ProZ.com Blog

In some ways, Jonathan Downie’s journey to the prominent position he now occupies within the interpreting industry occurred against the odds. Being born on a working-class council housing estate in the West of Scotland to a father who worked on the country’s railways, and a mother who took on various jobs over the years, didn’t exactly point straight to a degree, a Master’s, a doctorate, and a career in languages, with extensive research work and the publishing of two acclaimed books along the way.

When Donika Nasto was growing up in rural Albania, chewing gum was a scarce luxury, and you could only sink your teeth into an orange at New Year. The only bread available tasted so bad it needed toasting to be palatable. And the clothes you wore were likely to be hand-me-downs from older cousins…

In the age of digital nomadism, upping sticks and seeking out a new place to live, along with all the novel experiences that go with it, is an option open to all. But perhaps as translators, armed with our language gifts and proven cultural adaptability, we are particularly well-suited to such a choice. We can look at a map, stick a pin in it, and pretty much decide where we want to make our new home. Which is exactly what Emilie Himeur did one fine day. As a French native speaker working from English, she indulged a deeply felt longing to live by the sea, coupled with a need for some sunshine, a beautiful language and a quality approach to life (not to mention an economic context less challenging than those of France or England) … and decided on Genoa.

The answers ranged from “None whatsoever” to “I would not be able to function without it”. But what was the question? 

It takes a certain flexibility to be able to completely change the backdrop of where you live and make the effort to fit in with your new surroundings. Moving between countries is the most obvious example of this for translators – but even within countries there are often stark contrasts between the capital and the provinces, large and small towns, and city and village life. And with stints in San Sebastian and Barcelona under her belt, not to mention life in a small rural Spanish village of fully 27 inhabitants, followed by a return to a slightly bigger village in her native Czech Republic, Mira Dornakova has experienced a real variety of backdrops in her life.

A translator with a cat is nothing new. Or a dog. Even a couple of each. But it’s safe to say that providing a loving home to a mix of no fewer than thirty-two stray animals is pretty remarkable by any standard. And indeed, it’s not all that’s fascinating about German and English translator Christine Strobel.

Throughout history, the general direction of migration within countries has been from the rural areas to the city. The imperatives of escaping labour on the land or seeking work and a regular wage have driven millions to pack their meagre bags and set out for their national or regional capitals.

There are many within the translation and interpreting community who live far from the land where they were born. We pack our bags without too much difficulty, learn new languages, assimilate new cultures, make new friends. But even among such a well-travelled and cosmopolitan community, some stories stand out as unusual, and that of Yalda Hamidi, an Afghan interpreter now living in Ecuador, is remarkable.

There are few cities more tumultuous – and full of contrasts – than India’s capital New Delhi. From the teeming streets and markets to the soaring architecture, from the manicured lawns of the luxury hotels and upper-class districts to the overcrowded markets, from the street eateries to the dazzling array of fine-dining restaurants, and from the twisting and choked narrow streets to impressive boulevards, all set against the cacophonous background of permanent traffic jams, shouts in a dozen Indian languages, and year-round searing heat, while the aroma of curry leaves, pomegranate flowers and roses hovers in the air. The centre for many ruling dynasties down the centuries, Delhi is a palimpsest where history and legacy have left their marks wherever you look. A city of extremes, where the one guarantee is that you’ll never be bored.

Many of us are used to the sounds of city life from the moment we wake up. The cars revving, the trundle of the city cleaners, the distant siren and the dog barking. Not to mention the all-night amber haze of streetlamps, the low cloud of light pollution obscuring the stars, and the lingering smell of petrol fumes…

Who needs an alarm clock when you have screeching seagulls to do the job? Especially in summer, when the influx of food-bearing tourists attracts flocks in search of tasty tidbits. But your auditory senses are not the only ones assailed in the little seaside town of Courseulles-sur-Mer in Normandy, northwestern France. When the tide is low, the air is rich with the smell of fish, seafood, weeds and salt, flooding in the moment you open the window…

It’s hard to picture two more different places than the Kathmandu Valley and suburban Toronto, but such extreme contrasts form a natural part of the narrative of Bimal Man Shrestha’s life.

It’s 480 years old and is one of the largest cities in the Americas. Santiago de Chile (St James of Chile), to give it its full name, was founded in 1541 by the Spanish conquistador Pedro de Valdivia, and has been the capital since colonial times. With a downtown core of 19th-century neoclassical architecture and winding side-streets, dotted by art deco, neo-gothic, and other styles. Santiago's cityscape is shaped by several stand-alone hills and also the soaring, if unimaginatively named, Gran Torre Santiago, the tallest skyscraper in Latin America.

What do you do when you’re a rebellious tomboy growing up in a conservative country dominated by the Catholic Church, with education run mostly by nuns and priests, 25% unemployment, the shadow of the Troubles looming further to the North, and a national tradition for exporting its people?