Se acabó San Froilán. Last Saturday night was the last of it, as evidenced by the streets full of
festival-goers. I went out with an American, two Germans, and a few Galicians. We
spoke Spanish all night, which given our location seems obvious, but is often
not the case. It’s too easy to go to a country for an extended period of time,
and revert to a comfort zone of companions that speak your native language. I
know this feeling all too well. And while it’s useful to be able to unwind and
complain in the mother tongue (as I do with my Scottish roommate), this year
I’m going to make an effort to seek out people with whom to talk Spanish.
Speaking of language studies (my attempt at transitioning),
my Galician class is going pretty well. There are now more students (a whopping
SEIS 6), and I’m not the only non-Spain native. It’s only annoying sometimes when the Spaniards seem to know what
they’re talking about and I don’t, or they start talking Spanish so swiftly and I’m
left daydreaming rather than paying attention. Apparently galego is very
similar to Brazilian Portuguese, more so than to Portuguese from Portugal. Then when people come from Brazil and hear
Galego being spoken, they think it’s Castilian Spanish and that it’s really
easy. Err— wrong. When I went to the
photocopier to print my Galego book, he asked why I’m learning it and if I find
it harder than Castilian. Well if you really wanna know... Anyways, I
think people are even more open if you show an interest in the second official
language.
Now on to language blunders, my
favorite. The other day a few teachers and I went out to eat lunch. It was my
first time actually in the town (the school is on the outskirts and we don’t
pass through the town). As a second
dish, I asked for tenderness (ternura) instead of the meat (ternera). Classic.
Another time I said I was too petada to eat anymore, thinking it meant “full”
when in fact it means “crowded”. My stomach was crowded, okay?!
