikwáytuhr and ekwuhtóriuhl, which look nothing like each other. One would be listed under I, the other under E! Another problem is that people pronounce things differently: do you go for skédyool or shédyool? Who would decide? The question is academic I suppose: English isn’t a geographically contained language like Romanian, which last went through a formal spelling reform in 1993, not long after the downfall of Communism. I couldn’t see any proposal to formally change English spelling ever getting off the ground.

With English pronunciation being all over the place, it’s a wonder anyone learns to speak it as a second language at all. That so many people do learn to speak English is, of course, because it’s all over the place. All over the TV, film, the radio, music, billboards, the internet, social media, and so on. You can’t avoid it. It makes me wonder what the future holds for less widely spoken languages, even languages like Romanian which currently has 20-odd million speakers.

Romanian commentary 3 (and some English too) – it’s how you say it

I’ve strayed a bit lately from the whole point of this blog, and for that I apologise. I don’t want to be criticising my own mother, who is fundamentally a good person, or anybody else on here. This blog is supposed to have an optimistic slant to it (which I know is hard to achieve sometimes; after the Paris attacks it feels like the world is going to the dogs). From now on I’ll be talking about things I’ve done and dream of doing, places I’ve been to and dream of going to, and stuff that interests me. Like language.

When you learn a new language, you learn more about your own language, and I’m certainly learning more about English as I try to get a handle on Romanian.

Here are a few miscellaneous features of Romanian that I’ve picked up:

Romanian is a syllable-timed language, like French but unlike English which is a stress-timed language. To show you what I mean, consider this English sentence: I ran into my brother’s bedroom and hid in the wardrobe.

When I say the sentence above, I split it into two sections, a bit like bars of music: I ran into my brother’s bedroom / and hid in the wardrobe. The first section contains nine syllables, the second only six, but I take about the same length of time to say each section.

Furthermore, there are “important” syllables which receive extra stress, like a drum beat: I ran into my brother’s bedroom / and hid in the wardrobe. The time I take between those stressed syllables is (roughly) the same, no matter how many intervening syllables there are. I say the into my brother’s” bit quickly so I can get to the next drum beat in time. Also at play here is that running into the bedroom is a short period of frenetic activity, whereas hiding in the wardrobe involves waiting. The speed at which we talk takes account of this difference in pace. Romanian doesn’t really do this and neither does French; in both languages you take about the same time over each syllable regardless of its importance in the sentence.

Romanian does have word stress, just like English but unlike French. Romanian stress isn’t always predictable, however. In English we stress the word elephant on the first syllable but in Romanian it’s the last syllable of elefant that is stressed. (Romanians write f where we write ph; good for them.) In French, all three syllables of éléphant receive more or less equal emphasis.

Romanian has schwas, just like English, French, German and Welsh, but not Spanish or Italian, or Maori for that matter. If you don’t know what a schwa is, you probably should because it’s the most common vowel sound in English. It’s represented by ǝ (an upside-down e) in the IPA, and it’s the “neutral” vowel found in the last syllable of normal, happen, pencil, bacon and album. The fact that English uses any of five letters to represent that same sound (actually make that six: zephyr) is one reason why so many of us struggle with spelling. Throw unpredictable double letters into the mix, and it’s no wonder people don’t know how to spell occurrence. (Is it an a or an e? One r or two?)

In French the schwa is represented by e; in Romanian it’s ă (and it’s great that it’s always the same letter). Unlike in English, schwas can occur in stressed syllables in Romanian, as in fără (stress on the first syllable) which means “without”.

I was going to write lots more, but linguistics isn’t an easy subject even if it fascinates me. I’ll be back with another chapter soon.

Places I might end up in 2 – I spy with my little eye…

The death toll from the nightclub fire in Bucharest reached 48, and many more suffered severe burns. But the response to this national tragedy has been encouraging and frankly remarkable. Many thousands of Romanians took to the streets in anti-corruption protests and affected political change. That’s quite something. It will interesting to see where Romania goes from here under their new prime minister.

I’ve almost made up my mind to go to Romania next September. Exciting? Yes. Scary? Yes, but the alternative is even scarier. In trying to map out my future, there are no unscary roads to go down. September still seems an eternity away – I’d rather go sooner – but I’d like to teach English voluntarily for six months before I go. It should be a good month to arrive – it’s the start of the academic year and it will (hopefully) be neither too hot nor too cold. The big question – well, one of the big questions – is where do I base myself.

The city of Sibiu is in the Transylvania region in the centre of Romania, made famous by Dracula (it wasn’t long ago that I thought Transylvania was a made-up country). It’s about half the size of Wellington, population-wise. The word Sibiu is pronounced how you’d imagine it is, except that when two vowels clash heads in Romanian at least one of them gets mangled, and in this case the final ‘u’ becomes more of a ‘w’ sound. I find the combination of letters and sounds in Sibiu to be quite pleasing.

Sibiu is beautiful, clearly. The medieval part of town looks incredible, and I understand it got a major facelift about ten years ago. It is just me or is every town and city in Romania chock-full of stunningly beautiful buildings that get even more beautiful the closer you look at them? Many of the buildings have large attic spaces with small eyelid-shaped windows; the eyes are quite a noticeable architectural feature. This blog has some brilliant photos of Sibiu, showing the cobbled streets and one of the amazing Orthodox churches. The central square looks pristine, but like the blog writer, I’m a big fan of less-than-perfect. Cracked paintwork, decaying concrete, yep I love that stuff too. Sibiu is surrounded by mountains and offers a fantastic backdrop. You can traverse one of the mountain ranges via the famous Transfăgărășan road (definitely not an unscary road) which is understandably a Top Gear favourite.

Part of the attraction of Romania for me is that it’s mostly off the tourist trail. But for how long? Sibiu’s Wikitravel page talks about “tons of great souvenir shops” and give it the best part of another year and I might have already left it too late. I’ve had a look at apartments for rent in Sibiu; they’re even cheaper than in Timișoara, so from a purely financial perspective it’s definitely on my radar.

Wherever in Romania I end up, there’s the sense that yeah baby, this is happening. And man that feels good.

The system isn’t working

Last weekend when I was down in Geraldine, I saw my brother on FaceTime. Wow, what a difference. He had a horror year in New Zealand and needed at least another year to get over that, but he’s much happier now. I saw his girlfriend for the first time; it was quite disconcerting seeing someone who could easily be my sister-in-law, for the first time in that way, method, format, platform, whatever the word is. I’ll get to see her in the normal way when she and my brother come to New Zealand for three weeks in February.

On Monday I went down the North Otago coast with Mum and Dad. It was a grey old day. I’ve never seen quite so many seals as there were around Kakanui. We made several detours to look at potential real estate options. If they do buy something down there, it’ll probably be a holiday home. I asked Dad what they plan to do with their house, which will eventually be too big for them. He said to me, “Whatever happens, I know we’ll be stuck in fucking Geraldine.” He doesn’t swear that often. Mum was born in Geraldine; it would take a lot to prise her away. There was fog in Timaru on Tuesday early morning which delayed my flight to Wellington by 3½ hours, so I arrived at work at lunchtime. I didn’t mind being stuck at the airport at all; with a book and the various puzzles in the Timaru Herald I had plenty to do.

It wasn’t easy to watch my parents plan their future, which at 65 and 66, they (and especially Mum) expect to be long. Their time horizons are longer than mine at 35. From my perspective, watching them pore over real estate brochures and websites was a bit like watching the last ten minutes of the All Blacks against a crappy team like, I dunno, France, with the score delicately poised at 48-7. Look, I think the All Blacks are going to be OK. Mind if I change the channel?

I realise I never mentioned the All Blacks’ World Cup win. It was well worth celebrating, not just because that team is one of the best to ever play the game, but also because they were so gracious and sportsmanlike in victory. Other successful sports teams (cough – Aussie cricket team – cough) could take a leaf out of the All Blacks’ book.

Mum has worked hard and saved hard; she deserves to enjoy her later life. What annoys me though is her assumption that if you don’t reap the financial rewards that she has, that’s purely down to your own stupidity or even immorality. Wealth equals morality, who would have thought? She even tars a whole generation with the “stupid and immoral” brush. There are hundreds of thousands of baby boomers up and down the country who think the same way and vote the same way as Mum does, and they’ll all live to 108. (Yes I know I’m getting close to tarring a whole generation with the same brush here.) I was explaining this to my colleague on the way home from work on Friday. He’s 27, and on the face of it even more screwed by the system than me, except he’s not because he’s circumventing the system entirely. About time I did the same thing.

Thanks to my whitewash tennis win, I was able to attend yesterday’s TPP protest. The turnout was much smaller than the one in August; many people now think it’s a fait accompli. My colleague gave an impassioned speech outside Parliament, probably the best of the lot. I can barely imagine doing something like that. Someone (correctly) said that if Richie McCaw had made a speech decrying the TPP, it would have made a far bigger impact than all of yesterday’s speeches and protesters combined. I’m not very good at estimating these numbers, but I’d guess that about 1000 people turned up, along with one dreadlocked Hungarian sheepdog known as a Komondor.

I was oblivious to the atrocity in Paris until last night when my cousin and her family popped over to have pizza. Where do you even start? Tim said, “It’s Paris. What do you expect? People get shot and blown up there.” How sad that that’s what Paris means to a ten-year-old boy.

Interclub tennis – Week 4

On Thursday I played a practice set of singles at the club. I completely lost my ball toss and threw in 15 or so double faults including at least three in the tie-break which I somehow won 10-8. After that, I expected to have a tough time of it in this morning’s interclub.

One of our doubles opponents – the one I’d be playing in the singles – was from the north of England and had quite a footbally demeanour on court. “Come on boys, let’s get it together.” The four of us had a combined age of at least 170 but we were all “boys”. We won the first set 6-3 but went through a sticky patch in the middle of the second. We led 40-0 on my partner’s serve at 2-2 but I plonked an overhead into the net on the next point and we lost the game on sudden death. We lost the next game too and at that stage there was a distinct whiff of a super tie-break (and it really does pong as I’ve mentioned before), but from 2-4 we rattled off the last four games for the match. I still had ball-toss issues affecting my serve but I managed to keep them in check. We split the four sudden death points evenly.

Then came the singles against the second left-hander I’ve played this year already. In Auckland I’d go whole seasons without ever facing one. My opponent arrived in New Zealand in 2003, just like I did. He picked up the game as an adult; that suggests that he’s a better all-round sportsman than me. That I can play tennis is due in large part to hitting a ball against a wall, semi-obsessively, between the ages of six and nine. I played a lot with my parents in the back yard then too. By the time I stepped onto a tennis court I’d already spent three years developing appalling technique, which the lack of space in our back garden necessitated. But I could keep a rally going for ages. We had quite a few long rallies in our match this morning. I was just on the right end of most of them, and I beat him in a tick over 40 minutes without losing a game. I’ve now lost just nine games in four singles matches.

My partner won his singles 7-6 (9-7), 6-0, saving five set points in the tie-break. That match brought to mind a painful defeat I suffered a few years ago. We won overall by four matches to two.

Please come back

I flew down to Timaru on Friday. Ascending over Wellington, seeing the vast Southern Alps from 23,000 feet, and flying down the coast to almost skid over Temuka where I spent about a year of my life. It all made me feel good inside. Mum picked me up from the airport and within half an hour I was at my parents’ place which looked even more beautiful than it normally does in the springtime. They have probably a dozen fruit trees – apples, plums, plumcots, Black Boy peaches, you name it. They’ll even get a good crop of figs this year.

On Saturday some people came over to look at some of Dad’s paintings. They were doing a tour of gardens around Geraldine and the paintings were just a bonus. Dad said they were tyre kickers who would never buy. Their car pulled up and Dad dealt with them. Mum and I stayed in the kitchen. Mum said, “They won’t believe that an artist could live in a house like this.” I felt a bit sick. Jeez Mum, everything is wrong with that sentence. Why do you have to live vicariously through Dad? (You’ve had a long teaching career that you can be extremely proud of.) And why are you so concerned about your image? The next minute the tyre kickers were taking photos. “Oh no, they’re taking photos of the rhododendrons! But there are so many weeds!” This was code for “Please keep taking photos! Lots and lots of them!” They did buy a painting, of the lovely Central Otago village of Ophir. I was there last year, between Christmas and New Year, when he took the photo. It was a stunning evening. I loved visiting that part of the country; I’d never been there before.

When I was growing up, Mum had a spinning wheel, a guitar, she used to run, she spent time in the garden because she enjoyed it, she even attended maths classes in the evenings and taught me what she learned. Now the golf club is where it’s at. She spends a lot of time in the garden still, but it’s a very different place to the one in the UK. I love 2015 Mum so much, but I wish I could get 1987 Mum back.

Places I might end up in 1 – Timmy who?

Romania has been in the news in the last few days. Last weekend 32 people died in a fire in a Bucharest nightclub which had only one exit, and now the prime minister has resigned amid anti-corruption protests in the capital and elsewhere.

If I do end up in Romania, it won’t be Bucharest. I’ve never been there but I can safely say that it’s too big, too noisy and too intimidating for me. Thankfully Romania has a nice selection of medium-sized cities, like Iași, Cluj, Brașov and …

Timișoara. Bet you’ve never heard of it. It’s stuck out on a limb a bit, in the west of the country, closer to the Hungarian capital Budapest than to Bucharest (which is nice, because I’d love to visit Budapest). It’s a compact city, a bit like Wellington, with a similar population. How to say Timișoara? Well, the s-with-a-comma is pronounced “sh”, while the “oa” is one of the famous Romanian mashed-together vowel combinations and it’s pronounced similar to “wa”. Put it all together and you get “timmy-SHWAR-a”.

The architecture is stunning. My two favourite buildings, just from Google street view and one or two other blogs, are Casa Brück and Banca de Scont (discount bank), both on the Piaţa Unirii. One day I’ll see and touch those beautiful buildings. I’ll make sure I do. The city has plenty of parks and green space and is extremely walkable, but it also has good public transport: trams as well as Wellington-style (for now) trolley buses. If I go to Romania I won’t get a car (not initially anyway) because driving there is a nightmare.

I’m lucky to live within (longish) walking distance of three markets here in Wellington. If I was to live in Timișoara there would be more than that, and they wouldn’t only be open at weekends. Markets are clearly a big part of daily life there.

Wellington also has a lot of street art. In July someone painted yin-and-yang dolphins on an electrical box just opposite me, livening up this end of my street in the process. I would have put up a photo of it, but some bastard tagged it two weekends ago. Timișoara is also teeming with street art. They even have an annual street art festival there.

Wellington is the most politically motivated city in New Zealand, which I suppose it should be as the capital. Timișoara came to the fore in December 1989, sparking the revolution that led to Ceaușescu’s demise. The country still has enormous problems but has come on in leaps and bounds since then. That’s all quite exciting to me. Most of the history I hear about seems so remote, but I remember 1989, which was an incredible year politically. And to think that when everything kicked off in Timișoara, I was living in New Zealand, probably lying on the beach at Caroline Bay.

Supposedly Timișoara has a bohemian café/bar where you can lie in a hammock and eat ice cream for about a dollar. Am I too old for that? No, dammit! I suggested to my mum that I buy her a hammock for Christmas. She said she wouldn’t want one because she wouldn’t have time for it. What? How? You’re 66 and you’ve worked hard all your life. How could you possibly not have time? I think I might buy her it anyway.

I mentioned Timișoara, among other places, in an email to my dad. No reply. Assuming he actually got my email, there’s nothing neutral about a no reply. But that’s OK. He doesn’t have to like my plans.

Tomorrow I’m flying down to see my parents. I’ll be flying into Timaru. I must like places that begin with Tim. My cousin’s middle boy is called Tim, and when I was in Boston I bought him a T-shirt with the name of a fairly famous university emblazoned on it, so that it he sees his name when he looks in the mirror. I also got it for him because he’s a smart kid and could go there one day. I think he liked it.

What do you know?

I don’t really get social media but I’m trying Twitter (my handle is @PlutomanDotCom). I’d love there to be an option where you can just get every fifth tweet that someone spews out rather than all of them.

Saturday night was fun. Six of us – all blokes – met up at the pub next to where I used to work. One hasn’t got a job and wants to travel around NZ in a van, one hasn’t got a job but has a PhD and a house that he wants to sell so he can travel around NZ in a caravan for several months, one also has a PhD and is a mine of general knowledge but is struggling to get steady work, one is looking for a job but is only 25 so has heaps of time, one has a job but wants to move 11,000 miles away to do something rather different, and one has just started a very normal office job and seems happy with it. I’m not sure that any of us are in relationships – the subject never came up. If everyone had been normal with supposedly normal jobs and families, I’m sure I’d have found the evening horrible.

Last night I attended a quiz at a different pub to the one we went to on Saturday, but with some of the same people, plus some others. One of the women brought her two-week-old baby daughter along. We finished second out of ten or so teams. I was more helpful than I expected to be, but anything to do with movies or popular culture and I’m a complete dead loss. History and I’m not much better. We won a $30 bar tab and spent the money on ice cream rather than alcohol. The barman treated us like we were from Planet Zorg when me made our order.

I arrived at work this morning to find a notice attached to my monitor. Don’t log on to this or any computer because you’ve got another virus. (I had one about four months ago.) How embarrassing. I couldn’t do anything until about ten, and it felt good to almost finish the cryptic crossword (I used to enjoy those) and to start a new book. I was hoping I could go home where I could be productive, but I had to hang around all day and pretend to get work done on someone else’s PC. I don’t know, or particularly care, how I got the virus, but the IT manager made it pretty clear that he did care.

The Kansas City Royals, who won both the baseball games I’ve ever been to, have now won the World Series. For us outsiders, “World Series” is an easy name to make fun of – after all, the competition features 29 American teams and one from Canada – but I’m coming round to the idea that it’s just a name, and they could call it Dave if they wanted to.

Interclub tennis – Week 3

These “weeks” of interclub tennis aren’t necessarily every week. This “week” I played with the same bloke as last time in the doubles. We’d had some practice in between. Our opponents weren’t as good as last time and we won 6-2 6-3. We won all four sudden death points – that made a huge difference. Both the games we lost in the first set were on my serve – I was having a shocker in that department. In the second we lost three straight games to go 3-2 down but in the latter stages they went off the boil a bit and we made very few errors. For a minute there things seemed to just flow. Hey, I’m enjoying this. The last game was a bit tense – we needed four match points (including sudden death) and I really didn’t fancy the idea of serving it out at 5-4 having had all those match points.

My singles opponent won the toss and put me into bat. After my travails on serve in the doubles, this wasn’t a silly decision. He promptly broke me to 15 (aided by two double faults) and went 40-love up in the next game. I wound up winning the set 6-1. He had a point for 2-0 early in the second. I won that set 6-1 as well, and I had the match wrapped up in 52 minutes – reasonably long considering the score, which was a repeat of my previous singles result. We had plenty of long rallies – we were both strong on defence – and he got a lot of joy by hitting cross-court forehands to my backhand. Despite that, I still won easily. Was it the weather? Had he had a late night? An argument with his wife? Was it just a match-up of styles that suited me? Then it dawned on me. Maybe, just maybe, I keep winning 6-1 6-1 because I’m not too bad at this tennis lark. Me being good at something is a possibility. Being good at something that matters, that I could make a living out of, well that would be bloody amazing, but baby steps…

A weird stat: 11 of my last 13 sets of singles interclub have been 6-1 sets, going right back to my last defeat which was in Auckland. I lost that match 6-1 1-6 6-1.

I had a very enjoyable evening at the pub tonight with five other blokes, one of whom is interested in living with me.

The ABs are guaranteed to win the final which kicks off in a few hours, even if it’s the Aussie Bastards.

Romanian commentary 2 – what’s that thing?

The Rugby World Cup final is almost upon us again, but unlike last time when the All Blacks just squeaked by France and I was on the edge of my seat, I’m finding it really hard to care. I’m writing this to the sound of Robbie Williams’ Let Me Entertain You – they’re rehearsing for tomorrow night’s gig at the Basin which I live pretty much right next to.

A lot of languages have two genders. Some, like German, have three. English has somehow (and I’m grateful for this) evolved to have just one. So how many has Romanian got? Well, kinda two, kinda three. Officially it’s three: masculine, feminine and neuter, but the neuter gender behaves as masculine in the singular and feminine in the plural. Just like in French, the indefinite article (when you want to talk about a thing, or one thing) has a masculine and a feminine form (un/o), but the number two also does (doi/două). So for neuter nouns, which switch gender when they team up, you use the masculine “one” (un) but the feminine “two” (două). As for definite articles, when you want to talk about the something, well they don’t really exist in Romanian. There’s no “the” word. Instead you tack something on the end (and there are rules for what you tack on the end and when). Then to make things plural, you change the ending, or the middle, or both… Things get complicated quickly.

Masculine example
A boy:              un băiat
Two boys:       doi băieți
The boy:          băiatul
The boys:        băieții

See what I mean?

Feminine example
A girl:               o fată
Two girls:        două fete
The girl:           fata
The girls:         fetele

Diacritics matter! Here you’ve got two different words, fată and fata. There’s also față, which means “face”, and becomes fața when you want to say “the face”. And făta, făța and fâță are all words too. They’re all pronounced differently. Wonderful isn’t it?
A French bloke I flatted with in Peterborough in 2003 has just had a son to go with his daughter. He wasn’t sure whether to call him Gaétan or Gaëtan. Both options work in French, but he was having a hard time deciding which accent (the acute or the tréma) his son would be saddled with for the rest of his life. These little dots and squiggles matter.

Neuter example
A chair:            un scaun
Two chairs:     două scaune
The chair:        scaunul
The chairs:      scaunele

This one is actually fairly simple.

Another feminine example
A sheep:          o oaie
Two sheep:     două oi
The sheep (singular):  oaia
The sheep (plural):      oile

Riiight. Of course “sheep” is weird in English too, but I think it’s weirder in Romanian! While we add an ‘n’ to avoid saying “a apple”, they seem to manage fine with “o oaie”. So many vowels! (But no U of course. A sheep could be some kind of cryptic emoji meaning “missing U”.) They count sheep in Romanian just like we do. I might cover numbers in another post.

Another neuter example
An egg:            un ou
Two eggs:       două ouă
The egg:          oul
The eggs:        ouăle

In some languages “egg” can get a bit scrambled so I was intrigued to see what might happen here. In French the F of “œuf” (singular) is pronounced but it’s silent in “œufs”. I don’t know of any other French word that behaves like that. In Italian it’s one of the very few words that is masculine in the singular and feminine in the plural, in other words it’s neuter! I’m not surprised that it’s neuter in Romanian too.

I’ve completely ignored cases here. The case of a noun is what the noun “does” in a sentence, and it can mean you have to make further changes to the word beyond what I’ve shown above. I might talk about that some other time.