To tip or not to tip?
A social dilemma you’re bound to fall into at some point is whether or not to tip – and how much! Tip too little and you risk the waiter chasing you down the street shouting abuse; tip too much and you might gravely offend the staff. Tipping customs vary all over the world, between different countries and regions (not to mention situations), so do your research before you travel!
How much should you tip?
In the USA, tipping is mandatory and fairly high, with 15-20% being expected. Service wages are fairly low, meaning people factor tips into their pay, and waiters will ask you where their tip is if you haven’t left one.
In the UK, tipping is more relaxed and is never really expected in a pub or cafe, or anywhere with self-service. In restaurants, 10% is usually expected, but if you feel the service was poor then you can express this by not leaving a tip.
Move into Romania, however, where 10% is also recommended (more if you’re really happy with the service), and not leaving a tip would be considered very rude: do not try to return to a restaurant where you didn’t leave a tip.
Drinking tips
In lots of countries in Europe, the traditional attitude towards tipping can be seen in the language: German ‘Trinkgeld’, Swedish ‘dricks’ and Danish ‘drikkepenge’ all mean ‘money for drinking’, as does the Slovak ‘prepitné’, French ‘pourboire’, Slovenian ‘napitnina’, Serbian ‘напојница’ and Croatian ‘napojnica’. The idea behind this is that you just round the bill up or leave a few coins, as a contribution towards a drink for the waiter.
Further East, the direct translation is even more specific: in Russia, you leave money ‘for tea’ (‘чаевые’). The same is true of Kazakh‘s ‘шайлық’ (шай- shai- tea’), Uzbek‘s ‘чойчақа’ and Tajiki‘s ‘чойпулӣ’).
Beware, however, that tipping practices have changed significantly and just a few coins often won’t cut it any more in these countries: be prepared for at least a 10% tip, as a broad guideline.
When not to tip
So far, the problem has only been how much to tip, and if you’ve accidentally tipped too much in America or Europe, it won’t cause any massive problems. But in some areas the attitude towards tipping changes drastically.
In Malaysia, Singapore and Japan tipping is not practised at all and could be considered odd or even offensive.
In Georgia, it can be seen as an affront to the notion of hospitality. Beware as well that a tip can easily be misconstrued as a bribe, which you definitely don’t want to get in trouble for, so make sure you look up before travelling whether tipping is normal practice in the country you’re visiting!
Have you ever been caught out by tipping etiquette?
Nat
Icelandic is not like chicken
by Patricia Ochman
My initial reason for taking on Icelandic was pretty pragmatic: I had started riding Icelandic horses and purchased a friendly Icelandic gelding, Léttfeti. I felt that picking up some Icelandic would allow me to get access to a treasure chest of information about my favorite breed and help me better understand my Icelandic best friend.
I took on a uTalk challenge and started learning Icelandic. Since I know Danish, I figured, how hard could it be? I would have this down in 30 days, no problem.
Well, fruits and vegetables were fine… but then it got thorny. Very thorny, very fast. Icelandic, it turns out, is not that similar to Danish. My initial enthusiasm turned into frustration because I thought this was supposed to be easy. Why were there three genders, four declensions, unusual pronunciation, weird words in weird places?
I gave up. It was too complicated, too different. Sorry Léttfeti, we’ll have to stick to English.
Until one day, I remembered that when I was younger, I refused to learn declensions in Polish because English and French (languages I already spoke) had no declensions. That’s when my teacher said, “That’s just the way it is; Polish has declensions and you’re going to have to learn them.” That response later resonated in my head when my Latin teacher made us repeat “rosa, rosam, rosae, …”. That’s just the way it is in Latin, I thought. I learned Polish and I learned Latin and I accepted declensions. I even started thinking that declensions add richness to a language, just like the pluperfect subjunctive tense adds richness to French.
Later on, I learned Finnish and because I had been told that Finnish is unlike any other European language, I just started from scratch, not assuming I would know anything at all. Hyvää päivää, olen Patricia. It went well and I progressed at a satisfying pace. It was unfamiliar and beautiful.
So then, why was I so frustrated with Icelandic? Could it be that my frustration had nothing to do with the language and everything to do with the fact that I was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole? It is certainly a very comforting feeling to think that something that is new to us is similar to something we already know. After all, we are regularly told “try it, it tastes just like chicken”… But doesn’t that just defeat the whole purpose of trying something new? How about “try it, it’s nothing like chicken, it’s totally unique and your mind may just be blown”?
I was trying to make Icelandic seem similar to something I already knew when it really wasn’t, and that’s what hindered my progress. I tried to put myself in the same mindset I had for Finnish and just told myself that this would be different. I’d have to let go of the buoy I was apparently desperately hanging on to and I’d simply have to embrace Icelandic for all its… well, Icelandicness.
I started focusing on the things I already knew in and about Icelandic and built on that. I tried to figure out its internal logic, its particularities, its flow. I started repeating out loud the words and sentences I learned and slowly made sense of them. Eyjafjallajökull is really not that scary when you understand that it’s just a juxtaposition of “islands”, “mountains” and “glacier”. Icelandic started to make sense and I started loving it. I’m still a beginner, but I’m now an excited beginner, unafraid of straying from what I already know. Vel gert!
I believe learning languages expands one’s mind, and this may be a reason why. Learning a new language means getting out of that familiar English, French, German, etc. playpen and discovering new ways of organizing and expressing thoughts. Scary at first, sure, but oh how rewarding.
The Language of Chocolate
Ah chocolate, that little sinful delight that you can pretty much find in every corner of the globe. Eat it, drink it, wear it or even play with it, you simply can’t get away from it. Since it’s National Chocolate Week I was curious to find out where the word ‘chocolate’ actually comes from.
Unfortunately there isn’t really a concrete answer that states its exact origins. Some believe it comes from the Aztec (Nahuatl) word ‘chocolatl‘ which referred to a substance produced from the seeds of the cacau tree. Others believe the Spanish coined it from the Mayan word ‘chocol‘ (hot) and the Aztec word ‘atl‘ (water) when early explorers came across a beverage made from the seeds.
It only goes to show how far back the beginnings of chocolate as we know it are embedded into our history. If you’re looking for interesting ways to use the word chocolate in other languages, here are a few to start you off with.
If you ever come across something or someone that you find utterly useless, then the expression ‘as much use as a chocolate teapot‘ might come in handy. Science has even proven how useless a chocolate teapot really is.
In French, you might use the phrase ‘tablettes de chocolat‘ to refer to a particularly svelte and toned looking man. There are some things about the French language that I just love.
‘Es el chocolate del loro‘ in Spanish literally translates to ‘the parrot’s chocolate’, but is in fact referring to the insignificance of a small amount of money when compared to a much larger amount. I’m still trying to work out where the parrot comes into this, though.
And if you find yourself in a particularly confusing situation that defies all sense of logic and cohesion, don’t hesitate to swap the English idiom ‘it’s all Greek to me’ for the Dutch ‘daar kan ik geen chocola van maken’ which translates to ‘I can’t make chocolate of that’.
Do you know any other chocolate based expressions? Do let us know! I’m sure they’ll be positively delicious…
Safia