July 29, 2008 5:28 PM
Megaphones and Tomatoes
Two stories from Beijing today:The scene: the sidewalk in front of the Bird's Nest. It's about 5 p.m. A man and his daughter are stopped while riding their tandem bicycle (which, I should note, are surprisingly common around here). A police officer approaches. He's standing about 10 feet in front of the bike. He pulls out a megaphone and begins yelling in Chinese at the two. Despite the efforts of the man and his daughter, the officer refuses to put his megaphone away. I have no idea what the argument was over, but the man and his daughter eventually biked away, the officer still screaming through his megaphone.
This is probably not a good sign of how Beijing crowd control has progressed over the last two decades.
And as for today's lost-in-translation moment:
Hollywood is a restaurant a few blocks away from my hotel. Keep in mind this distinction: it's called Hollywood, not Planet Hollywood. It is not owned by any rockers or movie stars. There are no signed Sugar Ray guitars on the wall. The people who work there probably do not even know who Sugar Ray is (and are probably better off for it).
It's a simple place, and in understated Chinese fashion, it does have a true Hollywood feel. I'm talking, naturally, about the mural on the wall, with cartoon images of Jim Carrey, Brendan Fraser and Shrek.
I stopped in today for a cheesesteak -- it was actually pretty good -- and when it came, I asked for ketchup. Of course, the wait staff at Hollywood does not speak English. So the woman behind the counter gave me a strange look at the word "ketchup," made a motion like she was stirring a pot with her right hand and then produced... a napkin and fork.
I smiled and thanked her, shaking my head as I walked away. She noticed and ran up to me. She gave me a look that doesn't need translating: if that's not it, then what do you want?
"I'd like ketchup, please," I told her, slowly. "Tomato ketchup sauce."
Again, she looked confused. But then I looked over her left shoulder. On the top shelf of a fridge behind the counter, I saw an unmistakable red bottle.
"That!" I said. "Ketchup!"
I walked with her to the fridge and pointed to the bottle.
"Oh," she said, in heavily accented English. "Toe-MAH-toe."
"Well, you say toe-MAH-toe," I said. "I say toe-MAY-toe." I started to laugh, but she didn't. I didn't bother to explain. I guess George Gershwin hasn't caught on here yet.
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