Exploring the Intriguing History and Ecology of Kangaroos and Camels | April 17 2025, 22:47

Interesting. It turns out that before Russia imposed a temporary ban on kangaroo meat imports, it consumed 70% of all kangaroo meat produced in Australia.

It turns out that not only do camels roam in Australia, but there are more of them than in Central Asia and the Middle East, and Australia actively sells them to Saudi Arabia, for instance. Moreover, camels were introduced to Australia from the Middle East by Afghans, who left quite a significant (and positive) mark on the history of Australia.

For example, here’s a photo of the Ghan train — it features a camel on its logo. This is no coincidence; it is actually named after those Afghans who brought the camels.

Also interesting is that camels are originally from our regions. Yes, the USA is, in fact, the homeland of camels. According to some estimates, camels first appeared in North America between 40 and 50 million years ago, and 3 million years ago, they crossed into Asia via a land bridge in the Bering Strait area, and then made their way to Africa. In recent years, convincing evidence has been found that these animals inhabited almost all of North America. And of course, the climate was different back then.

Moreover, I read that there is such a thing as “kangatarianism” — a practice of following a diet that excludes the meat of all animals except kangaroo, for environmental and ethical reasons.

Also, it turns out that there are tree kangaroos (Tree-kangaroo). Also, in English, a group of kangaroos is called “a mob” – a gang 🙂 However, in Australian English, mob is not used in the same connotation as “mafia” or “gang”. Indeed, a group of crows with their “murder of crows” isn’t too far off either.

Oh, how could I not mention etymology! There is a legend that the word “kangaroo” means “I don’t understand”. I thought so too until I looked into it.

Actually, “kangaroo” originates from the Guugu Yimithirr language, an Indigenous language of northern Australia, where gangurru specifically refers to a type of kangaroo. But it’s not that simple 🙂

It all starts when James Cook asked the Guugu Yimithirr what the animal was called — they answered gangurru, which did indeed denote it. The English borrowed this word as kangaroo.

Latter, half a century later, the etymology starts to get tangled. In 1820, a certain Philip King sailed along a river near Cook’s landing place and recorded a list of words from the local Guugu Yimithirr dialect. Everything matched Cook’s records — except for one word. When asked “what is that animal called?”, they didn’t answer gangurru, but minha. It means that Cook clearly made a mistake. If minha is “kangaroo”, then what is gangurru?

This is where the myth begins. Some begin to think: maybe Cook misunderstood? Maybe he asked about the animal, and they didn’t understand him — and gangurru meant “I don’t know”? This version is a fabrication, and it didn’t go further than speculation, but it’s a funny story, historically plausible, and it began to be repeated. Thus, it turned into a persistent legend.

Then the confusion reversed. “Kangaroo” — then and now — became the stereotypical word from the “aboriginal language”. Every European settler coming to Australia knew exactly one word from Guugu Yimithirr — and only that one. The problem is that there were hundreds of languages in Australia, many of which were weakly or not at all related to Guugu Yimithirr. They simply did not have the word gangurru or its equivalent.

That’s where the problems arose. For example, settlers arrived in the area of modern Sydney and tried to “communicate” with the local people, i.e., they just yelled “kangaroo” at them. This would hardly have helped, but it is important to remember the geography: the Guugu Yimithirr lived on the Cape York Peninsula, in the far north of Australia, and the Sydney aborigines — the Iora people, speaking Dharuk language — lived almost at the other end of the continent. They didn’t know what the word “kangaroo” meant, so they assumed the Europeans were particularly interested in their domestic livestock. When cows began to be unloaded from the ship, the locals asked: “Is this your ‘kangaroo’?”

Such is the story.

Also, it turns out, kangaroos are good swimmers. In the second photo, a kangaroo tail sold in our town. For the dogs to gnaw on.

Unraveling Danish Numerical Peculiarities | April 17 2025, 16:58

Today I learned something interesting about numbers. Turns out, the French are not the most convoluted when it comes to naming the tens up to a hundred. It seems the Danes hold that title.

In Danish, 92 is “tooghalvfems. It breaks down like this: “to” is two (2), “og” means and, and “halvfems” is 90. But why halvfems? halv means “half,” that much is clear. However, in this context, it’s not literally 0.5. When used with numbers ending in “-fems,” it signifies “minus half of the next multiple of twenty. Then comes fems: This is a shortened form of fem gange tyve, which means “five times twenty, thus, halvfems translates to “halfway into the fifth twenty”. The fifth twenty ranges from 80 to 100. Halfway equals 90 🙂

50 is “halvtreds” in Danish. Here “halv implies “halfway to the next multiple of twenty”. treds is the condensed form of tredje sinde tyve, which translates as “three times twenty, or 3 × 20 = 60. Thus, halvtreds can be understood as “halfway to sixty, that is: 60 – (0.5 × 20) = 60 – 10 = 50.

It’s clear that this is because of the vigesimal (base-20) numbering system.

I recalled the French because they too have 80 = quatre-vingts (four twenties), 90 = quatre-vingt-dix (four twenties and ten), 75 = soixante-quinze (sixty and fifteen).

P.S. Thanks to Timofey for the tip

Artists’ Circle Epiphanies: From Mastery to Obsession | April 13 2025, 18:51

I am generally interested in artists who have developed for many years in the techniques of traditional painting and drawing, and then had an epiphany about circles and spent the rest of their lives trying to explain it to us.

Including early Klimt, Mondrian, Picasso, Kandinsky

Interested, but not yet convinced

Impromptu Piano Requests and Sumino’s Rhapsody in Blue | April 13 2025, 17:34

The best thing to do when someone asks, “Can you play the piano? Play something!”

I’ve been listening to Hayato Sumino for the past two hours. His concert Rhapsody in Blue (Gershwin’s) is wonderful!

https://youtu.be/pHlqEvAwdVc?si=zpqqnKTugC-l5Fvn

Subtitle Struggles in Opera Streaming | April 13 2025, 01:00

I am currently listening to the opera “Samson and Delilah” on the paid Royal Ballet And Opera platform. The opera is in French with English subtitles. My first question — where are the French subtitles? So, if I’m a Francophone, I’m left with no options but to catch the meaning by listening alone? And there’s “Boris Godunov” which I haven’t listened to yet. I think I wouldn’t mind having subtitles there either.

Once again, I catch myself thinking that apparently, no one who translates librettos into English ever considers those who have to read them with one eye (the other must watch the stage).

By God, how can one immediately understand what “auspices” in “Let us consult the auspices // and pour the sacrificial wine for Dagon” mean if an ordinary person doesn’t normally come across the word “auspices” in English and won’t grasp its meaning on the fly? The original goes, “Du grand Dagon consultons les auspices // Versons pour lui le vin des sacrifices!”, but the original can be forgiven (although I am sure that modern young French speakers could also use subtitles).

Or take “Grant that my wiles may lead to Samson’s capture tomorrow.” Wiles? The word “wiles” in English is literary, archaic, or high style. It denotes tricks, cunning, deceitful strategies, especially in the context of enticement or manipulation. In the original French it’s “Fais que, vaincu par mon adresse, Samson soit enchaîné demain!” — well, couldn’t it have been translated as “Make it so that, defeated by my cunning, Samson shall be chained tomorrow!”

I found a translation by Frederic Lister from 1893. Those two lines are poetically and not super accurately translated there, but, damn, they are a million times clearer: “And reign supreme within his heart, // Binding him fast in my control.”

And there’s a lot of that good stuff. Okay, archaic words, but the sentences are also composed in a poetic style, which, to some extent, is fine because the spirit of the original must be conveyed. However, this does not make it any more accessible for the audience because again.. how can you understand what this “prostrate” is, while “Lying prostrate in the dust // we lifted up our voices to him” in half a second? Yes, lying prostrate means lying face down, but who generally knows that?

Damn, it would have been better to have French subtitles, that would have been more understandable.

Plus-tard, le front dans la poussiere,

Vers lui nous élevions la voix.

(meaning, “Later, with our foreheads in the dust, We lifted our voices to him.”)

Again, in Lister’s translation, although not close to the text, it is at least clearer – but then again, this translation is at least 130 years old.

I’m not pleased with the Royal Ballet And Opera. To read their subtitles, you need to specifically prepare.

And then, another interesting thing arises. It’s quite difficult to find the libretto of this opera. I will leave a link to the scans in the comments — try to find a good version of the text somewhere in the libretto. That is, the subtitles are skewed, and you can’t even find the original. One might ask, what prevented them from making a video player that would have French subtitles, poetic English translations, and modern English translations? They are charging money for it, and the work on preparing the subtitles is essentially a week of work for an Internet-connected specialist. I don’t know about the rights, but if they are showing the opera, they could definitely have put the original subtitles, and translations.. Well, I am sure that getting a proper translation commissioned or licensing an existing one wouldn’t be a problem.

Unveiling Surprising Etymological Connections | April 11 2025, 17:22

The seventh day of etymological excavation. Possibly the last—but who knows. The script still churns through dictionaries, and I continue to be amazed at how words distant in meaning can be close in origin.

Let’s start with something vivid. The words “peacock” and “crimson” are etymological relatives. “Peacock” entered Russian through German Pfäulein ← Pfau ← Latin pavō — “peacock.” And “crimson” is the color of a poppy in French ponceau, derived from paon (“peacock”), which also comes from pavō. Thus, “crimson” is essentially “peacock” color. Who would have thought.

“Apothecary” and “boutique” are etymological cousins. “Apothecary” comes from the Greek ἀποθήκη (“storehouse”). “Boutique” through Occitan and French, also from Greek, through Latin. One is about medicines, the other about dresses. But both are about “a place where something is stored and sold,” and both share the same ancestor.

“Lasso” and “lapel” are two words with opposite aesthetics, but share a common Latin ancestor laqueus — “noose, loop.” “Lasso” came through Spanish lazo → French lasso — pure cowboy stuff. “Lapel” came through the German Lätzchen, also pulling a thread from laqueus.

“Church” (kostel) and “chateau” might sound like the first is about Vilnius, the second about Bordeaux. In reality—both words come from the Latin castellum (“fortress”). “Church” came through Polish kościół — a church as a fortified building. “Chateau” — French castle, from the same source. Knights and priests—in the same etymological boat.

“Blackmail” and “chanson” have different meanings, but a common past. Both words trace back to Latin canō — “I sing.” “Chanson” directly means song. “Blackmail” through the French chantage, literally “singing” in the sense of “public disclosure” of something—i.e., compromising material. Didn’t know that, there’s a connection.

“Hyphen” and “motto” come from the Latin dīvidō (“to divide”), through different languages. “Hyphen” — “divider,” borrowed through German Divis. “Motto” — “slogan,” came from French devise. Both originally about division, but one divides words, the other—meanings.

“Sole” and “soil” are etymological twins. Both words come from Old Slavic подъшьва — “base, bottom.” One is in footwear, the other underfoot. Basically, the same: what you stand on. Come to think of it—logical.

“Hussar” and “course” are unexpected comrades in etymology. “Hussar” through Serbian gusar (“brigand”), from Latin cursus — “run, course.” Thus first: “fugitive,” then: “raider,” then: “hussar.” “Course” directly from cursus. All from the Latin verb currō — “to run.” Knights, universities, the currency market—all running.

The words “know,” “note,” “noble,” “cognition,” “notorious,” “gnosis,” etc., all in one form or another trace back to the Proto-Indo-European root ǵneh₃- — “to know, to recognize.”

“Cow” and “beef” are also twins: one from the Germanic root through Old English, the other from Latin bos through French boeuf. Historically from gʷṓws.

Decided to look for words ending in “age,” but not French. Found a dozen, but only “инструктаж” (“briefing”) passed the check. No instructage, of course, in French. More French morphology than French meaning.

Thank you for reading these posts all seven days. I think we can continue periodically, as more material accumulates.

Remember, all this was extracted through the automatic processing of an etymological dictionary. The script found words that were maximally distant in meaning but shared a common ancestor, plus filtered somewhat frequent words. Unfortunately, the dictionary is not perfect in marking and very much was omitted, but the result could be unhurriedly and not without pleasure processed.

Read more good stuff by clicking here –> #RaufLikesEtymology