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Mi promesis al unu de miaj gelegantoj rakonti, kiel mi telefonparlis esperante.
The year was 1991, near the end of my time at college in the States. I had recently discovered Usenet and was spending many hours every day reading various groups and posting to them. One day the phone in my room rang. A voice I didn't recognise inquired if it was Mr – followed by a typical American guess as to what my name and surname sound like – and, when I replied in the affirmative, broke into a flood of strange speech that was almost intelligible, yet not instantly recognisable, something Romance- and Germanic-sounding at the same time, but not anything I could think of. My agonising attempts to identify the language were ended by the spoiler that came from the receiver.
The year was 1991, near the end of my time at college in the States. I had recently discovered Usenet and was spending many hours every day reading various groups and posting to them. One day the phone in my room rang. A voice I didn't recognise inquired if it was Mr – followed by a typical American guess as to what my name and surname sound like – and, when I replied in the affirmative, broke into a flood of strange speech that was almost intelligible, yet not instantly recognisable, something Romance- and Germanic-sounding at the same time, but not anything I could think of. My agonising attempts to identify the language were ended by the spoiler that came from the receiver.
‘soc.culture.esperanto …’( What happened next, and how it happened, and what E-o is like )
