German-speakers don’t just agree to meet up at 2pm, and then rely on their mobile phones to explain why they’re late. They make utterly clear, unambiguous appointments. And then they describe themselves as “verabredet.”
“You are late. We were verabredet. I am simply not understanding this.” It’s an adjective that defines a whole cultural mindset.
This does not just mean flag. It’s also the special type of flag that flutters in your face and stings your eyes when a drunkard tells you he always loved her, you know, honestly, really loved her, despite how it looks. “Please wave that Fahne somewhere else.”
You’ve stayed out late and you weren’t supposed to. Your wife has put the kids to bed, made your dinner, and given it to the dog. What you need is Drachenfutter – a gift that will, literally, feed the dragon, outmoded sexist interpretations of gender roles notwithstanding.
“Oh no, I hope the late-night shop is open. I’m absolutely off my face and I need some Drachenfutter.”
Does kitty have some Kummerspeck? Photo: Tripp/Flickr
The English have “comfort food,” but German speakers have taken that concept to its obvious biological conclusion. Kummerspeck, literally “sorrow bacon”, is the extra bulges that develop once you’ve consumed too much comfort. “Is that Kummerspeck, or are you just pleased to see me?”
Another useful word related to emotional eating is Frustfressen – excessive eating brought about by frustration.
This is a truly vital word, missing from English, and indeed every language in the world (probably) – except German. It means to be ashamed FOR someone else. How often have you wanted to express that feeling in one neat, perfect word?
“Yes, I was very fremdgeschämt when Donald Trump got the date of the US election wrong.”
German-speakers have a special word for a bad mum. It literally means “raven mother”. Apparently baby ravens in the wild eat nothing but ketchup and are allowed to play with scissors.
“Look, that child has not got a hat on and it’s below 20 degrees Celsius. What a Rabenmutter.”
In a somewhat skewed image of the universe, the bird, soaring free through the sky, is an unlucky beast, but to be a mushroom is a fate associated with good fortune. It’s fun to be a fungi.
“Oh no, my fungi has ceased to grow. I am such a Pechvogel.”
Pech means bad luck and Glück is good luck. See if you can work the rest out yourselves.
German, it turns out, has specific words for different parts of a building, largely because of the structure of apartment blocks in Germany and Austria. There’s a Vorderhaus (front bit), a Seitenflügel (side bit), a Hinterhof (back bit) and something called a Quergebäude, which is, erm, the across bit. Quer means across, and can also be used as in the wonderfully literal term querlegen – to obstruct.
Everyone hates the coward willing to criticize and abuse from a safe distance. German-speakers equate that person with the lowest of the low: the one who wears gloves when throwing snowballs. As far as they’re concerned, a snowball fight is not a snowball fight until someone gets frostbite.
Another wonderful German word, for a bittersweet situation familiar to everyone on the planet. The Treppenwitz, literally “stair-joke,” is the brilliant comeback you think of when you’re already out of the door and halfway down the stairs.
There’s being ham-fisted, or putting your foot in it, or there’s just plain clumsiness, but in German there’s the very specific act of verschlimmbessern, which is when you make something worse in the very act of trying to improve it.
“Oh no, that extra piece of cheesecake, far from being nutritious, has just verschlimmbessert my digestive tract.”
This is a deceptively simple word which means cyclist, but in some German-speaking circles can also refer to an employee who sucks up to his superiors while treading on his inferiors, thus imitating the posture of a cyclist. Not literally. That would be truly horrid.