The journey of a person in a foreign world is above all the voyage of his five senses. And we quickly realized that the culture in which we live constantly sent us some other way may be less physical, but you learn to discover in the journey.
Hearing.
The pedo-linguists tell us to recognize in the twittering of infants in the analysis amplitudes including the precursors of languages in which they are growing up. Repeated sounds, our own culture we seem familiar and soon inspired musical artists would nourish and strengthen further these habits. Let us remember how the "r" English or Arabic or Wolof surprised us at first. At what point we do not know how to accommodate these Asian music played on an instrument close to the violin? How we thought we could not reproduce the songs of these changes ranges of the North African country. There will stop my comments, not being musicians and having no knowledge of music to talk.
Following are additional senses, feelings, cultural codes I think he just multiply that stress adaptation of the senses usually recognized. Spheres of public and private sector are an example. I am currently experience. Hence the idea of night this text. It is 1:49 am. I live on the island of Saint-Louis in Senegal. For 49 minutes, I think he, religious Shan began several locations on the island. Can be achieved when you have some time to think, what happens at this time unable to sleep, as sound, or rather the music volume is cultural. The speakers are at the limit of their capacity. The distortion does not seem to bother those who participate in these songs, I think even more that the volume is stronger and the singer must give the impression of being pious. And some people are especially believers tonight. I was told pretty quickly, I do not dwell on the subject, a politician of the city had wanted to regulate, if not the volume at least the times of these hymns. It was either replaced or asked to go and practice his art of managing public affairs in a different region of Senegal. Which brings me to identify that in my western culture of origin, the night belongs to the private sphere while the day is more open to the public sphere. The night's rest for everyone, this is the curfew for what is called noise. After 11:00 if the neighbor continues to bring its music as strong called the cops. You agree that the concept of noise becomes very cultural. Here, the neighbors will not complain.
I remember now, since I still have time, this bus ride between the cities of Bobodioulaso Burkina Faso and the city of Segou in Mali. During a trip lengthened by a few hazards border, we had a friend with whom I traveled, able to experience religious songs for almost 10 hours without interruption. Accentuated by the high heat condition of the bus without air conditioning but with windows you could not open it, mingled with the songs of an aggressive driver on the road but also particularly believers that day, we had live a memorable listening experience. Of course, I have nothing against these religious songs, but I stress that I am given the differences identified in relation to my culture of origin, thanks for the trip. This also allows me to better understand the features and conventions of my own culture.
And the examples seem endless. There are the languages we hear as music singing but incomprehensible. There are patterns related to the use of the horn that I could make the first experience in Istanbul. I came to wonder if the function of the horn was very alert, or to greet each driver and other vehicles, as a code of politeness unknown. There are those who speak strongly in the Montréal metro. It seems so unusual to the other passengers they turn around and quickly imagine or realize the emphasis that these are French tourists. Here in Senegal, there are those children's songs, these cries during the wrestling matches they try to reproduce below your window into the street after having watched on television. There are the bleating of sheep and goats that resonate for breakfast or when you brush your teeth, giving you the impression of being at home a shepherd in the mountains of Ireland. There are of course the call of the muezzin at the mosque, which transmits its first invitations to prayer before 5:00 ET with a few strangers the country are struggling to tame. Fortunately this is not my case. There are the merchants and the merchant you scream of joy they give you the promotion of the month, the year I said. There are people sitting, placed in locations where strategy often leaves me rather perplexed. They ask for money, seeking charity which is also one of the five pillars of Islam, claiming through a loudspeaker while sometimes making you jump when you are at their height, praise god, I think he said. I often find one of them on the bridge connecting the island to continent. Maybe he asks for us to wish us a good voyage, in the best conditions to reduce the risk of collapse of a bridge which I do not really trust elsewhere. If this is it, I promise next time to give him some coins. There are slamming the horseshoes of these carriages that ply the streets of the city. There is the sound of shutters and doors that open and close blurring awakened by the wind, announcing the imminent rain. There are sounds unknown to my stomach complaining and accusing me of having succumbed to my latest culinary curiosity.
Hearing.
The pedo-linguists tell us to recognize in the twittering of infants in the analysis amplitudes including the precursors of languages in which they are growing up. Repeated sounds, our own culture we seem familiar and soon inspired musical artists would nourish and strengthen further these habits. Let us remember how the "r" English or Arabic or Wolof surprised us at first. At what point we do not know how to accommodate these Asian music played on an instrument close to the violin? How we thought we could not reproduce the songs of these changes ranges of the North African country. There will stop my comments, not being musicians and having no knowledge of music to talk.
Following are additional senses, feelings, cultural codes I think he just multiply that stress adaptation of the senses usually recognized. Spheres of public and private sector are an example. I am currently experience. Hence the idea of night this text. It is 1:49 am. I live on the island of Saint-Louis in Senegal. For 49 minutes, I think he, religious Shan began several locations on the island. Can be achieved when you have some time to think, what happens at this time unable to sleep, as sound, or rather the music volume is cultural. The speakers are at the limit of their capacity. The distortion does not seem to bother those who participate in these songs, I think even more that the volume is stronger and the singer must give the impression of being pious. And some people are especially believers tonight. I was told pretty quickly, I do not dwell on the subject, a politician of the city had wanted to regulate, if not the volume at least the times of these hymns. It was either replaced or asked to go and practice his art of managing public affairs in a different region of Senegal. Which brings me to identify that in my western culture of origin, the night belongs to the private sphere while the day is more open to the public sphere. The night's rest for everyone, this is the curfew for what is called noise. After 11:00 if the neighbor continues to bring its music as strong called the cops. You agree that the concept of noise becomes very cultural. Here, the neighbors will not complain.
I remember now, since I still have time, this bus ride between the cities of Bobodioulaso Burkina Faso and the city of Segou in Mali. During a trip lengthened by a few hazards border, we had a friend with whom I traveled, able to experience religious songs for almost 10 hours without interruption. Accentuated by the high heat condition of the bus without air conditioning but with windows you could not open it, mingled with the songs of an aggressive driver on the road but also particularly believers that day, we had live a memorable listening experience. Of course, I have nothing against these religious songs, but I stress that I am given the differences identified in relation to my culture of origin, thanks for the trip. This also allows me to better understand the features and conventions of my own culture.
And the examples seem endless. There are the languages we hear as music singing but incomprehensible. There are patterns related to the use of the horn that I could make the first experience in Istanbul. I came to wonder if the function of the horn was very alert, or to greet each driver and other vehicles, as a code of politeness unknown. There are those who speak strongly in the Montréal metro. It seems so unusual to the other passengers they turn around and quickly imagine or realize the emphasis that these are French tourists. Here in Senegal, there are those children's songs, these cries during the wrestling matches they try to reproduce below your window into the street after having watched on television. There are the bleating of sheep and goats that resonate for breakfast or when you brush your teeth, giving you the impression of being at home a shepherd in the mountains of Ireland. There are of course the call of the muezzin at the mosque, which transmits its first invitations to prayer before 5:00 ET with a few strangers the country are struggling to tame. Fortunately this is not my case. There are the merchants and the merchant you scream of joy they give you the promotion of the month, the year I said. There are people sitting, placed in locations where strategy often leaves me rather perplexed. They ask for money, seeking charity which is also one of the five pillars of Islam, claiming through a loudspeaker while sometimes making you jump when you are at their height, praise god, I think he said. I often find one of them on the bridge connecting the island to continent. Maybe he asks for us to wish us a good voyage, in the best conditions to reduce the risk of collapse of a bridge which I do not really trust elsewhere. If this is it, I promise next time to give him some coins. There are slamming the horseshoes of these carriages that ply the streets of the city. There is the sound of shutters and doors that open and close blurring awakened by the wind, announcing the imminent rain. There are sounds unknown to my stomach complaining and accusing me of having succumbed to my latest culinary curiosity.
As I wrote the examples are endless, all stand together in the first time in a new country, sometimes causing the dizziness in understanding the codes surrounding the hearing. Over time, it all seems more familiar, but sometimes like now for me, and it shifts reappear a reflection that I have time to conduct and share.
It is 2:50, St. Louis did not wake up because it was not asleep. Dutronc's song is out of context. But I always sleep.
It is 2:50, St. Louis did not wake up because it was not asleep. Dutronc's song is out of context. But I always sleep.