Eureka!
Or maybe the title to this post should be Eurekoso or Eurkedad or Eurekamente. Ah, Eurekamente. I like that.
This is Genevieve speaking, I thought it was time for me to chime in. That, and today is a very special day.
I was engaged in some rather routine shopping this afternoon: shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrushes that don't hurt, toilet paper that doesn't hurt (see discussion, supra, re Absorbency).
I took my basket to the Checkout Chica, smiled pretty, said "hola" in my best take-pity-on-me-and-speak-slow voice. I waited for her to tell me how much my purchases would cost in rapid-fire Spanish. At the same time I began preparing my response: "I am a studient trying to learn your beautiful language, can you repeat that slowly?". Imagine my suprise when I heard her tell me my purchases would cost 24.80 pes0s (veinticuatro con ochenta). In disbelief, I stammered back: "veinticuatro y ochenta?" "Si," she replied, "venticuatro con ochenta." I made a mental note that prices are spoken as 24 WITH 80, not 24 AND 80 and stumbled out onto the polluted street.
This is a major accomplishment. Three and a half weeks ago, I could not understand a single, solitary storeclerk when he/she announced the price. Even after asking he/she to repeat it 9 or 10 times, I just took a guess and handed over big bills, hoping I'd given enough.
Although this is a major accomplishment, this is only a fraction of what I've been learning. Watching CSI and Law and Order several times a day has worked out well. I'm developing quite a vocabulary. I've learned the words for: lie; murder; handcuffs (which, by the way, is the same word for "wife"); drug addict; hate; and my personal favorite, "tell your client that makes him a murderer." (Just kidding on that last one, the rest are true, though).
Sometimes, however, the communication breaks down.
Last Saturday, Greg and I were feeling great about our speaking levels. We went out to dinner at this fancy steak place (no big surprise there) and even asked the waitress questions about the dishes. We were so impressed with ourselves.
Sometime after we finished our main courses, the evening took a turn.
The busboy/waitress' assistant came by to check on us. We asked to take our leftovers home with us ("para llevar?" we asked). We told the guy that we loved our dinners ("fantastico" we said).
The guy took our plates to the kitchen and then returned about 5 minutes later. He said something, we're not sure what, but we took it to be "do you want dessert or anything else?"
Um, apparently, that wasn't it.
When we responded, "no, I don't think so," the guy gave us a look that said, "you [expletive deleted] crazy people, what is your problem." As he was walking away shaking his head, I leaned over to Greg and said, "I don't think we got that right."
Sure enough, the guy came back 90 seconds later and starting talking again. Again, we had no idea what he was saying, but while he was away, we came up with an alternative interpretation of the original conversation. This time, we decided that he was telling us that they didn't have any to-go boxes and that they would wrap it up in aluminum foil (we've encountered this scenario before) .
Immediately, Greg launched into an apology "I am sorry. Sometimes we don't understand everything. My wife is a deranged lunatic, back away slowly." (Just kidding on the last part, but the rest is true). We assured him everything was OK, by repeating the spanish equivalent of OK ("esta bien") about 30 times. He gave us another "[expletive deleted] crazy person" look, although less intense, and walked away.
Our waitress couldn't get us our check and change fast enough. And our to-go package never came out.
It's a shame, really, because it was a fantastic meal. We still have no idea what happened, but we figure we should probably wait a while before going back.
Sometimes, however, the problem isn't language, it's culture. (Um, pardon me while I digress momentarily. I'm watching a cooking show in which a french chef is telling us in accented spanish how to flay a fish. I'm horribly grossed out). Anyway, back to the story. This one is about coffee. Argentinos love their coffee about as much as they love their beef. Coffee is an event, a ritual, a piece of cultural identity.
On Sunday I unintentionally breached coffee protocol.
At lunch I ordered coffee as my beverage. One of the Argentinos with whom we were dining exclaimed "this is very strange." A commotion in rapid-fire spanish ensued between the waitress and our friend. He turned to me and said, "you know what you are asking for?" I nodded "yes" and the waitress went away shaking her head.
Our friends then explained that coffee is for after the meal, not before or during. Apparently there are no exceptions. Well, maybe breakfast, where the primary ingredient in breakfast here is coffee, but at no other times.
Well now we know.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! We promise to pretend that our steak is turkey!
This is Genevieve speaking, I thought it was time for me to chime in. That, and today is a very special day.
I was engaged in some rather routine shopping this afternoon: shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrushes that don't hurt, toilet paper that doesn't hurt (see discussion, supra, re Absorbency).
I took my basket to the Checkout Chica, smiled pretty, said "hola" in my best take-pity-on-me-and-speak-slow voice. I waited for her to tell me how much my purchases would cost in rapid-fire Spanish. At the same time I began preparing my response: "I am a studient trying to learn your beautiful language, can you repeat that slowly?". Imagine my suprise when I heard her tell me my purchases would cost 24.80 pes0s (veinticuatro con ochenta). In disbelief, I stammered back: "veinticuatro y ochenta?" "Si," she replied, "venticuatro con ochenta." I made a mental note that prices are spoken as 24 WITH 80, not 24 AND 80 and stumbled out onto the polluted street.
This is a major accomplishment. Three and a half weeks ago, I could not understand a single, solitary storeclerk when he/she announced the price. Even after asking he/she to repeat it 9 or 10 times, I just took a guess and handed over big bills, hoping I'd given enough.
Although this is a major accomplishment, this is only a fraction of what I've been learning. Watching CSI and Law and Order several times a day has worked out well. I'm developing quite a vocabulary. I've learned the words for: lie; murder; handcuffs (which, by the way, is the same word for "wife"); drug addict; hate; and my personal favorite, "tell your client that makes him a murderer." (Just kidding on that last one, the rest are true, though).
Sometimes, however, the communication breaks down.
Last Saturday, Greg and I were feeling great about our speaking levels. We went out to dinner at this fancy steak place (no big surprise there) and even asked the waitress questions about the dishes. We were so impressed with ourselves.
Sometime after we finished our main courses, the evening took a turn.
The busboy/waitress' assistant came by to check on us. We asked to take our leftovers home with us ("para llevar?" we asked). We told the guy that we loved our dinners ("fantastico" we said).
The guy took our plates to the kitchen and then returned about 5 minutes later. He said something, we're not sure what, but we took it to be "do you want dessert or anything else?"
Um, apparently, that wasn't it.
When we responded, "no, I don't think so," the guy gave us a look that said, "you [expletive deleted] crazy people, what is your problem." As he was walking away shaking his head, I leaned over to Greg and said, "I don't think we got that right."
Sure enough, the guy came back 90 seconds later and starting talking again. Again, we had no idea what he was saying, but while he was away, we came up with an alternative interpretation of the original conversation. This time, we decided that he was telling us that they didn't have any to-go boxes and that they would wrap it up in aluminum foil (we've encountered this scenario before) .
Immediately, Greg launched into an apology "I am sorry. Sometimes we don't understand everything. My wife is a deranged lunatic, back away slowly." (Just kidding on the last part, but the rest is true). We assured him everything was OK, by repeating the spanish equivalent of OK ("esta bien") about 30 times. He gave us another "[expletive deleted] crazy person" look, although less intense, and walked away.
Our waitress couldn't get us our check and change fast enough. And our to-go package never came out.
It's a shame, really, because it was a fantastic meal. We still have no idea what happened, but we figure we should probably wait a while before going back.
Sometimes, however, the problem isn't language, it's culture. (Um, pardon me while I digress momentarily. I'm watching a cooking show in which a french chef is telling us in accented spanish how to flay a fish. I'm horribly grossed out). Anyway, back to the story. This one is about coffee. Argentinos love their coffee about as much as they love their beef. Coffee is an event, a ritual, a piece of cultural identity.
On Sunday I unintentionally breached coffee protocol.
At lunch I ordered coffee as my beverage. One of the Argentinos with whom we were dining exclaimed "this is very strange." A commotion in rapid-fire spanish ensued between the waitress and our friend. He turned to me and said, "you know what you are asking for?" I nodded "yes" and the waitress went away shaking her head.
Our friends then explained that coffee is for after the meal, not before or during. Apparently there are no exceptions. Well, maybe breakfast, where the primary ingredient in breakfast here is coffee, but at no other times.
Well now we know.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! We promise to pretend that our steak is turkey!
posted by gregory stackel at 6:21 PM
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