Sunday, 7 August 2016

Lost in translation

One of the best things about Mallorca, and sometimes the most scary and frustrating, is the language. My Spanish is not good, my Catalan non existent and the dialect Mallorquin I have yet to differentiate. A lot of the Spanish is coming back, slowly and painfully from long lost sentences once spoken on the streets of Seville, almost 15 years ago. I understand the gist of a conversation but words fail to flow out of my mouth, it will come with practice I know.

A tries hard to learn words and picks up the accent easily.  We need to find some little people for them to play with. Our next door neighbours have curious boys who occasionally peak in through our fence, 'holas!' have been exchanged - both parties are intensely interested but cripplingly shy to make the first move.

P finds remembering the words difficult. She doesn't like to make mistakes and look silly, therefore refuses to try. Unless the words sound like rude ones or swear words.

So far she has learnt piss-ina (la piscina) - swimming pool, the hilarous town of Bugger (Buger) and Lluc (Yuck) monastery as well as finding fartons hysterical.

By Christmas they will be fluent, they say. I think we may have to work on that.

Lluc monastry

La piscina

Farton frolics

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