A Good Morning In Spanish or French (In this case)

When you travel to Spain or any country in fact that does not speak your native tongue - in my case English - it really pays to be able to speak some and understand more of their language.

One of the first greetings you should learn is 'Good morning/day/evening' and learn to say it with a smile.

In this article I shall give you an example which should without doubt show why it would be a good indeed a very good idea if you learnt the basics of the native language of the country you are visiting.

It was in the mid 1990's. We were a young family, three of us mum, dad and son some 14 months old. This was to be our first foreign holiday adventure. We had booked a camping holiday with a firm that specialized in supplying pre-erected tents. These were of good quality and benefited from proper beds and 'heavier' cooking ranges than would have been normal to carry around (even in a car).

It was a beautiful spot off the Gironde in France, close to the coast, surrounded by the pines that proliferate that region. It was the middle of May and we were in what can only be described as a heat wave, day after day of glorious sunshine with temps in the late 30's early 40's it was in fact too hot to do anything during the middle of the day.

We were in a great spot just across from the communal loos, washing up and most importantly showers, the nearest of which was across the single track road that threaded its way through the campsite, some 10 yards away. It was a simple 'outdoor' shower placed so that people could de-chlorinate on the way back from the pools. It was quiet, only a few British families around, too early for the main stream French holiday makers to have arrived en-masse. Long and lazy days were spent on sun loungers in the shade of the pines, they very conveniently shaded the majority of the tent and the area outside used for eating under the umbrella and chairs. If we got to hot just pop across the track and shower, back to sun lounger, read book, repeat as necessary.

So that was the scene, idyllic easy camping in glorious weather. All the 'hosts' on the site that we came into contact with were from the holiday firm we had booked with and so all had there origins in the United Kingdom. Our personal 'keeper' or rep was a young Irish lad very friendly aspiring to be golf pro ... I wonder what happened?

I digress - back to the learning of the language ... I had during my first years of secondary education had French literally thrust upon me. It was not fun type language learning, but the old type of language learning - lots of endlessly repeating verb tenses. Which as an aside was quite ironic because the UK at that time they were changing the way that English was taught, such that the grammatical structure was very secondary to creativeness. I was never taught formally the grammatical structure of my own language, so quite how they expected me to pick up foreign languages in that manner was beyond me. For all non UK people please rest assured, having seen my son plough through school, a balance has now been achieved between the teaching of grammar and exploring and indeed structuring creative writing.

My command of French, German or Spanish all of which I had thrust upon me was at best appalling. I did however gain great delight in going down to the bread shop on site every morning, phrase book in hand and successfully coming back with four quossants and a couple of French sticks.

My Father and my step mum were due to stay for a couple of nights. They were driving back from a Spanish wedding on their way back to the UK. There was no problem with them hiring a caravan for a couple of nights. We had had great fun in the pools, and having meals around the tent or in their caravan.

Soon it was time for them to move on, we were staying on for another week, and as a treat they said that we should all go out to the best restaurant around.

We looked forward to it all day, showered and got ready. Step mum had a very good knowledge of French and had enquired on the site as to the best restaurant around.

Having arrived at the restaurant, in typically early English style, we got stuck into pre-meal drinks and conversation.

When we got to the table the waiter handed us our menus.

Shock, HORROR - it may as well have been written in Martian or Klingon. No pictures of pizza, sausage & eggs here!

What to do? Come to the rescue ... Step mum ... you having trouble? let me sort it out! Phew we were saved.

We went through the what do fancy to eat, with this, with that, conversations and ordered the food from the waiter via step mum.

Now in that part of France 'sea-food' is it and every thing else is looked down upon, well it seemed that way. While Dad & Step Mum were fine with this we were not. But fear not Step Mum said this restaurant is linked with a local farm and have all the finest produce for our consumption.

So through a protracted ordering session we had order veal, accompanied by a vegetable selection. In fact despite the sea-food area we were in this meal was, the waiter had assured us, the finest choice from the menu.

I had only sampled veal in Germany before, and was expecting either with or without bread crumbs a typically white steak and vegetable selection.

When the meal arrived I was at first convinced that the waiter had got it wrong. What appeared was a platter with bowl type shaping. In the centre of which was a strangely multi coloured mess swimming about in what looked like a very thin consommé.

One per person this was placed in front of us. After my gesticulations Step Mum assured us that all was well it was the Veal.

I tried a mouthful and forced it down. It was rubbery, fatty and worst of all I had picked the best looking piece (if there was such a thing) to start with. It was no good I just could not force myself to eat it.

After explaining this to Step Mum, she called the waiter over. Where was the Veal I pleaded uselessly in English? She tried to placate me while dealing with the waiter. Quite a scene was beginning to develop and we were now the centre of amusement for the local eaters.

The waiter got more and more frustrated, and as he did so his voice raised, and the distance and speed of his wildly flailing arm movements increased to alarming proportions.

And then it became sickenly clear, very clear, the waiters arms were repeatedly coming in from the elbows - towards his head -and he was frothing "tete a veau". The house speciality was a slice through a head of veal served in its own juices.

At the point of realisation two things happened quite quickly, firstly the piece that I had managed to eat, rejoined the rest of the meal - along with a pint or two of lager and a few glasses of red-wine, secondly my son (bless) could not keep quite any longer and decided to pitch into the affray with ear piercing shrieks.

Needless to say it took quite a few minutes and quite a few cloths, and quite a few cuddles, to get back to a what could be considered a table in a restaurant scene.

I vowed from that day that my comprehension of the language of the country I was visiting should be sufficient to not allow this to happen again.

I will also now always order my own dish!

This was our last holiday in France and we now holiday a lot in Spain.

=== Start Of Bio

I have tried over the years to learn Spanish in a way that will stick ... as detailed in my blog:

A Good Morning In Spanish.

The blog contains nostalgic photo's of 10 years plus ago - sometimes set to Spanish Guitar music in a video format.

I think that my biggest mistake has been "if you don't use it - you will loose it"! That has certainly happened to me. So any course I choose must also have sufficient quality content such that I can keep on repeating it without getting bored.

I shall continue my quest and update my blog accordingly

Thanks ... Gerry