Language Barriers and a Common Ground

Two weeks ago, on Christmas day we embarked on a trip to Europe and Africa. We spent a good chunk of our time in Barcelona and Madrid, despite the fact that neither of us spoke Spanish. We had bought a phrase book that we soon lost on the plane before we even arrived to Spain. We played pictionary and “guess what I am doing”, and I was thankful my mad skills were so mad because of all those tournaments of druken shirades. There was a bombing in Madrid at the airport and two people were missing. We had to e-mail home that we were alright, because heaven knows our parents would think those two people had to be us.

The best part for me, was visiting northern Africa. A.S. was uneasy in spite of the political and social tensions of the country and their attitudes towards the U.S. Many people there were very polite and helpful, almost too generous as if they expected something for their gratitude. I was reading the menu at a restaurant and this man came up to me and said, “You hungry, here I take you to my uncle, he cook you couscous.” Some were not so friendly, but that’s quite alright because we expected it. I got lost one day and asked a man in French for directions: “Excuse me sir, can you please tell me how to get to the coliseum?” “Fuck you!” he said. “Okay, um…would it be fastest to go back to the main boulevard or stick on the back streets?” “Fuck you!” “Okay great, thank you, you have been very helpful.”

We ended up taking buses everywhere in Spain. During the longer bus rides I tried to get comfortable twisting and manipulating my body into positions the holy book of Kama Sutra’s never seen. Most of the time feeling defeated I sat crossed-legged having my upper leg taking turns crushing the bottom one, creating highways and interstates of varicose veins. This one night, there was a family on the bus and it was either their first time on a bus or they were recovering from a vicious concoction of the flu and SARS. They had five children that we gave cookies and water bottles to, and smiled and playing hide-and-go-seek with. At about 2 AM, the wife started vomiting and then the next thing we knew, there was a chain reaction with the entire family becoming the new Von Tramp family joining in and creating a musical of barf. I tried to go to sleep and force myself entrance into a dream of the beaches of Port Vell and iced teas laced with acid. I must admit, the bus ride through Spain was amazing. Driving though the mountains and desert-like terrain, whispering in the dark while the rest amongst us slept—and vomited profusely… Yes, amazing.

When we first arrived in Morocco, we skipped taking a taxi and dragged our suitcases up and down the hills of morocco. The wheels of my suitcase colleting wet mud and leaves, and were so steep I swear one could pop a knee cap. This scared me and I was almost tempted to ride my suitcase down the hill. Weee! We chose a decent looking hotel and when paying for our stay the hotel manager said our bill cost 560. After almost having a heart attack, we realized it only came out to about $50 U.S. Each hotel we went to had two toilets, I was jealous wishing we had a system like that at home. Andrew swore the second toilet was not for washing/douching, but for washing your hands, feet and face. He usually refers me to a “told-you-so” or a “know-it-all” so I made an executive decision not to say anything. The public restrooms consisted of a hole in the cement. I squatted with nothing to hold on to but my knees. I stood there with my knees shaking, wondering where the waste went after it descending into the great hole. After a turd launch, there was no thup, thup. How deep was this hole? I got up with my pants around my ankles waddling closer to the hole, positioning myself to listen closer, but nothing! And now, at home I am so glad to be here with my toilet where I can sit back comfortably, creating a red ring on my bum and pleasantly listening to the thup, thup. The smartest thing I did was port a roll of toilet paper with me everywhere I went. A.S. criticized me saying it was silly and inconvenient to carry around, but he’d see. I could picture him squatting over the cement hole with the fear of brown crusty butt cheeks. With his head in his hands he’d cry out “Why?” “Why wasn’t I as clever as Angie, oh God why?!” I’d show him…

The highlight of the trip was seeing the Mediterranean Sea from two different perspectives (Barcelona, Morocco). One day, I sat at the beach, and a kid playing with a Chinese star (with sharp blades) continued to throw it where I was sitting—several times it dropped into the sand barely missing me. I wanted to say something, but what? My Arabic wasn’t that refined as to say: “Pardon me boy, great throw, but could you please not throw it at me. I’m afraid it will plunge the skin of my throat and split my thorax, and I don’t know where the nearest hospital is and the last guy I asked for directions from could only say “fuck you” in English, and I really don’t think that will help." "I’m afraid your Chinese star, although very nice, will be lodged in my throat and blood will squirt everywhere and I don’t want to leave a bad impression on the residents, or leave a trail for hungry wolves to hunt me down and rip and shred my delicate bone structure. Thank you and have a nice day.” It can be difficult to come to terms with different languages and customs, and I admit there were times of frustration and confusion. On the last day of our trip an old man came out of a market grinning ear to ear. We both waited at the street corner waiting to cross onto another. I said “hello” in French and he simply stood there staring at me smiling, revealing many teeth that were missing and many that had seen better days. I attempted to say “hello” in Arabic, and again he kept starring and grinning. He then turned to me and revealed a bottle of J&B from his bag from the market. “Oh,” I said, nodding my head in acknowledgment, “Well, you have a good time now.” The old man nodded confidently in acknowledgment. I left Africa thinking of how relieved I was that this man and I could come to terms and find a common ground.