I will always remember my first ever night in Spain, in Mallorca, Manacor, to be precise. I probably knew three words in Spanish and one sentence (more about that later). After a day travelling and then meeting my friend’s friends, I was happy to be shown to a room where I could finally rest.
As I lay there, I listened to my friend, Juanito, and his friends talking vibrantly about I don’t know what. It was like music, rat ta tat and up and down and rolling rs and hhh from deep in the throat, I didn’t understand anything and I realised that I would never experience this again.
As of tomorrow, I would start learning words, so even if the majority remained a mystery, I would start to identify an ok (vale) or what? (que?) and possibly if an inflection denoted a question or statement. It was a precious moment and I drifted off to sleep lulled by these beautiful Spanish sounds.
Fast forward a few months. I like speaking and was starting to express myself in Spanish. I’d wanted to learn Catalan as it’s quite similar to French, but my friends told me Spanish would probably be more useful. It is. So, working in a bar at a night club, K1, I was delighted that I was getting loads of tips and many customers preferred to buy their drinks from me. That is until my boss, Martin, explained that when people asked me how I was, and it being summer I replied (proudly translated all on my own), “good thanks, but I’m very hot!”, “muy bien, gracias, pero estoy muy caliente!”, it was good for tips, but not for my reputation. I’ve never said I’m feeling horny, but that’s pretty much the translation. Tengo mucho calor, should you wish to address the heat.
A few years later, I was happily living in Gracia in Barcelona and buying some olives to take back to England as a present for my mum. Having chosen the nicest, I racked my brains for the word I needed and then went with a Spanish sounding version of the English word. It was from Latin, so probably right. Or not. The stall holder, also my neighbour, blushed crimson when I asked for preservativos to take back to the UK. He told me he didn’t have any and I mentioned
he’d given me some before from under his stall. It was only when I saw my Italian friend, Francesca, laughing hysterically, that I realised I should have asked for conservantes, not preservativos, or condoms as they’re more commonly known.
And of course, this works both ways. Teaching English in Barcelona, I was unsure how to reply when an adult student arrived late and apologised explaining, “Sorry I’m late. I had to go the doctor because I’m constipated”. “No problem!”, I replied. “Sit down, if it’s not too uncomfortable”, all the time marvelling at his lack of embarrassment. Spanish speakers, you have a cold, being constipated is something very different and you will be prescribed laxatives.
There have been many more mishaps, like asking a client in the restaurant where I worked if they’d like rice or salad with their ‘polla’ instead of ‘pollo’ (with their penis instead of their chicken). I strongly recommend doing at least a basic course in the language of where you’re
living.
As for my one sentence, I was able to use it on my third day. For some reason I’d learnt ‘me gustan las cuevas’, I like the caves. Imagine my joy when after visiting the spectacular caves in Porto Cristo (cuevas de Hams), full of stalactites and stalagmites, my friend asked me what I thought. “Me gustan las cuevas”, I replied. Correctly.