In the summer of 1988, I had the unique opportunity to travel to Japan for the first time. A land steeped in ancient culture and modern innovation. My mission was straightforward yet daunting: to deliver a series of lectures to Japanese veterinarians about the latest advancements in veterinary neurology and neurosurgery. The catch? I didn't speak a word of Japanese, which meant relying heavily on a translator to bridge the communication gap.
The setup for each lecture was simple. I would articulate a few sentences and pause, allowing my translator time to convey my words in Japanese. I took to writing the more complex medical terms on a blackboard in colored chalk, which he mirrored in Japanese characters. Despite the straightforward setup, the speed at which he operated was astonishing - his chalk zipped across the board, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.
As the lectures progressed, peculiarities in the translation became apparent, turning our sessions into something of a linguistic comedy show. Whenever I offered a concise sentence, my translator would embark on what seemed like an epic saga in Japanese. Conversely, my lengthy explanations would be met with a translation brief enough to fit on a fortune cookie. I grew increasingly skeptical about the content reaching my audience - was I lecturing on veterinary medicine or inadvertently performing a stand-up routine?
With time, the lectures heated up – literally. An absence of air conditioning in the hall turned each session into a sweltering ordeal. The relentless heat seemed to fuel my translator’s dynamic, if not flamboyant, chalk performances.
As he translated, layers of clothing began to disappear; first his tie, then his jacket, and eventually his shirt, leaving him in just a singlet as he fervently scribbled away. His enthusiasm was undeniable, and as the temperature rose, he inadvertently took center stage behind the podium. Meanwhile, I found myself delivering the lecture from the sidelines, watching both the temperature and my translator's theatrical antics escalate.
The real punchline came during the Q&A session. When a question about brain tumors popped up, I was baffled. I hadn’t mentioned brain tumors during my lecture on spinal cord disorders!
Confronting my translator, I discovered his creative liberties in translation. His casual reply, "That's okay, I added some information of my own."
This was the cherry on top of our comedic adventure. To this day, I chuckle at the thought of what the veterinarians must have gleaned from those lectures. Interestingly, I was invited back the following year to give more lectures!
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