A Splash of Mediterranean Romance

Lately, it seems every conversation I have with someone back home contains some enquiry as to whether I’ve managed to locate a nice Spanish girl during my travels here.

Those of you who know me well are probably bracing yourselves for the inevitable tirade along the lines of a) girls are dumb b) romance is stupid and c) the last thing I need is to get stuck in a city I have no intention of staying in long term.

Furthermore, clearly my chief tools in any such hypothetical campaign are going to be my wit, charm and uncanny way with words, all of which are stunted in the European context by my lack of dialectal fluency, which leaves me with the coherence and vocabulary of the average footballer. I’m forced (hypothetically) to rely purely on my rugged good looks and sheer animal magnetism. And that’s going to be a low percentage shot, whichever way you measure it.

So to hell with it. Unfortunately I can’t provide any truthful or even believable tales of exotic European romance, so I hereby submit the following as a place holder until such time as I can get my actual act together (you may be waiting a while – get over it).

I had considered putting the transcript down in the original native Spanish, but in light of the difficulties this would likely create for you, the reader and also the fact that I’m not actually capable of such a cross-linguistic feat just yet, you’ll just have to use your imagination and picture the following conversation taking place in fluent Spanish.

Susana: Hey there cutie. It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?
Garry: Good morning. Are you having a nice time?
Susana: I’m having a great time. What do you think of the decorations? I think they’re a bit over the top.
Garry: Yes.
Susana: …
Garry: …
Susana: …
Garry: This wine is very nice. Would you like some?
Susana: Yes. Thankyou.
Garry: …
Susana: …
Garry: …
Susanna: So what part of England are you from?
Garry: No. I’m from Streyer.
Susana: From where?
Garry: ah ooh strah lee ah
Susana: Oh! Australia.
Garry: Yeah.
Susana: I really want to go there. What part of Australia?
Garry: I’m from Darwin.
Susana: Is that near Sydney?
Garry: Not really, no.
Susana: …
Garry: …
Marlena: Hi Susie. What’s happening?
Susana: Mazza! It’s been far too long. I hope your sister has recovered from the mild case of Typhoid fever she contracted a few months ago during her prolonged sojourn on the sub-continent.
Garry: Hello.
Susana: Oh, yeah, Marlena, this is … what’s your name again?
Garry: I am called Garry.
Susana: He’s from Australia. Near Sydney.
Marlena: I’ll bet he is. Actually I came over to find out why you’re talking to him, you bitch.
Susana: Eh?
Garry: What?
Marlena: You know very well that I saw him first, and that I called dibbs on him from the other side of the room.
Garry: What?
Susana: You called dibbs? What are we, like 14 years old?
Marlena: Ah well, I’m going to have to open up a can of whoop-ass on you now.
Susana: Bring it on, bitch!
Oxfam Girl: Alright you two, break it up. He’s here with me.
Garry: ¡Chica Oxfam! ¿Que demonios haces aqui?
Oxfam Girl: I’m here to rescue you from getting your arse kicked by two angry Spanish girls.
Garry: But…
Oxfam Girl: Come on. I’ve a got an escape blimp parked out the back.
Garry: Freaking typical. Even when I write the romance myself I don’t get anywhere.
Oxfam Girl: Shut up and get in the blimp.
Garry: You know… something about this whole scenario just doesn’t make sense.

Far from home




Garry with 2 Rs

Espangrish

I’ve been experimenting lately with the culinary delights of the Chinese takeaway around the corner from my flat in Madrid. Yes, much like Irish bars and American fast food franchises, it seems there isn’t a major city in the world in which one can’t find a Chinese restaurant within a couple of blocks of any given point on the map.

Another universal feature of world culture is that, wherever they are, Asian people have difficulty distinguishing between their /l/s and their /r/s. At the risk of sounding racially intolerant, I can assure you that this is just as funny in Spanish as it is in English. And it’s doubly hilarious when one reads a menu which has been translated from Mandarin into Spanish, and then translated by Chinese people from Spanish into English underneath, resulting in a brand new dialect which I’m going to call “Espangrish”.

Apologies to anyone who doesn’t have enough Spanish/popular culture to get the following series of humorous anecdotes. Just take my word for it; they’re hilarious.

The special of the day was “noodles with three delicious”. I didn’t have the nerve to ask “three delicious what?” so I just went with the old classic “Arroz Frito con Pollo” (it’s Aloz Flito you plick!)

The best bit came when I paid for it. Admittedly, I still have quite a bit of trouble with Spanish numbers, especially when they’re said too fast. But I was pretty sure something had gone horribly wrong when the assistant charged me “telez con coa lente”. It took me three tries to realise the price was “tres con cuarenta” (that’s three forty if you’re playing along at home).

So I finally got my fried rice, and it wasn’t too bad, especially given Spain’s relative distance from China as compared to Australia’s. And I was absolutely stoked to find someone in Madrid who speaks Spanish worse than I do.

Far from home




Garry with 2 Rs