I have a pretty weak spot for accents. Such an unmistakable accent that makes someone more accessible. More sincere. More authentic. The Neapolitan sizzling S, the way the Northern Italians almost pronounce the E as the Dutch do, or how the Romans seem to ‘eat’ certain vowels making their language very thick when endlessly stretching out words. “Annnaaamo” instead of “Andiamo” and “Vabbbè” instead of “Va bene”. But also how the Belgiums from Gent don’t pronounce the G and therefore come from ‘Hent’ instead of ‘Gent’, or the unmistakable ‘sob’ – as we call it – in the voices of the people in Amsterdam.
Finally I was back on the road again, a fantastic feeling after all those weeks in which we slowly started to go out again, while still wondering if it was not too early yet
Amsterdam, my former hometown where I stayed for a few days last week. Finally I was back on the road again, a fantastic feeling after all those weeks in which we slowly started to go out again, while still wondering if it was not too early yet. With most of my wardrobe – including my two suitcases in which I brought all my stuff – still in Rome, I had to look for an alternative to pack some clothes. Luckily, my parents had won a handy suitcase in the national lottery a little while back, so before I knew it, I was boarding a train to our capital city.
Having arrived only half an hour earlier, I was walking through the city centre with my suitcase when a lady of about sixty years old started to shout a whole lot of ugly words to me. Literally out of the blue
Once here, I immediately noticed that the tourists still hadn’t returned, despite the fact that the Amsterdam locals seemed to go on with their lives as usual. And in fact, the people of Amsterdam didn’t seem to miss the tourists at all… Having arrived only half an hour earlier, I was walking through the city centre with my suitcase when a lady of about sixty years old started to shout a whole lot of ugly words to me. Literally out of the blue. The seemingly high-class woman whose accent was closer to our king’s accent than the one of the people born and raised in Amsterdam turned red with anger. The object of her frustration? The wheels of my lovely lottery suitcase producing a rattling noise on the Amsterdam cobble stones. I was a little shocked and felt like somebody had punched me in the face. What had become of Amsterdam, the open and welcoming city where I had lived for more than five years and where I met the most amazing people?
Just around the corner, I saw a male figure in a bright red sport outfit looming up in front of me that somehow looked very familiar
With the unpleasant encounter still in the back of my head, I went out a little later to look for a restaurant (Italian, of course) that did take-away pizza. Just around the corner, I saw a male figure in a bright red sport outfit looming up in front of me that somehow looked very familiar. When I got closer, it turned out to be one of my professors of the University of Amsterdam. An Italian, only ten years older than me, who at the time encouraged me to study in Rome for another year. I continued my walk after a short conversation and realised that his way of talking – which hadn’t changed in those past years: well-mannered, flawless and academic English, but with that persistent Italian sound that he was probably trying to get rid of as much as possible – had immediately made him one of my favourite professors.
I’ll never forget how a professor asked her if she could perhaps talk a little less ’emotional’ while she was simply giving a brilliant presentation using her Southern European passion
The next day, me and Lucas, my best friend from Paris, rented a boat to make a little trip on the gorgeous Amsterdam canals. I can’t help but smiling every single time he places the accent wrong when pronouncing English words, but immediately gets away with it because of the charm of his French accent. I also saw Anila again, a very dear friend, who to my pleasure hasn’t lost her soft and melodic way of speaking – typical for people from the south of Holland – after more than a decade in Amsterdam. When we got to know each other at a student association almost ten years ago, a connection based on a mutual understanding was immediately established, even though we had only met five minutes earlier. She too had been raised in the most southern part of the Netherlands, but as a 100% Kosovar with beautiful dark hair we contrasted nicely and called ourselves Duo Penotti, after the chocolate spread made of white and dark chocolate that was popular back then. After our coffee appointment, I realised what a richness it is to be surrounded by such a wide range of accents every day. My best friend in university was a boy from Suriname. However, his frequent use of some typical words immediately revealed that he had grown up in the wide countryside north of Amsterdam. There are two of my hometown friends which were born in Croatia but speak our dialect fluently, and there’s Mariona, my best friend from Spain, who made a point of clarifying to me it was actually Catalan she spoke when I heard her speaking to her sister on the phone. I’ll never forget how a professor asked her if she could perhaps talk a little less ’emotional’ while she was simply giving a brilliant presentation using her Southern European passion. I choked on my wine when I first heard Sara, my best friend from Scotland, talking, but I miss her Glaswegian accent terribly when I haven’t spoken to her for a wee while. And finally, Julia, my Brazilian best friend with whom I spoke English at the beginning of our friendship and now Italian, but never without enjoying her delightful uplifting accent that can only be traced back to the swinging rhythm of life in Rio de Janeiro.
When I met an actor in Rome five years ago, who was an absolute champion in doing all the different accents from the plenty Italian regions, I was hanging on every word he said. Even though I only spoke a few words of Italian myself back then and had no idea of the meaning of his words, I found the way he flawlessly made one accent go over into the other almost magical
When I met an actor in Rome five years ago, who was an absolute champion in doing all the different accents from the plenty Italian regions, I was hanging on every word he said. Even though I only spoke a few words of Italian myself back then and had no idea of the meaning of his words, I found the way he flawlessly made one accent go over into the other almost magical. Nowadays, I take it as a compliment when Italians tell me that they hear I’m ‘from Rome’. Because that’s the one thing Italians have taught me. That you should cherish your accent, use it in your advantage, feel the history it’s loaded with. That as a matter of fact, it’s fantastic that when you talk to your nonno from Puglia, your Tuscan friend looks at you in amazement, not understanding a thing that’s said. That it takes courage to let your accent be heard, especially when employers or professors ask you to speak a little more ‘normal’. From my own experience I can say that it enriches your world in incredible ways if you simply start talking to people who sound different, maybe very different, from you.
Not having forgotten the ugly words of the posh lady in the city center yet, I froze for a second. But then I understood what she was saying
After four wonderful days, I was heading to the metro station with my suitcase last Friday. I crossed a market in Amsterdam Noord, the area in which my brother lives and I stayed over, when once again a lady started to shout at me. Again, it was about my suitcase. Not having forgotten the ugly words of the posh lady in the city center yet, I froze for a second. But then I understood what she was saying. With an unmistakable Amsterdam accent, she shouted I was a lucky girl for having won that beautiful suitcase in the national lottery. They hadn’t yet surprised her with such a suitcase yet, but she told me she’d love to win one too. Calling me darling, she then told me to have an amazing day and continued her way. And just like that, with the scents of roasted nuts, Moroccan herbs, Spanish churros, Turkish bread and Dutch herring all penetrating my nostrils at the same time, my faith in the city of Amsterdam was completely restored again.
You have been always amazing in your accents ! You should train people 💫