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11th ProZ.com translation contest: "Contemporary society" » English to Afrikaans » Entry by Collin Koortzen


Source text in English

Translation by Collin Koortzen (#14143)

We're accustomed to glamour in London SE26: Kelly Brook and Jason Statham used to live above the dentist. But when Anouska Hempel's heels hit the cracked cement of the parking space outside my flat, it's hard not to think of those Picture Post photographs of royalty visiting bombed-out families during the second world war. Her mission in my modest tract of suburbia is, however, about more than offering sympathy. Hempel—the woman who invented the boutique hotel before it bore any such proprietary name—has come to give me information for which, judging by the spreads in interiors magazines and anxious postings on online DIY forums, half the property-owners in the Western world seem desperate: how to give an ordinary home the look and the vibe of a five-star, £750-a-night hotel suite. To Hem­pelise, in this case, a modest conversion flat formed from the middle slice of a three-storey Victorian semi.

"You could do it," she says, casting an eye around my kitchen. "Anyone could do it. Absolutely no reason why not. But there has to be continuity between the rooms. A single idea must be followed through." She looks out wistfully over the fire escape. "And you'd have to buy the house next door, of course." That's a joke. I think.

...

It's worth pausing, though, to consider the oddness of this impulse. The hotel room is an amnesiac space. We would be troubled if it bore any sign of a previous occupant, particularly as many of us go to hotels in order to do things we would not do at home. We expect a hotel room to be cleaned as thoroughly as if a corpse had just been hauled from the bed. (In some cases, this will actually have happened.) The domestic interior embodies the opposite idea: it is a repository of memories. The story of its inhabitants ought to be there in the photos on the mantelpiece, the pictures on the wall, the books on the shelves. If hotel rooms were people, they would be smiling lobotomy patients or plausible psychopaths.
Ons is gewoond aan die bekoring van Londen SE26: Kelly Brook en Jason Statham het bokant die tandarts gebly. Toe Anouska Hempel se hakke egter op die gekraakde sement van die parkeerarea buite my woonstel val, was dit moeilik om nie aan daardie Picture Post-foto’s te dink van koninklikes wat uitgebombardeerde families gedurende die tweede Wêreldoorlog besoek het nie. Haar doel in my beskeie voorstedelike gebied behels egter meer as om bloot medeleie aan te bied. Hempel is die vrou wat die boetiekhotel uitgevind het nog voordat dit enigsins ‘n gelyke titel gedra het. Sy is nietemin hier om aan my inligting te gee waarvoor die helfte van eiendomsmagnate in die Westerse wêreld hul voortande sou gee as jy die inhoud van binnenshuise tydskrifte en angstige plasings op selfdoenforums in aanmerking neem: Hoe om ‘n gewone tuiste die voorkoms en karakter van ‘n vyfster, £750 per nag hotelsuite te gee. Vir Hempel in dié geval behels dit ‘n beskeie omwisseling van my woonstel na aanleiding van die middelsnit van ‘n drieverdieping, half-Victoriaanse struktuur.

“Jy kan dit doen,” sê sy terwyl sy my kombuis bespeur. “Enigeen kan dit doen. Absoluut geen rede hoekom nie, maar daar moet kontinuiteit tussen die kamers wees. ‘n Enkele idee moet regdeur gevolg word.” Sy kyk weemoedig oor die brandtrap. “En jy sal die huis langsaan moet koop, natuurlik.” Dis ‘n grap, dink ek...

Dis egter die moeite werd om stil te staan en die aardigheid van hierdie impuls te oorweeg. Die hotelkamer is ‘n spasie gepas vir ‘n geheueverlieslyer. Ons sou bekommerd wees indien dit enige tekens van ‘n vorige bewoner sou gee, veral omdat baie van ons hotelle besoek omrede ons sekere dinge graag daar wil doen wat ons normaalweg nie by die huis sou gedoen het nie. Ons verwag dat ‘n hotelkamer baie deeglik skoongemaak moet word asof ‘n lyk pas vanaf die bed gesleep is. (In sekere gevalle, sou dit in werklikheid gebeur het.) Die binnekant van ‘n huis weerspieël die teenoorgestelde: dit is ‘n bewaarplek van herinneringe. Die verhaal van sy inwoners behoort in die foto’s van die skoorsteenmantel, die foto’s op die muur en die boeke op die rakke te wees. As hotelkamers mense was, sou hulle glimlaggende breinchirurgie-pasiënte of aanneemlike psigopate gewees het.


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