Schadenfreude and Scottish Lochs

One of the things I relish about reading and writing this lovely language of ours, is how happily we pinch words from far flung foreign tongues. Schadenfreude, for instance. A great German word, which for interested fact finders, actually translates as harm pleasure. Has slipped into the English language as smoothly as a knife into porridge. Filling an otherwise, hard to fill, niche. Which, of course, is itself another foreign loan word. Niche, from the French, nicher. Meaning, to nest. As in, the thing birds do. Like many of the finer words in life, it was originally dreamt up by the Romans. Sigh. Such soft, sweet words. Another excellent thing they did for us. Along with roads, underfloor heating, aqueducts and the life of Brian.

If you are wondering what has got me musing on the usefulness of such things, allow me to explain. It all started when I went up to Scotland, to visit a dear old friend who has fashioned himself a mighty fine niche indeed. An old church on the Isle of Arran, which he and his wife have converted into a superb space for them and their family. 

After arriving and spending a suitable amount of time billing and cooing over their accommodation, my mate and I decided it was necessary to head off and do some island exploring. Was my first ever trip to the Scottish Highlands and Islands. Don’t think it will be my last. Wowser. What a cracker! When the sun shone and the temperatures climbed, would have been easy to believe we were on some far flung Caribbean Island.  

The scenery was superb, the facilities were uber fine and the opportunities for posh nosh were all over the place. At times like these, I like to think about the sourdough index. How far you have to travel to find a sourdough loaf and maybe a really nice cup of coffee. In this case and on this island, have to say, the sourdough index was most impressive. The amount of bijou bakeries, breweries, distilleries and eateries was up there with the trendiest parts of anywhere in the UK. But I digress.

Point is, after a four wheeled tour round the coastline in his Landrover, my mate decided it was time for us to go up. Up country, that is. Literally. He decided we should take a stroll up to a nearby mountain loch, see what was what. So we packed a picnic, along with swimmers and towels, then set off.

With the sun on our backs, along with our rucksacks, we went for a gentle uphill leg stretch, heading for a glacial bowl in the mountains, filled with a drop dead gorgeous, fresh water, loch. It was a joy to be there, soaking up the scenery and breathing in the joy of being alive.

As we walked, we talked. Which is where words suddenly came into the story. You see, we’re both into the thrills and spills of cold water swimming, which is why we had packed our swimmers. Obviously. But as so often with life. It’s not an entirely straight forward pastime. 

Dipping your almost naked body, into a body of really rather chilly water feels truly amazing, life affirming, awesome. Everyone should try it. Really they should. At least once. But. Here’s the kicker. It only feels that way, AFTER you have gone and got yourself completely wet. From head to toe and back again. Until that moment, it feels like you are about to do something completely and utterly nuts. 

All of which means that as we skipped up that spectacular mountain side, heading for a dip with destiny, in water that we just knew would be bone numbingly cold, we were both filled with a strangely conflicted emotion. We were very much looking forward to how good we would feel during and after the event. But, we were also both riven by a mild sense of unease. Knowing that the first few moments in the water would be a wee bit beastly bad. In other words, we knew that to get to the good side of life, we had to pass through a coldwater curtain of discomfort. 

What’s worse, is that we couldn’t think of a word to describe what we were feeling, a fearful anticipation of pain followed by pleasure. Hmm. At times like these, the obvious language to look to, would seem to be German. They’re good at that sort of thing. And since we couldn’t think of a suitable word, we decided to go full on Germanic and make one up from a load of littler words. 

So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you,  “Angstfreuden.” Fears-joys. That feeling of knowing good times are on there way, after the bad ones. No idea if it’ll catch on, but I don’t care. I’m onboard the angstfreuden train and all feels fine and dandy. No angstfreuden for me.

Until next time, all the best

Stan

ps. If you’ve got any better suggestions, I’m all ears and eagerness. Do get in touch.