For Grumpy Bums. Learning Spanish (7) Talavera, Spain, 1981
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
The man who lives on the same floor as me is walking quickly across the busy road, all
dressed up in his suit and tie. I don't care for him much and I'm glad he doesn't notice me. Whenever I meet him and his wife, he never says anything, doesn't even make eye contact. But, whenever I see him without his wife, he ogles at me, licks his lips, and grins at me like some horrific clown out of a surreal circus.
"You're very pretty. Very pretty. I love your blond hair." His eyes glaze over as he fondles the gigantic knot in his tie and scratches his crotch.
I wouldn't mind it so much if he acted this way in front of his wife. Instead, any time she's around he's demure, as if butter wouldn't melt in his hot, gaping mouth.
It's so frustrating not knowing what to say to someone who rubs you the wrong way. No pun intended. I stay well back, that way no physical contact can possibly take place. Well, maybe a good whack on his chubby cheeks I could live with!
Words such as idiota, sin vergüenza, gilipollas come to mind. Váyase a la mierda, viejo verde, me cago en tus muertos also come to mind. That last expression I learned when I first arrived in Spain. I was told it was another way of saying 'how are you?'. I actually believed this! Lol. Better not to use it. You can always just think the words, without actually saying them. Cabrón, necio, zopenco, soso, pendejo are all useful words that come in handy to describe someone who's a real pain in the butt. You need to say them as if you REALLY mean them. That's the fun part.
Mujeriego is a word I hear a lot. Guess in what context? When people are talking about the king! Who knew? He's apparently quite a womanizer. They also call him a borracho. He does look as if he’s been slapping back a few any time you see photos of him ogling at Princess Diana. I think viejo verde is a good way to describe him. Not that he's a green old man, but rather a dirty old man. Just like that neighbour of mine. I haven't actually said ''váyase a la mierda" to him for it does seem a bit rude. I don't normally tell people to go to hell. I could say to him, "No me moleste". That does sound tame, though, considering he bothers/annoys me a great deal, especially when he's on his own. Yes, people like him me da la lata. So there. In fact, I would say unequivocally that he me fastidia. That’s much stronger, and quite an adequate description.
You know what's odd about using verbs such as gustar and fastidiar? You really have to think hard about how to conjugate them. What exactly is the subject? Ha ha. That's the part that causes frowns and snarls. Me gusta el zapato. Me gustan los zapatos. The shoe and the shoes are the subject.
And what's this about a mí también? A mí también me gusta ir de compras. That little 'a' is there. It really is. To me also, to me is pleasing to go shopping. It's SO much easier just to say I also like to go shopping. Now, what on earth do we say if someone DOESN'T like something and you want to agree? She doesn't like the neighbour, and neither do I. A ella no le gusta el vecino y a mí tampoco.
I used to think I sounded Japanese whenever I'd say 'tampoco'. It just has a certain Japanese ring to it.
Every Saturday there's an open air market here in Talavera. One day I bought myself a wee birdie. I really did. I'm afraid he didn't last long. Por Dios! I think he only lived for a few days. I guess he was ill or frail when I bought him. That odd-looking fellow who sold me the bird was some hijo de puta, son of a bitch, an engañoso who deceived me. This calls for that really good expletive, hostia. I sometimes mutter hostia a lot, especially when I see people at the market put their elbow on the scale when their weighing my tomatoes. “Hostia”. I probably say it too often, but I like the sound of it. Don’t forget that the ‘h’ is silent. And, keep in mind that it’s pretty strong.
There’s that funny, annoying woman I see at the bus stop each day. She's always dressed up in a suit with a frilly blouse or some elegant dress, high heels, tons of make-up, gold rings and necklaces. You get the picture. Apparently she's cursi. Maybe it's something along the lines of fur coat and nae breeks? Gosh, and here was I just thinking that I’m not that much of a grumpy bum. I guess I really am a gruñona!
When estoy de mal humor, when I’m in a bad mood, I eat lots of garlic washed down with lovely red wine. But, that’s another story.
Grumpy or not, the best way to learn expressions and descriptions is by listening to the words of the local people. Listen and observe. You don't have to fully understand, you don't have to agree, and you don't have to repeat. You don’t even have to look up the dictionary to get the English definition. Nope. Just accept, and marvel at the beauty of the words.
Thank you for stopping by. If you'd like to read more about life in Spain in the seventies and eighties please click on http://www.spanishinterludes.wordpress.com
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One Giraffe and a Movie, Rota, Spain, 1972
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
You never know how an evening will turn out. You can start off alone watching a movie, then all of a sudden, boom, things change. It happens a lot here, in Rota. Things simply evolve, right before your very eyes.
If you live in Rota long enough you soon learn that an evening isn't complete without a visit to the outdoor movie theatre. It's a popular place for teenagers, children, grannies, old aunties, for anyone just wanting something different to do rather than sit on their balcony or patio. It's always hot at night. Even with all the windows open in your apartment, the heat never really dissipates. You might as well be out and about for it's difficult to sleep what with mosquitoes biting you just when you're about to doze off, and the blaring of "Baby Don’t Get Hooked Get On Me” emanating from nearby bars. The American sailors frequent these bars. You can see them strolling along, tossing their Vantage or Winston cigarette butts onto the dirt road. Some of them could be models for the Marlboro Man, wide as their shoulders are.
It's such a foreign experience meeting military personnel, hearing about people being killed in Vietnam. Since I don't drink beer for breakfast, and I'm not counting the days to when I go home it seems to me that I don't have much in common with the Americans at all. Hmm. Maybe I do have one thing in common with the Americans. We both like to discover new places to get cheap wine. In fact, I know a place where you can get a litre of wine for 25 pesetas. I'll drink to that!
Any time I turn up at the local outdoor theatre the place is teeming with excited teenagers and children all yelling and giggling. The small boys' short trousers are so long that they meet their knees, and their shirts look like girls' blouses. The girls wear these really long dresses that end around their ankles. Their dainty crocheted socks seem to cry out "I'm loved! Everyone loves me!" The adults sit patiently on uncomfortable, wobbly seats, smoking Ducados, chattering loudly all at the same time as they wait for the movie to begin. Americans don't generally go to the local outdoor movie theater. They have their own movie theatre on the Naval Base where they can watch films in English, and where they eat huge amounts of buttered popcorn, or so I'm told.
It just so happens that the place where I'm staying is located adjacent to the outdoor movie theatre. Now, I don't object at all to paying my entry fee, buying bags of cacahuetes and pipas, and sitting on a hard metal chair. I don't even mind when people stare at me. They can't figure me out, that's why they always stare at me. I'm not American and I'm not Spanish, nor, by the way, in case you're wondering, am I a whore. Not that I mind whores. I just don't want to ever be considered one.
What I like to do many times is multi-task. I like to watch a movie and do other things at the same time, something you can't really do if you're sitting in the middle of a crowd of people all staring with big eyes at the large screen. I was fair chuffed when I discovered that if I climb up on the tiny kitchen counter and carefully position a nice comfortable wee stool, and if I sit up as straight as straight can be on the wee stool, lengthen my neck like a giraffe and peek out the top of the window, I can see the movie! Ha ha. “Fiddler on the Roof” is a great movie to watch when multi-tasking. Topol, who plays the main character, is constantly bursting into song as he dances around as if he has something stuck up his rear end. So, when I get fed -up with him I clamber down off the kitchen counter and check the toilet. Yes, it's quite important to see how much water is in the cistern. Many times the water just simply stops running for no reason, so you better be careful when considering all things plumbing. If there is actually water, it's best to avail yourself of the toilet whether you need to or not.
 I usually check the taps as well. It's always a delight to turn on a tap and see water trickling. It's a constant surprise. I splash my face and neck, trying to cool down. Whilst Topol is singing "If I were a Rich Man" with all his little heart, a tape of “Everybody Plays the Fool” cheers up the rowdy crowd in the bar across the road and echoes in the hot evening air. Midst the rabble and cacophony of loud voices singing at the top of their lungs I figure I have time to make myself a bocadillo before Topol's next scene. I like doing several things at the same time. Busy hands are happy hands, or something like that. Then I climb back on the kitchen counter, plonk myself down on the wee stool and peer out the window at "Fiddler on the Roof". As I steady myself by placing one foot in the sink, I feel as if I'm on the brink of a new adventure. Somehow my crunchy bocadillo de jamón york tastes even better than normal. It's like being on a picnic in some exotic location. Maybe I was a giraffe in a former life? That's why I'm so good at stretching my neck to peer out the window at the movie. Gosh, then who knows what awaits behind the next palm tree, or even the next sand dune?!
Someone's at the door? Just when I'm all comfy and enjoying myself I have to jump down off the kitchen counter and answer the door. Who could it be?
He has to be an American. Short blond hair, large white teeth and chewing gum, he's certainly not Spanish.
"Do I know you?" If I do, I don't remember him.
"Yeah. We met at a party last week-end."
"Okay." I met loads of people at the party last week-end. Hmm.
"You said you lived next to the outdoor movie theater. And, well, here I am."
"Here you are." I take another bite of my delicious bocadillo and chew it rapidly.
"Are you ready? For the movies? I got a pass for you to go on the Base."
Oops. Now I remember. His name is John, or Jim, or James, something like that. And he had talked about how he could get me a pass to go to the movies on the Base. A movie in English! Not bad. I must have sounded really enthusiastic, for here he is, complete with pass. Not only that, his face is so shiny clean, and it looks as if he's wearing a brand new shirt.
"I'll be ready in a tick." I figure I ought to pay a visit to the toilet to check if there's still water. Force of habit. There again, maybe there isn't a problem with water on the Base. That would be great to use the bathroom whenever, to turn on a tap and have constant running water. I've even heard that there's air conditioning on the Base. I bet you people don't have to sleep at night with their windows wide open, with mosquitoes zooming around.
“They’re showing “Fiddler on the Roof”."
I try not to choke. "Em. I was just watching it when you came. It's almost finished."
Oh, John, Jim, or James, or whatever you name is...sorry.
He looks disappointed, shuffles his feet and plays with the long lapel of his shirt.
"But only in Spanish. It will be lovely to watch it in English." I reassure him.
Constant running water, cisterns that flush, air conditioning, things are looking good. Plus, he does seem a really nice person.
"My name is Shawn, by the way, in case you don’t remember." He stretches out his hand as if to shake mine. "We can go bowling after the movie, if you'd like, then get a bite to eat."
"I've never bowled before."
"It's easy. You won't have any problem." It's his turn to reassure me.
It just goes to show. You never know what's going to happen next, how an evening will turn out. I wonder what else might evolve? Ha ha. Stay tuned!
Hola,
P.S. Perhaps someone can confirm whether movies were dubbed in Spanish back in 1972, or whether they simply had subtitles? I seem to recall that the movies I saw in the Province of Cadiz were in English, but had subtitles in Spanish. I could be wrong, which is why I mention in this post about how I saw "Fiddler on the Roof" in Spanish. BTW my husband and I saw "Jaws" in Cadiz in the early seventies. He's not sure either if that movie was in English or Spanish. Saludos!
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