Day 1 (Dias uno)
I knew I had forgotten something, I knew it, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
I had packed a bikini, 5 pairs of shoes, 3 new books for the evening and 2 pairs of sunglasses, yes, I had these too. My 73 suitcases would be delivered in Palma later this week, I had left everyone my personal email address, my phone charger was in my bag and I had enough nail polish bottles on me to change color every day for a week. I really couldn't see what it was, but the minute I hopped into a taxi at Palma airport, it became obvious.
I did not speak a word of Spanish. Literally. I had entirely forgotten to rehearse the basic: "please can I go to hotel xxx". I mean, I had briefly looked at some kids program, learnt how to say "yellow" and "crocodile" (undoubtedly useful, especially when paired together), but it did not occur to me I might need some more words than these 2 in my voc book.
Well you'll be glad to know I managed. However, this really is where I think my 3 and a half years in the UK have changed me: I have innocently and unconsciously been playing "English on Holidays" since yesterday evening. I have assumed all along that speaking only English would be enough and that there would always be someone to understand me. It is true and it has worked so far, but it feels wrong somehow, and I can't keep shouting at these poor Spanish people any longer.
Lying in my bed yesterday evening, I found myself looking for a telenovelas that would provide useful words doubled with stylish clothes, while accepting to display the tv's subtitles function. And I watched, and watched, and watched some more - the show was called "Angel o Demonio" and could be competing with "Home and Away" for the 2nd place on my top 5 chart.
However obvious the plot was, I soon realised my language learning curve would be steep.
I was back to square one, fast rewind to one morning of June 2007 at Southampton airport. Only then I knew how to say and spell "bread and butter".
First day at work today, and because of my dark hair (my flour-coloured skin is certainly not giving me away), I have been misunderstood for a Spanish chica and tsunamised with floods of Spanish sentences, to which I was only able to reply, in English, time after time, desk after desk: "oh, I don't speak Spanish... for now". And hide behind an embarrassed smile.
It turned out my computer was not ready this morning and my boss was in a meeting, so she left me to my own devices. Luckily, I own one device that's loaded with Spanish apps, which I have been watching and listening to for a couple of hours. Today I learnt the word "spoon". It is that bad.
Wait, I didn't even know how to say "goodbye" to my taxi driver yesterday. One lame "ciao" later, my new life had begun, and there obviously was some work left to be done.
Roger y fuero for now*.
*Roger and out, which means goodbye in VHF (radio) language, for you, newbies.
