With: Rebecca Crowley
I love to travel,
and I’ve been to lots of exotic places: Zimbabwe, New Zealand, Uruguay, and for
Easter I’m off to Namibia. But when I travelled to Amsterdam earlier this year,
I was suddenly struck by how rarely I’ve found myself having to navigate using
a foreign language! I speak decent Spanish and basic French, and all of my
African travel has been to English-speaking countries.
To be fair,
English is in common use in the Netherlands, too. But when I arrived in
Amsterdam I decided to go native and try out some of the Afrikaans vocabulary
I’ve picked up since moving to Johannesburg in 2013. Afrikaans is a Dutch
dialect brought to South Africa by early settlers. I knew Afrikaans speakers
can understand Dutch speakers and vice versa, so I was confident my basic
skills would stand me in good stead.
Guess what? I was
wrong! It all started in the taxi, when I tried to thank the driver with baie dankie – pronounced bye-uh dahn-kee – the Afrikaans phrase
for many thanks. He just stared at
me, so I tried something else: ons is
hier (we are here). Another blank stare! I sheepishly paid the fare and
slunk off to the hotel.
Later I asked one
of my Dutch colleagues how I’d gone wrong. She explained that Afrikaans is such
an old form of the Dutch language that it’s basically “baby Dutch,” an
extremely simple version of the way they speak today. Although Dutch people can
understand Afrikaans, at first listen she said it sounds like toddler-speak. No
wonder the taxi driver looked at me so strangely – I’d basically spoken like a
two-year-old!

Have you ever felt
like a fish out of water in a new country? Comment for a chance to win Crossing Hearts, the first book in the
new Atlanta Skyline soccer series!
New to the
U.S. soccer scene, not to mention the English language, compact yet explosive
Chilean soccer legend Rio Vidal is driven to define a role on his new team,
Atlanta Skyline. But he must also adapt to a new culture—and accept that he
can’t do it alone. His beautiful interpreter, Eva, has been his voice, his
refuge. But she is becoming so much more. If only he could convince her he
isn’t like the other men she’s worked with, players on—and off—the field.
As a translator for pro athletes, Eva Torres is used to dealing with self-interested super stars. But Rio seems different, and she’s blindsided when he locks eyes with her across a church pew. By now, after weeks of close contact with the endearing athlete with whom she shares a language, her thoughts are far from holy. She must remind herself flirtation is probably just his default style. Plus, she’s the only one he can really talk to. But when his ambition threatens to derail his career—and their deepening connection—they’ll both have to lay their hearts on the center line.
As a translator for pro athletes, Eva Torres is used to dealing with self-interested super stars. But Rio seems different, and she’s blindsided when he locks eyes with her across a church pew. By now, after weeks of close contact with the endearing athlete with whom she shares a language, her thoughts are far from holy. She must remind herself flirtation is probably just his default style. Plus, she’s the only one he can really talk to. But when his ambition threatens to derail his career—and their deepening connection—they’ll both have to lay their hearts on the center line.
Excerpt:
“Rio! Rio! Rio!”
His name was the only word
he could decipher as he entered the arrivals area of Hartsfield-Jackson
Airport. He was hungry and tired after the overnight trip from Antofagasta and
five minutes earlier he’d almost asked a security guard to sneak him out a back
door so he could spend the first several hours of his new life in America
soundly asleep.
Now, as flashbulbs lit up
the already bright airport and a group of reporters thrust a bouquet of microphones
toward his face, he thought this might be one of the best moments of his life.
His grin came easily as he
surveyed the crowd. Members of the press vied for proximity, a group of fans
waved Chilean flags, and a welcoming committee wearing brick-red Skyline
jerseys turned in unison to show his name and number printed on their backs:
Vidal, 17.
He focused on each
photographer in turn, flashing the practiced smile that showcased his
expensively straightened teeth. The fans’ cheering grew louder, the reporters
shouted over them, and by the time Skyline’s manager, Roland Carlsson, waded
over to him, Rio couldn’t make out what the stylish Swede said as he clapped
him on the back.
He blinked up at his new
boss, who returned his stare expectantly. He took in Roland’s perfect haircut,
the touch of grey at his temples, his tailored clothing—he couldn’t be more
different from the pudgy, tracksuit-wearing manager he’d played for in Chile.
After several uncomfortable seconds Roland raised his eyebrows behind his
hipster glasses and repeated himself loudly enough for Rio to hear.
“Bzzz Atlanta, Rio. Bzzzbzzzbzzz.”
Rio widened his smile,
hoping it was an appropriate response as anxiety quickened his breathing. It
would be so embarrassing if he turned out to be grinning like an idiot at the
man who’d just asked him a question—or fired him.
Roland’s friendly expression
faltered. Rio’s mouth went dry. He quickly inventoried the few English words he
could deploy.
Soccer. Bon Jovi. One, two, three…
Sounds like a very good book. I moved to Italy 10 years ago and I spoke very little Italian, so I can relate to Rio very well.
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