Learning a Language for Love

Ven, gorda, que te voy a dar un beso. Enrique held his arms outstretched as I let the words slowly formulate a sentence in English in my head.

When they did, I pivoted and strode into the bedroom, pouting as I sat on his unmade bed. Masked between a coax and the promise of a kiss, my new boyfriend had just called me fat.

When Enrique and I had met several months before, I was having a friend over for dinner at my flat. The smell of burnt tortilla de patata – and the smoke that accompanies it – wafted through my small place as I rushed to pick up a roommates’ notes and textbooks, cursing myself for deeming Arrested Development more important than cleaning. As I used a wet rag to dissipate the smoke, a buzz came from the telefonillo.

“Um, hey, hola,” I said clumsily into the speaker. The voice that came from the other end was masculine, not that of the other girl I’d invited.

Kike knocked on the door twenty seconds later, wielding a bottle of whiskey and a half-drank bottle of Coke. “This is for the party,” he quipped.

As we ate burnt tortilla, potato chips, cured meats and cheese that night, I marveled at how he could partake in conversations with me in English, my Spanish roommate in his native tongue and German with my other roommate.

“Yeah, I’m also learning Arabic,” he told me later that night.

Over the next few months, our bilingual texting and tapas grew more serious. I learned pillow talk in Spanish and corrected his preposition use in English, confessing to him that I didn’t think I’d ever get a good handle on castellano or even start learning a third.

Don’t word, guapa, practice is the one thing that makes a tongue perfect, he said in his smooth Spanish. Leaning in close, I kissed him hard. Pulling away, he laughed. “No, no, no,” he said in between belly laughs, “I mean that practicing speaking Spanish will help you improve!” The word  lengua means both tongue in your mouth and tongue that you speak.

Was it any surprise that the first time he told me he loved me, he did it in English so that I wouldn’t get confused? Those three little words were shouted over the pumping music of a discoteca, but I got the message loud and clear.

I often ask my students why they’re studying English. Most say to be able to travel and communicate, or to have better job prospects. In coming to Spain, I would have answered the same. But after falling for a Spaniard, it was clear: I would learn a language for love.

After fuming over the gorda comment, I finally got tough and confronted him. Um…tú eresmuy mean. He laughed and between breaths said, “This laugh? It’s called a carcajada!”

Always quick to point out a new word.

When he calmed down, he explained that gorda was a pet term that people give to one another often, the same as feo (ugly), rey (king) and pequeño (small one). I had a lot of studying to do.

As our relationship has evolved, so have my tastes for Spanish food, the destinations on my Been There list and the number of experiences we’ve been able to share together – often in two languages. His handle of English and willingness to learn more has allowed him to entertain my best friend while I had strep throat during her visit, understand both football and baseball and say hello to my parents on Skype each weekend.

At an American’s friend’s wedding to her Spanish mate last year, she read her vows in Spanish for his family to hear; he did the same in English for hers. I was too busy wiping my tears away as gracefully as possible to remember exactly what he said, but it was to the effect of, being in a bilingual relationship means giving you twice as much of everything: friends, foods to try, vocabulary to say “I’m sorry,” holidays to celebrate together and laughing at the other’s language blunders.

Nearly five years later, Kike and I are now in a unilingual relationship: Castilian Spanish is the only language that we ever speak to one another. I love you is te quiero, kiss has become besito and baja la basura de una vez is as common for him to say as jó, haz la cama de una vez is for me.

Our one exception? Our pet name for one another is no longer in Spanish.

Has learning another language helped you to travel? Fall in love? Get a promotion or pay raise? Sound off in the comments!

Capture the Color

In having no car and no friends not working, I’ve decided to enter the Capture the Colour Contest,which is being hosted by Travel Supermarket. The premise is to write a post with 5 photos, each best representing or embodying a specific color. The winner of each color will get a new third generation iPad, and the grand prize winner gets £2,000 to jump-start plans for a dream trip.

Here’s what you have to do:

  • Publish a post with your submissions. You’ll only be eligible for the grand prize if you use all of the colors.
  • Either share the link to your post on Facebook while mentioning Capture the Colour and tagging the TravelSupermarket.com Facebook page, OR tweet the post while tagging #capturethecolour and @travelsupermkt, OR email your entry to capturethecolour@travelsupermarket.com with your name, address, and phone number.
  • Submit your post before August 27, 2012.

BLUE

Seville, Spain. Late March, 2012.

As I walked into school on the Friday before Palm Sunday, I was greeted by 45 hooded figures shouting my name. “Miss Cat, Miss Cat! Guess who I am?”

In Andalusia, the Holy Week activities are highly anticipated, and my elementary school was no different. The first graders I taught last term were given the role of nazareno, meaning they’d wear tunics and hoods echoing the KKK while leading a parade of 400 students, aged 3 to 15, around the neighborhood ahead of a small status of the Virgin Mother.

My students took their jobs about as serious as a first-grader who had been deprived their juice boxes and cookies for the sake of a Virgin Mary parade, and we had fun guessing just who was who. The blue-eyed girl was easy, a stark contrast from the Andalusian hallmarks: dark hair, skin and eyes.

RED

Scottsdale, Arizona. Christmas 2012.

On the day my partner got his Christmas gift from his family, I got mine from myself. Kike’s cowboy hat made even the most blue-blooded Spaniard look a little bit gringo, so I used my brand-new Canon Rebel to snap a photo of him under Old Glory in downtown Scottsdale. If only I’d gotten his rendition of Yankee Doodle on camera, too.

YELLOW

Seville, Spain. May 2012.

Bullfighting has never been a big draw to me, though I am a complete romantic when it comes to the pageantry of the costumes and capotes, or capes. As we had a pre-fight beer during the 2012 Novilleros season, I caught two of the picadores, men on horseback whose long spear pierce the bull’s main artery to weaken it, pass by on their way to Seville’s stately ring.

WHITE

Arcos de la Frontera, Spain. March 2009.

Spain’s southernmost region is famous for its pueblos blancos, or whitewashed villages. Tucked in the mountains that border the Seville, Cádiz and Málaga regions, these towns are home to quaint views and, quite often, good food.

My friend Cece lives in one of the largest villages, Arcos de la Frontera. Once a Moorish stronghold, Arcos is reputed to be one of the most lovely. What I liked most was the stark contrast between the white houses and the cloudless Andalusian sky that snuck into every frame that morning. We enjoyed our cafes con leche that turned into cervezas between the breezy alleyways that morning, and I fell in love with Arcos.

GREEN

Istanbul, Turkey. April 2012.

Not one to sign up for touristy gimmicks, I let myself be tricked into attending a dinner show that included whirling dervishes while in Turkey. Ever since seeing them on an amazing Amazing Race episode in college, I’d longed to see them in person, but research proved futile – since it’s a religious ceremony, many places were closed to non-believers.

So I settled for a place with mediocre food and an overpriced show in the middle of the Golden Horn of Istanbul. Ambiance was nil, but the moment the dervishes came out in their black robe and brown, trunk like hats, I was mesmerized. I set my camera on a low ISO to get the floating effect as I watched their feet move in slow routine. The lights cast an eerie green on their white robes as they floated and abruptly stopped, letting their robes twist around them, hands on their shoulders.

Now, to pass on the color baton:

A Moment in the Sun

Detalles

A Painter of Modern Life

92 Reasons to visit Seville

In working on an article for The Spain Scoop, I paid a visit to the Seville Tourism Board’s website. On the main page, to coincide with the World’s Fair in Seville’s 20th anniversary, the board proposes 92 reasons to visit Seville.

Among my favorites are things I enjoy about living here, like 88 (eat a montaíto de pringá), 74 (buy a flamenco dress),  55 (eat el jamón bueno bueno) and 58 (sleep a siesta). Then I remember the insane amount that I still have before me to do, like visit Doñana National Park, spot the Duquesa de Alba, see the Derbi between Mi Betí and Sevilla FC, walk el Rocío to Almonte.

I do think they gave up towards the end, as the last reason is, because you feel like it. So, so sevillano of you, VisitaSevilla. But who really needs to list 92 things to do in and around this glorious city whose history stretches back over 2000 years, whose sunsets are breathtaking and whose cuisine is tó lo bueno. Seville is more about feeling it and living it than seeing it.

Take a look, and tell me what’s on your Seville itinerary, or the reasons you’ve been here before. The Tourism Office hooked me up with this year’s Fiestas de la Primavera poster, and it can be yours if you’re chosen!

My Seven Super Shots

Maybe it’s just my love of Camarón or my quest to see Seville in new ways, but I was crossing my fingers I’d get to do the Seven Super Shots run by hostelbookers.com . Similar to the ABCs of Travel, this virtual game of tag centers around photography, which I am all to willing to admit to loving.

The gimmick is to examine the snaps you’ve taken and choose the best out of several categories. When reading a few others on my Google Reader, I already had mine mentally picked out.

[Read more…]

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