Language barrier

So here I am in New York City, in the beating heart of the USA. And what do I hear in my first hour outside today, walking down the streets of Manhattan? Do I hear "let's go for coffee", "put it in the trunk", or "you want that to go"? Not a chance! Every 5 seconds, it's "qué cabrón es mi primo", "hasta once y media", and "estamos tardes, vamos". What's going on — have I left Latin America, or what?! I could barely put one foot in front of the other, in this city, without hearing people talking Spanish, seeing shop signs in Spanish, and even giving passers-by directions in Spanish! Seriously: "¿donde están los gringos?" (lit: "where are all the gringos?"). Apparently, Spanish is just as useful back here in the USA, as it is down south of the border — in some neighbourhoods, perhaps even more useful than English.

After almost 7 months of travelling in Latin America, my Spanish has gotten pretty good. It's been a long time since I stepped off the plane in Mexico City (seems like a lifetime ago!), and I found myself all alone in a foreign country, and unable to speak or to understand a word of what anyone said. Ever since, I've been getting more and more comfortable with Spanish, and the language barrier has become so small as to be easily stepped over. But today, for my first day in Brazil, I received a rude shock: I'm back to square one! "Eu não falo o português" (lit: "I don't speak Portuguese"), and it's a problem. Despite what people have told me, Portuguese sounds nothing like Spanish (although reading it is easy enough), and talking to Brazilians in Spanish has very limited results.

On the bus to Bariloche this evening, I had a hilarious first introduction to the crazy phenomenon that is Argentinean Spanish. A few seats behind me, a little girl was whinging loudly to her Mum about something. Anonymous Argentinean Mum said this to her, in a heavy Argentinean accent:

"Cashate, o vamoh volveh a Chile" (in real Spanish: "callate, ó vamos a volver a Chile", lit: "be quiet, or we're going back to Chile")

That shut the girl up real quick. I don't blame her: because like, seriously dude, Argentina is like, sooo much better than Chile, ohhh-mygod.

This morning, we finished our tour of the Salar de Uyuni and of south-west Bolivia. We stepped out of our dusty Land Cruiser 4WD, we transferred into a minibus, and we made our way to the Chilean frontier (having already technically left Bolivia two days ago). Our first of many introductions to the differences between these two countries, upon crossing the border: the first sealed, properly signposted road that we'd seen in a month! Chile really is a very, very different place to Bolivia. It's like stepping into another dimension.

It's always nice to find a tour agency in a non-English-speaking country, that advertises having services available in English. But when the advertisement for this service is written in dubiously-grammatised English, it does make you just a little apprehensive of the quality of said service. Here's a photo of the sign for a tour agency here in Potosí — the sign reads: "the guide speak English". Is that so? Well, if he does, then I hope it's better than yours! :P

On the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca, they speak Quechua — just like in Cusco, and in most of the highlands of Peru — the language of the Incas. But here on the Bolivian side, they speak Aymara, the language of the altiplano ("high plains"). Apparently, the lake is not just the border between two countries. It's also the border between two languages, and between the two ancient cultures behind them. Looks like I won't be needing my Quechua phrasebook anymore (not that it helped, anyway — Quechua is downright impossible to learn).

The people of Peru are famous for many things, but a strong command of the English language is not one of them. While visiting the ruins of Ollantaytambo this afternoon, I discovered that Japan is not the only country where you can find Engrish: the badly-spelled-badly-meant movement is alive and strong here in Peru as well. Check out these hilarious little additions to the world's ever-growing Engrish collection.

Cusco is the heartland of the ancient Incan Empire, and of the Quechuan race; and as such, the majority of people in the Cusco area still speak Quechua as their native tongue. When I got a taxi across town today, my driver decided to share a bit of basic Quechua with me. It's a bloody hard language, and I couldn't really remember any of the phrases he taught me. But at least he was trying to teach me, and I was trying to learn.

Cusco is a great place to learn Spanish, and it has about 20 schools for the aspiring student to choose from. Today was my first day of classes at the Amigos Spanish school, where I'll be having classes from 8am-12pm, Monday to Friday, for the next four weeks. After today's lessons, I'm really looking forward to the rest.

After getting lost yesterday, Jack and I woke up this morning in Juan's house, feeling very grateful to have found a bed to sleep in, but also very eager to get back to Cusco. And, thankfully, after a bit of breakfast and a morning walk, make it back we did. Civilisation never smelt so good.