Lost in Translation

12 September, 13

Lost in Translation

Evidently I have a gift for saying the wrong thing. My dad used to tell me, “Boy, you just open your mouth to switch feet.” In America, I would say things at inappropriate times, something like wearing a red shirt to a bull fight. Here in Spain, however, I am not even aware that I have said something wrong, until I get a quizzical stare and little kids start blushing and twittering about. I had no idea that many of their common Spanish words have near cousins that describe every part of a woman’s anatomy in graphic detail. Apparently with a slight change in a couple of letters, you can pretty much dog-cuss anybody, and apparently I have unwittingly done so, to the great amusement of friends and strangers alike. They don’t even tell me what the stuff means anymore, although that gave them quite a bit of enjoyment as well.  Just yesterday, I was at the butcher shop, by myself, ordering some meat for the next couple of days, when I said something that made everybody laugh. Be advised, ordering sausage in a foreign country can be dangerous. It’s all about pronunciation.

I live in La Alberca, a tiny little suburb of Murcia. I can walk from one end of L.A. to the other in about 12 minutes. I feel so comfortable here, partly because this is Spain’s version of the deep South. The whole province of Murcia has a thick accent and a largely agricultural base with a lot of beachfront real estate. Many Spaniards make fun of Murcianos because of their accent. Most, okay all, Murcianos don’t give a damn. They love their families. They love to eat. Sounds like South Carolina to me.

So what makes one group of people look askance at another group? Why do we insist on picking up on the differences and assigning negative values to them? I don’t know. Maybe we need to do that to feel good about ourselves, in some kind of scales of justice sort of way. I think L.A. has it right, though. They just laugh good-naturedly when I mess up. They accept my obvious speaking flaws and encourage me to try again. They are simple folks. Simple is not the same as unaware or unintelligent. It just means that they live relatively uncomplicated lives. Wake up, work, eat, hang out with friends and family. Rinse and repeat. Simple. Sign me up.