The fear - anxiousnes of the trip that lies ahead reached a crescendo on the final and 3rd flight of the long, gratuitous tour of the continental United States. It was interesting, however, to observe the transition of each flight to more native spanish speakers, until the last flight, when even the flight crew began to speak spanish, and only translate to english when i would respond to with what I can characterize as the ¨Gringo Stare. ¨I´ve done it plenty of times now on this trip, except the people of Peru dont translate when you get confused, we just sit at a point of confusion and lack of ability to communicate that can get frustrating really fast.
The realization i must cope with now, that I really dont know beans or spanish, set in as the drink cart was working its way down the aisle. I had already displayed my fluentcy, or lack there of, with the dinner cart. So I was really trying to redeem myself here [to myself]. I began working out in my head, ´´Ok, orange juice, Naranjas... de juice? No, shit, its like 3 aisles away, What´s juice? Juego, no, Jugo?´´ I sat back and felt my face heat up and tingle as the moment came near. Its funny to think why trying to speak a language to a native speaker creates that physiological response. It´s like, if i really screw up, I´m sure its just cute and endearing rather than my fantasy that I´m butchering theri language with my white man´s arrogance and will promptly get thrown of the plane somewhere over Colombia...
3 comments:
Mgoode! Great to hear you're still kicking. I've got a phrase for you to use: Cerveza por favor.
-Jonny
SO finish the story man! Did you get your juice or what?
Pointing and screaming in English usually does the trick -- people can usually understand when you scream at them.
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