Heard in Iceland

We’ve just returned from Iceland, and the Icelandic language truly challenged me. Between the 32-letter alphabet and their unique pronunciations, my usually good ear for languages struggled! Icelandic eliminates English letters C, Q, W, and Z, and it adds a few others that we don’t use on this side of the pond: Á, É, Í, Ó, Ú, Ý, Ð (eth), Þ (thorn), Æ, and Ö. Each has its own pronunciation, and it’s easier for you to look them up than for me to explain them.

The vowels didn’t give me too many problems, as long as I had my trusty pronunciation chart to discern accented or umlauted from unmarked vowels. I quickly figured out how to pronounce “eth” and “thorn” when deciphering our tour leader Guðrun’s name, road signs, and snack labels. Ya gotta ask for the candy by name, right? I even felt confident with consonants that started words and a few of them that were in the middle and/or ends of words. I mostly did not know what I was saying, but it was fun attempting to read aloud.

The one consonant combination that made no sense, at first, but grew to be fun to speak is the double L. Because it is two letters, it is technically a digraph. We’re not going deeply into the technicalities of phonemes, but I will discuss the sounds I heard and eventually learned to make.

An Icelandic Guide with Two Ls

In Reykjavik, we took a food and culture tour. Thanks to handy maps from the lovely bus terminal lady (takk fyrir mig), we easily found the meeting point at Hlöllabátar the Sandwich Shop. We read it as “Holoollabatter” at that point. It rolled off our tongues. Hey, we’re speaking Icelandic. Then we met our giant, white-bearded, wild-haired, retired fisherman guide Paull who was about to shatter our pronunciation hubris.

I pointed out that my husband was also Paul. “Yes, the same, but not the same,” pseudo-Santa Paull told us. He repeated his name multiple times, and he had a hearty laugh at our attempts to copy him. “Keep trying,” he exhorted.

When it became obvious we were not going to be successful without further tutoring, he said, “You need to make a sound like a soft K or a click with extra air at the backside of your tongue.” (I didn’t know my tongue had a backside till Paull enlightened me.) Only then did we all start to hear what seemed like a soft, lateral K at his name’s end: “Paulk.” Most of our American tongues failed miserably, so he laughed and told us to just call him Paul. He had lived in New England for a bit, so he was used to hearing it without his native soft K sound.

This double L toyed with us in words like “tröll” (exactly what you think that word means) and “fjall” (mountain). We felt totally cool when we mastered those.

Ll in Spanish

The sound of double L in Spanish depends on the dialect you’re speaking/hearing. In most American Spanish-language classes, we are taught to pronounce the double L combo like a Y. The verb “llorar” (to cry) is pronounced “yorar.” The Spanish word for chicken is “pollo,” pronounced “poyo.” However, this is only true if you are in Spain or parts of Mexico, Central America, and/or South America. If you are in Argentina or Uruguay, that double L will sound like “sh.” Just to make things even more complicated, in lots of different Spanish-speaking countries, that double L sounds like “jjjjjj.”

Ll in Welsh

The Welsh double L makes no vocal sound. It’s just air. The tip of the tongue goes to the roof of the mouth right behind the top teeth, then you blow air out the sides of your tongue. Depending on how enthusiastic your air flow is, it can puff your cheeks a bit. No vocal sounds. No humming. No clicking. No lateral K sound. Just air.

Simple Welsh words with this digraph include “llan” (hand) and “arall” (other or another). Simple, right? Sure...

Words to Try

Try saying the Icelandic ice-capped mountain’s name: “Eyjafjallajökull.”  Sure, you need to research how to say a few other letters but look at that beautiful letter combo at the end!

Take a stab at the Spanish word: “Acuchillamiento.” It actually means the act of stabbing.

Say the Welsh town name: “Llanfairpwllgwyngyll.” Makes you want to move there, doesn’t it?

Keep trying. Paull and I will wait by the sandwich shop whose name I still cannot pronounce.