Fun with language or “Really, that translated?”
June 2nd, 2009Most people who know me are familiar with the fact that I love language, though unfortunately I speak no languages fluently… other than English.
I’ve been having some interesting fun with languages, first a run down of how this all this goes:
When I was in Jr. High, I began studing Spanish. I was a sort of unofficial translator on several youth out reaches to Mexico.
A million years later, when I traveled to Japan, I kept trying to speak Spanish to everyone I saw.
When I moved to France (at this point, I had added French to the list of languages I can massacre), people kept telling me I spoke French like a Mexican. Right… and you often get French speaking Mexicans in Dijon?
Well, now here I am in Peru and people are telling me I speak Spanish like a Frenchman.
I cannot wait to learn Japanese and be told I speak it like someone from East Africa.
As stated in my earlier post, there are a TON of wandering street merchants… so much so that the local Irish Pub (thank you, God for this pub) sells a shirt that says, “No gracias”… I’m willing to let the missing comma slip.
Today was sort of a breaking point for me.
“Sir, you want to buy art?”
It did not feature Spider-man fighting The Hulk.
“No.”
“You no like the art?”
“Of course I don’t like art, I’m from America.”
That at least got a laugh from him.
I was later approached by a shoe shine person.
“You want a shoe shine?”
Granted, he has no idea I’m leaving for a four day trek tmw, but I thought, yeah, please clean my f*cking hiking boots so I can get them dirty tmw.
“No, but thank you.”
“But sir, your shoes are very dirty.”
“Yes, they are very dirty, como su madre.”
Really, sometimes the words come faster than I can control them. That little comment earned me a good five minute run through the streets of Cusco while the shoe shine boy chased and yelled at me. Then came the very awkward conversation with the police (who, interestingly enough, wear their individual bullets strapped outside the holster… not sure how effecient that is). I tried explaining what happened, he kind of understood, checked my passport and, thankfully, let me go. I could have been in HUGE trouble with the police… not for the comment, just for drawing too much attention to myself.
Of course, I’m surprised that even translated.
Other interesting things. Peruvian punk music is awesome.
In the U.S. when the crosswalk is about to change from okay to don’t cross, it flashes a red man with a countdown. Here, that red man is how much time you have to wait until the green man appears.
If you ever need to know where to go to get stoned, high, laid or drunk, hang out in Plaza de Armas… good lord. At least, I assume all the young girls offering me ‘free massage, sir’ aren’t offering actual massages.
Things to do when bored on a bus trip: Make up lyrics for the songs you cannot understand.
SYLVIA MORALES! CUMBIA! After that, the song jumped into a mish mash of spanish and english brought on by whatever the hell drugs they do in the studios…
I decided the song was about when Peru was attacked by aliens. She then went on to list all the other south american countries attacked by aliens. I think they were saved by Wil Smith using a Mac.
Next song, the rise of the mole people against the Incans who were saved with the Japanese crane warriors arrived and drove the mole men back into the under mountains. But there’s a twist, the crane warriors set up a fuedal system and ruled with an iron wing / fist. The Peruvians were saved with Carlos Vives arrived with his magical guitar.
Next song, Peru is under attack by aliens again… they seem to have a history of this - just look at the latest pile of crap Indiana Jones movie.
The next track started skipping which I interpreted as her commentary on rap music.
After that, I fell asleep.
You might attribute all that to the high altitude / lack of oxygen… but really, thats just about how I see world… welcome to my POV.