I’m learning Spanish, not trying to offend you. Honest!

By Richard Morley.

I think it was Oscar Wilde who said, “Experience is the name we give to our mistakes”. Experience can be a good teacher, unless you are a politician, but that’s another story! I also think there’s some truth in saying the greater the mistake, the greater the learning possibility.

Actually, I would like to rephrase that: The greater the embarrassment potential within the mistake, the chances are much higher that the learner won’t ever repeat that mistake. Again with the caveat that this does not necessarily apply to politicians!

And what greater source of potential embarrassment could there be than that of attempting to communicate in another language.

In another post  I wrote a long time ago I high-lighted the danger of accent blindness when reading Spanish by confusing “Inglés” with “Ingles”. That the difference was explained to me before I committed the blunder publicly was a close shave indeed!

But that was a couple of years back. I have plenty of opportunities to disgrace myself linguistically since then.

How well I remember the time, when enjoying a coffee with a sweet lady in a crowded café, I declared quite loudly that a certain Spanish politician needed a penis. I meant to say he needed support. The word I needed was “Apoyo”, but I mispronounced and said something else entirely. Aforementioned sweet lady quickly amended my pronunciation.

And what confused mental dyslexia had me pointing out to the same sweet lady, while we were walking across a sunlit meadow, all the “testicles” running about in the field. Rabbits in Spanish are “conejos”. Bilingual anagrams are a minefield when you learn new vocabulary from reading and not from listening.

I am convinced the Spanish have so designed their language to get maximum humorous entertainment from us guiris as we stumble through their lexicon. I mean, what could be more innocent than wanting to lend a hand in the kitchen by declaring that you will sweep up the mess. The verb in question is “cepillar” (the double “ll” is pronounced like the y in yacht or young) – to brush, to sweep and in woodwork, to plane. If you check it on Wordrefernce.com those definitions are there plus the act of finishing something, cleaning the teeth, and, surprisingly, killing someone. It’s only at the bottom of the list you find, “vulg. Tener relaciones sexuales con alguien.” Yes, to have sex. Now tell me they haven’t done this on purpose!

Actually, I report that last with gleeful schadenfreude. Last week I was with a group of Spanish schoolteachers and one, as part of a presentation, gave us a talk on first aid and in particular, Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation; the method of using mouth to mouth breathing and chest compression to resuscitate a drowned or unconscious person or “CPR”. The way she pronounced those three letters had the Spanish members of her audience convulsed with lascivious laughter. These paragons of educational virtue took great delight in explaining the fun found in their colleague’s slight mispronunciation, particularly while demonstrating on a muscular, and quite handsome young man.

On a similar note, it is perhaps not a good idea to tell a lady you have only just met that you want to run away with her. The list of meanings in Wordreference for  “Correr” is quite extensive!

Now I know that Spanish ladies tend to speak their mind. “Eufemismo” exists as  almost the same word as “euphemism” in English, but it doesn’t seem to exist in practice. Spanish ladies do not call a spade a wooden handled digging device. I consider myself a man of the world. It takes a lot to shock me. But I was surprised when my female friends spoke about “making their bikini” or “working on their bikini”. All sorts of inappropriate visions came into my head. I am not the only one. When mentioning this to a newly arrived lady teacher from the UK, she too assumed waxing, shaving and unwanted hair was involved, when in fact it means no more than losing a bit of winter weight to look good in their swim wear.

It has got to the stage now that I am suspicious of new words – or new uses of old ones. If I come across a new idiom or hear a familiar word used in an unusual context my vulgarity antenna goes up. Not that it should worry me. See above, man of the world etc etc, but I do have some, shall we say, “old-fashioned” acquaintances who might be either shocked at the word / idiom, or embarrassed to explain it to me.

These words come from surprising sources. I have been working my way through the fictional autobiographical stories of eight year old Manolito Gafotas, who lives in Carabanchel (alto), a district of southwest Madrid.

The books were written by a Journalist, Elvira Lindo, in the nineties and quickly became a huge literary success, followed by a TV series, a couple of feature films and awards for Children’s literature. But in the books, when Manolito wishes to express his frustration he frequently uses the word “Joé”. My dictionary does not have this word. Neither does Wordreference. So I asked, because she was there, a lady of “a certain age” to tell me what it meant. She flustered and was a little embarrassed to explain that it was the kids’ version of “Joder”, the Spanish “F” word, used in much the same way that “Miércoles” replaces “Mierda” in children’s speech – at least when adults are listening. 

These stories have very quickly become classics of Spanish Children’s literature. I am sure that good parents the Spanish speaking world over buy these books for their children, or read the stories at bedtime. I hope they are ready to explain to their little darlings the meaning of some of the words. But I have struck this particular lady off my list of “Spanish explainers”. I would not wish to embarrass her again.

I could, of course, consult my copy of “Pardon my Spanish”, which is a complete guide to the less polite words of the Spanish lexicon and in which the words are graded from “Able to use in front of Granny” to “ONLY EVER use with close friends!”

Of course there less innocuous words to confuse. I remember a Dutch friends who asked an optician to check her “eights” (ochos) instead of her “eyes” (ojos). I recently told a dentist I had lost an “embalse” (dam) instead of an “empaste” (filling). The look of perplexity on his face was a sight to behold. Trying to be more clever than I actually am I thought baby pigeons ( little “palomas”) were a “palomitas”, which is really “popcorn”.

But it’s the big bloopers that stay in the mind. The ones with such embarrassing consequences you will never forget them.

Experience might be a hard teacher, but it’s a good one.

I have a PS, but it’s x-rated, so if you are of a nervous disposition do not read any further.

At one of the English Villages I attend, a rather straight-laced American lady had bitten the inside of her cheek while eating and this had raised a painful blister. Finding out, illegally, from one of the students that the word for blister is “empolla” (but not quite hearing it correctly) she visited a pharmacy and explained she had “a polla” in her mouth, while jabbing a finger in and out of her open mouth to demonstrate. The student nearly collapsed in laughter, particularly when retelling the tale later. “Polla” (pronounced poy-ya) is slang for penis. The student reported the pharmacists was quite surprised!

You continued reading, didn’t you. I told you not to!

What embarrassing mistakes have you made?? 

Accent the positive

By Richard Morley.

Learning Spanish can be a minefield.

It’s not what you say, it’s the way that you say it, as the song says.

Let’s take an example: everyone who reads this blog is reading in English. Those from the UK could say, in Spanish, “Yo soy inglés”, “I am English”, because “Inglés” means “English”, right? Notice the accent mark over the e, because sometimes I don’t!

So, I was intrigued to see that one of the local hairdressing salons advertises a particular style called an “Ingles”, and I wondered what sort of hairstyle constituted an “English” And like the supreme (and naïve) idiot that I am, asked the lovely lady who is attempting to turn me into a Spanish speaker, about this particular form of hairstyling.

I didn’t think she was ever going to stop laughing. Now I like to make people happy, but I do like to know why, and here I had obviously asked something incredibly silly. I could feel the embarrassment creep over my face. What had I said?

Eventually seriousness was restored and my blush of embarrassment faded. Only to immediately return when she stood up in the crowded café and, in that very direct manner that Spanish women have, using her hands with the thumbs extended and brought together to form a triangle, indicated exactly where the hairdresser would have been busy with the scissors – or more likely, with the wax. This style has less to do with being English and more to do with being Brazilian, if you understand what I mean. My female readers will know exactly.

The “Ingle”, pronounced “In-glay”, with the stress on the first syllable and no written accent, refers to the groin area. Ouch! On second thoughts, I am so glad I asked my friend and did not enter the salon and enquire. I probably would have had to move barrios due to the embarrassment! Although I do wonder why the word is pluralised. Piernas – Legs, ok, there are two; Axilas – armpits, fine, another plural pair. So why “Ingles”? Do women have more than one?

The reason is that I have accent blindness. That is my official excuse. The real one is that I am not reading the Spanish words carefully enough and because of this, I am not putting the stress in the right place and that can drastically, and mortifyingly, change the whole meaning of the word.

Look, I’m sorry. I started this article with probably the most innocuous of these vocal vergüencitas. (Little embarrassments.) This post can only go downhill from here. Readers of a nervous or sensitive disposition should immediately stop now.

For the rest of you who now follow me into this world of degradation and humiliation I direct your attention to any driver of a station wagon bearing the label, “Pajaro”. Mitsubishi should have put an accent over the first “a”, which puts the stress in the right place, “PA – haro”. With the accent the word just means “bird”, but without it the word would be spoken like another Spanish word, “Pajero”, which refers to a man who enjoys a great sex life - without the need of another person! In fact, an Australian website on car driving actually makes that particular spelling mistake. I hope that new owners don’t enjoy it too much!!

Many are the cautionary tales of confusing the word for chicken “Pollo” (remember that the double l in Spanish is pronounced like a y in yacht,) with “Polla”, which is a slang term of a part of male anatomy. Be careful what you order in your favourite Madrid restaurante.

And while on that subject, I recently heard a politician thanking another for his support, and the word for that is “Apoyar”. Go on, say it out loud, remembering what I just wrote in the previous paragraph. When I used it during a conversation in a very public café, I was quickly told that to avoid a terrible misunderstanding, I really should put lots of stress on the last syllable. Imagine how what that politician said could be misconstrued and splashed as a governmental sex scandal.

I am pleased that I am not the only one to make these humiliating blunders. A friend tells me when she asked a male friend if she could use his comb and instead of the word for comb coming out as “Pe-in-e”, her friend heard “Pe-ne”. She only realised her mistake when the guy, with a huge grin, began to unzip his jeans. She won’t make that error again!

Recently, in research for the Linear City post, I went out looking for the route of an old stream and told a friend I had been looking for an “Arroyo”. However, one of the many meanings of “rollo” (Remember the double l sound) is a romantic liaison or affair, and she had heard that I spent the afternoon looking for “a rollo”, or a little (temporary) love in my life. She took great delight in correcting my speech.

These misunderstandings can cross-linguistic boundaries. I remember listening to a sad tale from a very prim and proper Spanish woman who was speaking in English. I shook my head in sympathy and sighed as I remarked, “Oh dear”. I saw her visibly stiffen and pause in her speech. “What did you say”, she asked. “Oh dear”, I repeated, without the sigh. What she thought I had said was the Spanish word, “Joder”, which translates into English as the F word. No wonder she was shocked.

But back to my “accent blindness”. It didn’t take me long to realise that the use of accents in Spanish is very, very important. Luckily, I have a Spanish keyboard and have no problems with typing them. Those without that luxury, but who wish to write in Spanish, must be very careful.

Each year on January the First, I receive many mails wishing me a “Feliz ano nuevo”. Or on my birthday “Muchos anos mas”. The writers are, of course, thinking they are wishing me a happy new year and many more years. BUT, the Spanish for year is “Año”. Please notice what is called the tilde above the n – it IS important. You see, the word “ano” does exist in Spanish, and to put it nicely it refers to the part of the body applied to the chair when you sit down. So, while it might be nice to be wished a “happy” one, I don’t need piles of them. (And yes, the pun is intended!)

So I must resolve to be careful, and not make a silly ano of myself. Now that really would be embarrassing!

If you enjoyed this post, or even if you thought it the worst thing you have ever read, please add a comment in the space below. Er, due to something not working right in blogger, you may have to enter it a second time.