Galapagar

galapagar, (noun, m) – sitio donde abundan los galápagos (a place abounding in tortoises).

I heard of this word today and it particularly appealed to me for its very specific meaning. It seems to be rare and doesn’t appear in any of my Spanish dictionaries, though it does appear in the Diccionario de la Lengua Española.

Related words include:

  • galápago – tortoise; mouldboard; ingot, pig; light saddle; sidesaddle
  • galapagueño – (from) the Galapagos (Islands)
  • galapagueña – native of the Galapagos (Islands)

At home

One of my friends sent out an email this week to announce that he will be “at home” (to visitors) on Sunday afternoon, meaning that he’s putting on a party.

One definition of “at home” in my English dictionary is, “giving an informal party at one’s own home”, and “an at home” can refer to such a party. This is apparently a British usage and not a very common one.

Is this expression or something similar used in other English-speaking countries?

Word of the day – kai

kai /kai̭/ [Māori]

  1. (verb) to eat, consume, feed (oneself), partake, devour.
  2. (noun) food, meal.

Related expressions include:

  • kai moana = seafood, shellfish
  • wāhi kai = café, restaurant (wāhi = place)
  • hari kai = a song to entertain visitors as food is set out (hari = joy, happiness)

The Māori word kai is mentioned quite a lot in the book I’m reading at the moment, Come On Shore and We Will Kill and Eat You All by Christina Thompson: a memoir about the author’s life with her Māori husband which also discusses the history of the Māori, and contacts between them and other peoples.

Other Māori words and concepts are also discussed, include iwi, which means an extended kinship group, a tribe, a nation, a people, a nationality or a race, and often refers to a large group of people descended from a common ancestor, and utu, which means revenge, cost, price, wage, fee, payment, salary, reciprocity, and is an important concept in Māori culture.

Kai also means food in Tok Pisin, and kaikai means to eat. In Japanese kai (海 かい) means sea, among other things, though this reading of the kanji 海 is derived from Chinese (hai) – the native Japanese word for sea is うみ (umi).

In Hawai’ian, kai means sea, sea water, gravy, sauce or soup, while food is ʻai, or mea’ai.

Épouvantail

épouvantail (nf)

  1. objet, mannequin disposé dans les champs, dans les arbres, pour effrayer les oiseaux et les faire fuir (scarecrow)
  2. familièrement personne présentant un aspect extérieur repoussant (bogey, bugbear)
  3. quelqu’un ou quelque chose qui effraie sans raison (fright)
    [source]

For some reason we were talking about scarecrows or épouvantails at the French conversation group last night. It’s not a word that comes up in conversation very often, but I like the sound of it.

Related words include:

  • épouvantable = terrible, appalling, dreadful
  • épouvantablement = terribly, appallingly, dreadfully
  • épouvante = terror, fear
    – saisi d’épouvante = terror-stricken
    – roman/film d’épouvante = horror story/film

Words for scarecrow in other languages include:

  • Chinese – 稻草人 (dào​cǎo​rén​) = “straw man”
  • German – Vogelscheuche (bird shooer); Strohmann (straw man); Strohpuppe (straw doll/puppet)
  • Irish – babhdán – also means bogey man
  • Italian – spaventapasseri = “scare sparrows”
  • Japanese – かかし [鹿驚] (kakashi) = “deer surpriser”
  • Spanish – espantapájaros = “bird scarer”
  • Welsh – bwgan brain = “crows bogey/spook”

Geologically speaking

Today we have a guest post from Petrea Mitchell

I minored in geology – that is, it was my secondary area of concentration at college. Much of geology deals with things that were known and named well before they were codified as part of science, and it developed a habit for picking up local words rather than inventing its own for “new” phenomena. Thus, while you run into the usual load of classical-language derivatives when talking about things not visible at the surface of the earth, such as the strata (Latin, “layers”) recording various geological ages, or magma (Greek, “ointment”) waiting to erupt, you can also find words from all around the world.

For instance, when the early natural scientists wanted to study the effect of glaciers, they went tromping all over the Alps and picked up words like horn, which is from German, and used in geology to mean a peak shaped by glacial erosion. Glacier itself is French, as are arête (a sharp ridge resulting from erosion), cirque (a circular glacier), and moraine (a pile of debris formed along or at the end of a glacier).

Outcrops which are stuck under a glacier for a long time come out looking something like a shoehorn placed concave side up when the glacier retreats. One of these is a mouton roche (or so I was taught, though I’ve also seen it as roche moutoneé) or “rock sheep”.

But there is room for other areas to contribute to ice-related geology. Out in the tundra (originally a Russian word), repeated cycles of freezing and thawing can form hills with icy cores, called pingoes, from a Greenlandic word for “small hill”.

[Tundra was borrowed from Russian, but originally comes from the Kildin Sami word tū̄ndra, the genitive form of тӯндар (tūndar), ‘treeless plain’]

On a hotter topic, the familiar words lava, crater, and volcano all come from the neighborhood of Mt. Etna. Geyser is borrowed from Iceland, as is jökulhlaup, originally meaning an outburst of water caused by a volcano under a glacier, but used in geology for any sudden glacially-related flood.

Hawai`ian contributes words for two types of solidified lava: aa (ʻaʻā) for high-silica, viscous stuff that freezes into a rough, sharp texture, and pāhoehoe for low-silica lava which presents a relatively smooth surface after freezing. (A good mnemonic for remembering which is which is that aa is what you’re likely to wind up saying if you decide to go walking on that type.) Indonesian gives us lahar for a hot debris flow associated with a volcanic eruption.

On the other hand, another volcanic feature is called a maar, from a German dialect word for “sea”. Maars are formed when molten rock underground comes into contact with groundwater and causes a steam explosion. Since the bottom of the resulting crater then reaches groundwater level, the water seeps into the lower part of it to form a pond or lake. While there is no active volcanism in the area now, there are a bunch in the Eifel region of Germany, where the word comes from.

Japanese famously is the source for tsunami (津波), for which many English speakers have long used the term tidal wave (because it looks like a sudden high tide, rather than a normal ocean wave). Following the Boxing Day earthquake of 2004, tsunami seems to have finally shifted into common usage – but seeing as it means “harbor wave”, it’s hard to argue that everyone is really using a more correct word now, beyond the fact that it’s the official geological term.

Word of the day – ἀρετή (arete)

Today we have a guest post from Stephen Dunne.

ἀρετή (arete), noun = meaning virtue, goodness, excellence, purity.

This Classical Greek word is difficult to encapsulate precisely in English but expresses a state of almost distinguished self enlightenment. It can however mean many other things besides virtues attached to the self; the Greeks did use the word to describe the form of inanimate objects like vases or statues.

There are many ways to think of the physical form of arete. In Ancient Greece is was the capacity and fulfilment of attaining one’s potential, perhaps in face of much environmental difficulty.

In Philosophy, arete is central to the notion of Virtue Ethics and many of the ideas stem from Aristotelian thought. Virtue Ethics is a serious challenge to other mainstream moral schools like Deontology or Consequentialism.

These days, it could be argued that many of the books in the post-capitalist self-help genre are centred on the notion of arete, with individuals seeking non material fulfilment.

Hung parliament

Here are few more election-related words:

Hung parliament – a parliament in which no political party has an absolute majority of seats, as is the case with the UK parliament after yesterday’s election. This term was first used in Britain in 1974, but hang or hung has been used to indicate a situation that’s indecisive since at least the 14th century, when it was became linked to the idea of suspense. The phrase ‘hung jury’, i.e. one that cannot agree, has been used in the USA since 1848 [source].

Coalition – was first used in a political sense in 1715 and comes from the Latin Latin coalitus (fellowship) via the French coalition. Coalitus was originally the past participle of Latin coalescere, which is a combination of com- (together) plus alescere (to grow up).

The Welsh equivalents of these words are:

Senedd grog = hung parliament: senedd = parliament, senate; crog = hanging, pendant, suspended, pendent, pendulous, pensile

Clymblaid = clique, coterie, coalition: clym- probably comes from clymu = to tie; plaid = party, faction.

Plaid is also the root of pleidlais = vote (llais = voice); pleidleisio = to vote; pleidleisiwr = voter.

Babysiteáil

Listening to Raidió na Gaeltachta today I heard the word babysiteáil, in a sentence something like “Tá sé ag Babysiteáil dúinne.” (He babysits for us). This caught my attention because I don’t seem to hear as many English words made into verbs like this in Irish as I do in Welsh. The Welsh equivalent is babysitio, or gwarchod.

There are ways of saying baby-sit in Irish: páistí a fheighil (to care for children) and aire a thabhairt do pháistí (to give care to children).

If you put baby-sit into Google Translate, the Irish comes out as leanbh-suí – a literal translation. The Welsh version, baban-sefyll, is also a literal translation. For other languages the translations are perhaps better: e.g. garder les enfants (French) and cuidar niños (Spanish).

Spincop

Spider / Spincop

William Caxton introduced printing into England, and also translated a number of literary works from French, Latin and Dutch. Within his translations he used words he picked up while learning and practising his trade in Germany and Belgium, including spincop, from the Dutch spinnekop (spider), and okselle, from the Dutch oksel (armpit).

The English word spider comes via the Middle English spither and the Old English spiþra from the Proto-Germanic *spenthro, which comes from *spenwanan (to spin). Another Old English for spider was gangewifre (a weaver as he goes). In other Germanic languages the words for spider retain the link to spin: Spinne (German), spinnekop / spin (Dutch), spindel (Swedish) and שפּין (shpin) – Yiddish.

When I came across the word spincop it set me wondering whether it might be related to a Welsh word for spider, copyn (also cop, pryf cop(yn), corryn). Does anyone know the etymology of these words?

The Proto-Indo-European root word for spider is *araKsn, and the words for spider in the Romance languages come from this root: aranea (Latin), aranya (Catalan), aranha (Portuguese), araña (Spanish), ragno (Italian).

While okselle didn’t really catch on in Standard English, a related word, oxter, is used in dialects of Northern England, and in Hiberno English and Scots. This word is thought to come from the Old English ōxta, which is probably related to the Old English word axle or axis – eax. The medical term for this part of the body is axilla, which comes from Latin and is diminutive of ala (wing).