Words They Say

First published 9 June 2015 @ sólo algunas palabras

Based on a True Story

“Good morning, children.”
— Gutmonin.
“Today, we are gonna talk about Hallowe’en.”
— Helluin!

Well it was clear from the very start that these children don’t want to talk. They want to shout. But I have a secret weapon: colouring pages. Hallowe’en-themed, as it were.

— Quiero una araña.
— Quiero un murciélago.
— Quiero una calabaza.
“No, no, no.”
— ¡Araña!
“Here’s the deal: you have to speak in English to me.”
— Quiero...
“No quiero. This is a spider. This is a pumpkin. This is a bat. All right?”
— ¡Bat! ¡Bat!
— ¡Batman!
“Not Batman. A bat.”
— ¡Espayder!
“No ‘Espayder’. Spider. Spy-Der. Spider.”
— ¡Espayder!
“Spider.”
— Quiero spider.
“No quiero. ‘Can I have...’”
— Quen ay jav...
“‘...a spider’.”
— ¡Espayder!

What did I get myself into? Can anybody hear the difference between ‘a spider’ and, well, ‘espayder’?

— Quiero bat.
— Quiero espayder.
— Quiero los todos.
— Quiero pis.
“Please go.”

The colouring pages are finally distributed.

— ¿Puedo colorear?
— ¿Puedo recortar?

Mind you, only the most polite ask this. The others have already taken hold of the crayons, felt-tip pens and scissors.

There is a pair of kids who never do what I ask. Instead of colouring, they cut things out, or glue the worksheets to the walls. One of the favourite activities is to cut out something (say, a bat) and stick it to the blank A4 paper sheet. Fifteen minutes later, the result is exactly the same as the original worksheet but a lot more crumpled and covered with glue and some unidentified dirt on both sides.

The others really like colouring and showing me their work.

— Mira, que bonito. (About their own pictures.)
— Mira, que feo. (About the neighbour’s work.)
— Mira, que botas muy chulas. (Points on her welly boots.)
— Tengo mocos.

My very first day in this class, one three-year old girl was looking at me intently for about twenty minutes. Then she said, very seriously:

— Eres guapo.

Later that month, we did some sort of Hallowe’en presentation, where I was supposed to be a vampire. I was dressed in black, had a (mostly white) face paint and a grey hair wig. Most of three- and four-year-olds were scared of me, which I judged to be a success. Not this girl though. She came close and asked me:

— ¿Quién eres?
“I am, er, a vampire, don’t you see?”
— Eres guapo.

Now and then, I show them videos. Music videos and animations. And now they make requests.

— ¡Mana Mana!

I don’t know how much English they learned from that particular song, but everybody loves it. They crowd around my laptop.

— ¡No veo!
— ¡Que no veo!
— ¡No veo!
“Guys, can you please step one step back? Then everyone could see.”
— ¡No veo!
— Álvaro me ha empujau.

Until I started to work in school, I was convinced that the most popular given names in Spain are Juan and María. Nope. I don’t even have a single María. But there are lots of Álvaros, Brunos, Martinas and Saras.

— ¡Se ha acabau!
— ¡Otra!
— ¡Otra vez!

When I introduced them to Simon’s Cat, they ignored it. At first. Then, about a month later, a request arrived.

— ¡Un gato chino!
“You what?!”
— ¡Un gato chino!
“Do you mean Simon’s Cat?”
— ¡No, un gato chino!

By now, Simon’s Cat is one of their firm favourites.

— ¡Se acabó!
— Es muy corto.
— ¡Otra!
— ¡No veo!

There is one five-year old boy who is not interested in anything the others are doing.

— Estoy aburriendo.
— Estoy aburrido.
— Quiero algo divertido.
— Quiero algo volando.

I like it when they give me clues what to do next.

“Good morning, children.”
— Gutmonin!

I point at the blackboard where I did stick seven A4 paper sheets evolving towards a flying machine.

“Today, we are going to make a paper airplane.”

How to make a paper airplane: steps 1 through 7

I find all twelve of them standing under number 7.

— ¡Quiero eso!
— ¡Quiero un avión de papel!
“No, no, no. We all are going to learn how to make a paper airplane. Everybody take a sheet of paper...”

And so it starts.

“...and fold it like this...”
— ¿Me ayudas?
— ¿Me lo doblas?
— ¿Me lo haces?

And this is just a half of the class. There is no way I am making 25 paper airplanes in one hour.

That was a stroke of genius, I admit it freely. Seven months later, only a handful of them learned this craft. But it provided me with another weapon.

— ¡Quiero un avión de papel!
“In English, please.”
— Es que no sé como decir.
“Ask Hugo, he knows.”

A minute later:

— ¡Plan! ¡Plan!
“What plan?”
— ¡Plane!
“Plane what?”
— ¡Quiero a plane!
“No quiero. ‘Can you make...’”
— ¡A plane!
— ¡A plane!
— ¡A plane!

Now the teachers tell me: you know, your planes fly really far! Yes, I know.

They do ask lots of questions, these kids. Mostly in Spanish.

— ¿Tienes novia?
— ¿Tienes bebés?
— ¿Por qué no hablas español?
— ¿Por qué llevas coleta?
— ¿Por qué andas en chanclas?
— ¿Cuántos minutos faltan? (Till the end of the class, that is.)
— Can I go to the toilet please?

Wow.

Apart from teaching in a classroom, I take turns to supervise them during the recess. Or before. Or after.

“Can you please put on your coats.”
— ¡Has dicho una palabrota!
“Did I?”
— ¡Has dicho ‘puta’!

Oh my. I have to be careful with these things.

To be fair, very few of them hesitate to use swearwords, especially in my class. In the beginning, they did not realise I know all this lexicon.

— Álvaro me ha empujau.
“Oh no, not him again.”
— ¿Puedes guardarlo? (Gives me a toy.)
“Claro que sí — oops, yes of course.”
— ¿Puedes atar mis cordones?
“Sure I can. And a magic word?”
— ¡Fuerte!

By midday, they drain all my energy. But sometimes they ask or tell me something that makes it worth it.

— ¿Cómo sabes todas estas cosas?
“Because I was paying attention when in school.” (It’s a lie, I didn’t.)
— Toma, esto es para ti.
“It is beautiful, Daniela. Thank you.”
— Quiero ser tu ayudante.
“Do you really? Can you help me tidy up then?”
— Can you make a plane for me? Please?

Literatura de baño: 69 relatos para hacer popo

First published 16 September 2014 @ Listen, Learn, Read

This is another book that I discovered thanks to the library of Las Palmas (the other one was Wabi-Sabi). I saw it in the lobby among the new acquisitions. The concept and the title got me intrigued; I leafed through the pages and decided to borrow it... but I needed to visit the loo first. Then I went to check what my kids were doing (sitting downstairs, reading comics). When I got back to the lobby, the book had gone. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember neither the author nor the title. Was it something about the loo?

I found the book in the same place couple of weeks later and, naturally, grabbed it before it disappeared.

Normas de Uso y Disfrute

1. Lee despacio cada relato. Detente en las comas, sí, detente... como ahora... detente, así... Muy bien...
2. Cuando acabes de leer cada relato, vuelve a empezar. Te sabrá mejor.
3. Y, por favor, no olvides limpiarte al terminar...

I like that the author does not take himself or his work too seriously. Still I think the title doesn’t do justice to the book. There’s nothing wrong with taking it to the bathroom, except in my case I would also need a good Spanish dictionary... that’s getting a bit awkward.

The stories sketches pieces anecdotes things may be short but for me it was no easy reading. Even without the rules 1 and 2, I had to read (and then re-read) each of them slowly. Sometimes the text is so short there is no context whatsoever to guess the meaning of a particular word or phrase, and some of the words are not in my dictionary anyway. I reckon some of the cultural references are lost on me too. But I enjoyed it a lot. Romantic, nostalgic, ironic, technical, angry, sad, humorous... The humorous $+@%!£$ things are the best, I wish there were more of them. #61 is a delightful collection of killer insults such as monocoño, culopollo and mierdófono (I got one of those). #69 consists of super-shorts, microrrelatos. #67 is one word. #14 has only a title. Poetry. #37 is my favourite.

— Tomo una copa o dos de vino en el almuerzo, un ron con el café y otro vino por la noche... Además, eso de hacer deporte... Mire, doctora... Estar en una piscina, por ejemplo, yendo de una pared a otra como un imbécil resulta absurdo. No hay creatividad maldita, aunque use el flotador azul y mañana el rosa... O pagar un monitor deportivo para que te haga sufrir físicamente es más absurdo si cabe: pago para sufrir, dicen que es saludable... — nunca han sufrido de verdad, de modo que se costean autodolor, ¡por dios...! — Ya se sufre bastante cada mañana cuando suena el despertador y evidencias que es de noche todavía...

Javier Pérez Gosálvez, ¡Doctora!

As far as I can see, the book (which saw the light of day thanks to crowdfunding) is not available from Amazon and suchlike. You can buy it directly from the publisher.

Cuentos hispánicos 1

Finally, I made it to the end!

My first attempt to read this book was in 2006. Alas, I got stuck in the very beginning; to be precise, in the middle of the first story, Emma Zunz. That was frustrating, for I read this story before (not in Spanish, though). Had I known then that this is one of the easier stories in the book, I would be even more frustrated.

Seven years later, one of them living in Spain: yes, apparently I can read Spanish literature. It took me "only" about two months to go through the eight stories. And then, without parallel text, it would take even longer. The overall mood of these stories is fluctuating from nostalgia to despair, with many shades of melancholy, pain and desire to kill in between. Is this selection supposed to be representative of twentieth century Hispanic fiction? My favourite stories are El presupuesto and La romería.

1. Jorge Luis Borges, Emma Zunz (translated by Donald A. Yates)
   Classic Borges story told in his laconic, matter-of-fact, almost emotionless style.
2. Mario Benedetti, El presupuesto / The Budget (translated by Gerald Brown)
   I couldn't help noticing certain parallels with Gogol's Шинель here. The Second Clerk even buys himself an overcoat (el sobretodo) in anticipation of salary increase.
3. H. A. Murena, El coronel de caballería / The Cavalry Colonel (translated by Gordon Brotherston)
4. Gabriel García Márquez, Monólogo de Isabel viendo llover en Macondo / Isabel's Soliloquy: Watching the Rain in Macondo (translated by Richard Southern)
   Originally, written as a part of One Hundred Years of Solitude but not included in the final version.
5. Juan Carlos Onetti, Bienvenido, Bob / Welcome, Bob (translated by Donald T. Shaw)
   I spend far too many days reading this story, thanks to the author's love for long sentences.
6. Camilo José Cela, La romería (translated by Gordon Brotherston)
   An outing of a middle-class family dominated by two harpies. Absolutely brilliant.
7. Carlos Martínez Moreno, Paloma / The Pigeon (translated by Giovanni Pontiero)
   En la ciudad de un millón de habitantes hay ya más de cien locos que crían palomas.
8. Juan Rulfo, Talpa (translated by J.A. Chapman)
   I liked Rulfo's writing style, but the story itself is rather depressing, even by the standards of this book.

Esa paz ya resuelta y casi definitiva que pesaba en nuestra Oficina, dejándonos conformes con nuestro pequeño destino y un poco torpes debido a nuestra falta de insomnios, se vio un día alterada por la noticia que trajo el Oficial Segundo. Era sobrino de un Oficial Primero del Ministerio y resulta que ese tío — dicho sea sin desprecio y con propiedad — había sabido que allí se hablaba de un presupuesto nuevo para nuestra Oficina. Como en el primer momento no supimos quién o quiénes eran los que hablaban de nuestro presupuesto, sonreímos con la ironía de lujo que reservábamos para algunas ocasiones, como si el Oficial Segundo estuviera un poco loco o como si nosotros pensáramos que él nos tomaba por un poco tontos.

Mario Benedetti, El presupuesto

This settled, almost absolute, peace that weighed down on our office, leaving us resigned to our little destinies and somewhat sluggish on account of not losing any sleep, was shattered one day by some news brought by the Second Clerk. He was a nephew of a Head Clerk in the Ministry, and it turned out that this uncle (speaking properly and without disrespect) had learnt that there was talk of a new budget for our office. As we didn't know at first what person or persons had been talking about our budget, we smiled with that particularly luxurious irony that we reserved for certain occasions, as if the Second Clerk was a bit mad, or as if we realized that he thought we were a bit stupid.

Mario Benedetti, The Budget

Merece la pena tuitear

No, I am not making it up: try to Google the web with this very phrase.

I don't particularly like Twitter. Maybe it is because of the people who clog it with incessant twitting. And while I appreciate that studies such as statistical analysis of 40 million Twitter messages may eventually shed some light on modern language evolution, I have no slightest inclination to follow any particular person.

So... ¿Tuitear o no tuitear? After some hesitation, I've created a Twitter account, @unaspalabritas, to put there some (mostly Spanish) words and expressions I come across, and their definitions. Vamos a ver si se trata de cualquier uso.

Más expresiones canarias

First published 12 June 2012 @ sólo algunas palabras

Since last October, I have been attending and thoroughly enjoying Spanish classes organised by CEPA (Centro de Educación de Personas Adultas) Fuerteventura Norte. But every good thing comes to an end: we had our last class today. Unfortunately, it is not clear if the classes will even continue next academic year, what with all the disgraceful budget cuts.

One evening I walked in the classroom and found these on the blackboard. Before the class started, I took care to copy them in my book — to share these colourful expressions with the world!

Canario	Castellano
¡Agüita! a	¡Qué pasada! o ¡Cuidado!
amarrar el burro al guayabero b	estar ligando
arrancar la penca	marcharse, irse
batata, bobomierda, papafrita, tolete	tonto, bobo (depende del tono, puede ser en broma o insulto)
enterao de la caja el agua	persona que lo sabe todo (despectivo), un listillo
estar como un pejín c	estar delgado
¡Fuerte chiquillo cocúo / morrúo!	¡Qué persona testaruda!
ir embalao d / follao	ir muy rápido
¡Ñoss! e / ¡Choss! f	para expresar algo exagerado
tener el rabo torniao g	estar del mal humor, enfadado

1. "Es una expresión popular canaria, muy utilizada en Tenerife, que se dice como coletilla cuando alguien lee, oye o ve algo que le impresiona o llama la atención especialmente, ya sea por su novedad, curiosidad, ironía o porque le resulta escandaloso o impactante" (¿Qué es agüita?)
2. Guayabero means "guava tree". But why one would tie the donkey to the guava tree? Maybe because he is after guayabas? Guayaba means not only "guava fruit" but also "young girl".
3. pejín a small fish, salted and dried (from pez)
4. embalado fast (from bala bullet)
5. Also ¡Ñohh! "Estoy sorprendido por lo que acabo de ver u oír" (from coño)
6. "Superlativo de ¡Ñohh!"
7. torniao = torneado, torcido

Léxico Canario para chonis

First published 21 April 2012 @ sólo algunas palabras

Whenever you order a cup of coffee (or tea) in Canaries, you have an opportunity to learn a bit of vernacular. The Canarian company, Café Ortega, came up with a brilliant idea: to put Canarian words (canarismos) where they are least expected... on sugar sachets. I don't take sugar with my hot drinks, but when I saw a sachet with the word zumbadera on it, I just had to take action. And when I say action, I mean a bit of internet research. Luckily for me, some people not only collect sugar sachets, but share their treasures with the world. Adriana, a schoolgirl and a budding sucrologist from Gran Canaria, did just that. I used many of the words from her collection in the table below.

Mind you, these sugar-sachet definitions of canarismos can be tricky, and not just for chonis (foreign tourists) but for the Spanish speakers too. For example, matraquilla is defined as "pesado con idea fija, obsesión, guineo". Guineo? In Collins Spanish-English Dictionary, guineo means "banana". But according to Léxico Canario y Palabras Canarias guide, guineo means "repetitive talk" or "nonsense". Or take mago: "campurrio, maúro, hombre del campo" — both campurrio and maúro are Canarian words themselves.

Spanish Wikipedia classifies canarismos as follows:

• Derived from Spanish or its dialects
• Derived from old Castilian, or archaisms
• Derived from other languages

The latter include those "borrowed" from Guanche language, for instance baifo, gofio, or tabaiba; Portuguese, such as margullar or millo; and English, e.g. bisne (business), fonil (funnel) or quinegua (King Edward potato).

aboyado	harto de comer, lleno hasta reventar
ahuevado	con forma esférica o de huevo
alongarse	asomarse, proyectar el busto hacia adelante
arrente	a ras, próximo a, seguido de
baifo	cabrito
baña	barriga, chicha, gordura
belingo	fiesta, jolgorio
bembas	labios (generalmente gruesos)
bisne	negocio de carácter trapisondista
bochinche	cafetín, taberna, cantina
cachimba	pipa para fumar tabaco
cachorro	sombrero que usa el canario
cambado	curvado, torcido, doblado
cartucho	bolsa de papel para envolver
chispar	lloviznar, llover ligeramente
choni	turista extranjero, guiri
destupir	desatascar, dejar libre el paso de una corriente del agua
encabronarse	irritarse, ponerse furioso
enyesque	tapa, pequeña porción de alimento para acompañar la bebida
escoñar	estropear, dejar algo inservible
escobillón	el cepillo de barrer
fañoso	que habla con pronunciación nasal, constipado, resfriado
farruco	bravucón, matón
fechillo	cerrojo, pasador para cerrar puertas y ventanas
fonil	embudo
fósforo	cerilla
jalar	tirar de algo con la mano
jeito	maña, habilidad
jeringarse	fastidiarse, conformarse
jocico	boca, principalmente de animal aunque también se usa para personas
liña	cuerdas para tender la ropa
mago	campurrio, maúro, hombre del campo
magua	pena, desconsuelo, añoranza
majada	golpe (normalmente en las manos)
margullar	bucear, sumergirse
matraquilla	pesado con idea fija, obsesión, guineo
molido	cansado
ñoños	dedos de los pies
partigazo	tortazo contra el suelo, peñazo
pastuño	excremento de animal o persona
pelete	frío
queque	bizcocho (postre)
quinegua	tipo de papa (proviene del inglés King Edward)
raña	sucio, encachazado
rayar	anotar puntos de la partida "arrayar"
rodarse	desplazarse hacia un lado
rosca	palomita de maíz
ruín	1. Se dice del niño muy travieso, inquieto y revoltoso. 2. Se dice de los alimentos con mal sabor.
sancochado	hervido, guisado
solajero	sol muy fuerte
sopladera	globo
tangonazo	beber de un golpe, lingotazo
templadera	borrachera
tenderete	fiesta, reunión de gente divirtiéndose
tenique	piedra grande
tolete	lerdo, torpe
tonga	pila o porción de cosas apiladas en orden
ventorrillo	quiosco de feria de comidas y bebidas
verguilla	alambre de hierro
zarandajo	informal, persona en la que no se puede confiar
zumbadera	aturdimiento, atontamiento

cardinales y ordinales

First published 13 December 2011 @ sólo algunas palabras

Last Friday, on the way back from school, Timur and I talked about difference between números cardinales (cardinal numbers) and números ordinales (ordinal numbers). I used to confuse which are which until I mentally connected ordinal with Spanish masculine noun orden (order). So, that’s it: ordinal numbers are those that refer to positions within some ordered list, and cardinal numbers are... the other ones (those which represent quantities). Unlike English, where the ordinal numerals beyond 1st, 2nd and 3rd are typically formed by simply adding -th suffix to the corresponding cardinal numerals, Spanish has rather different terminology for ordinals.

OK, to an English speaker primero, segundo, tercero etc. should not sound exactly alien. Apart from first, second, third, fourth and so on, English has another set of ordinal numbers derived from Latin: primary, secondary, tertiary, quaternary... well, that’s about as far as it gets. I’ve never encountered quinary, senary and higher in either literature or conversation. Also, if you ever learned basics of music theory in a language other than English, the names of intervals are all very similar to Spanish ordinal numbers. But this is probably a topic for next post.

It is said that ordinal numbers above ten are seldom used in Spanish. Indeed, go googling for “mil novecientos sesenta y siete” and you’ll get thousands of hits. Now try to do the same with “milésimo noningentésimo sexagésimo séptimo”. The obvious explanation is that ordinals are significantly longer than cardinals. Still, it’s good to know one when you see one, so I think the table below may come handy *.

Cardinales		Ordinales
0	cero	—	—
1	uno	1º	primero
	un	1er	primer
	una	1ª	primera
2	dos	2º	segundo
		2ª	segunda
3	tres	3º	tercero
		3er	tercer
		3ª	tercera
4	cuatro	4º	cuarto
5	cinco	5º	quinto
6	seis	6º	sexto
7	siete	7º	séptimo
8	ocho	8º	octavo
9	nueve	9º	noveno
10	diez	10º	décimo
11	once	11º	undécimo
12	doce	12º	duodécimo
13	trece	13º	decimotercero
14	catorce	14º	decimocuarto
15	quince	15º	decimoquinto
16	dieciséis	16º	decimosexto
17	diecisiete	17º	decimoséptimo
18	dieciocho	18º	decimoctavo
19	diecinueve	19º	decimonoveno
20	veinte	20º	vigésimo
21	veintiuno	21º	vigésimo primero
22	veintidós	22º	vigésimo segundo
23	veintitrés	23º	vigésimo tercero
24	veinticuatro	24º	vigésimo cuarto
25	veinticinco	25º	vigésimo quinto
26	veintiséis	26º	vigésimo sexto
27	veintisiete	27º	vigésimo séptimo
28	veintiocho	28º	vigésimo octavo
29	veintinueve	29º	vigésimo nono
30	treinta	30º	trigésimo
31	treinta y uno	31º	trigésimo primero
32	treinta y dos	32º	trigésimo segundo
33	treinta y tres	33º	trigésimo tercero
40	cuarenta	40º	cuadragésimo
50	cincuenta	50º	quincuagésimo
60	sesenta	60º	sexagésimo
70	setenta	70º	septuagésimo
80	ochenta	80º	octogésimo
90	noventa	90º	nonagésimo
100	cien	100º	centésimo
101	ciento uno	101º	centésimo primero
200	doscientos	200º	ducentésimo
300	trescientos	300º	tricentésimo
400	cuatrocientos	400º	cuadringentésimo
500	quinientos	500º	quingentésimo
600	seiscientos	600º	sexcentésimo
700	setecientos	700º	septingentésimo
800	ochocientos	800º	octingentésimo
900	novecientos	900º	noningentésimo
1000	mil	1000º	milésimo
1001	mil uno	1001º	milésimo primero
1002	mil dos	1002º	milésimo segundo
2000	dos mil	2000º	dosmilésimo
2011	dos mil once	2011º	dosmilésimo undécimo
3000	tres mil	3000º	tresmilésimo
4000	cuatro mil	4000º	cuatromilésimo
5000	cinco mil	5000º	cincomilésimo
10.000	diez mil	10.000º	diezmilésimo
100.000	cien mil	100.000º	cienmilésimo
500.000	quinientos mil	500.000º	quinientosmilésimo
1.000.000	un millón	1.000.000º	millonésimo

* In Diccionario panhispánico de dudas and Spanish Wikipedia, the symbols for ordinal numerals contain a full stop (1.º, 3.^er, 5.ª), while Collins dictionaries do not (1º, 3^er, 5ª). I used this latter style in the table. Also, starting with 4, I listed only masculine ordinals. I hope you don’t think this sexist. To get feminine forms, simply replace the terminal -o’s with -a’s and º’s with ª’s). Maybe one day Real Academia Española will admit uses like 1^@ and segund@, why not.

Falsos amigos

First published 8 November 2011 @ sólo algunas palabras

The other day, I was chatting with a friend of mine about Spanish/English false friends: the words that look or sound similar but often mean very different things. Classic examples of these are constipado vs constipated and embarazada vs embarrassed. A good list of such falsos amigos is compiled by Laura K. Lawless.

Some words are written (although not pronounced) exactly the same in English and Spanish, for instance these:

Word	English	Spanish
actual	existing in reality	current, present
agenda	a list of matters to be taken up	diary
arena	an enclosed area for the presentation of spectacular events	sand
cargo	freight	charge; position
hay	cut and dried grass	there is, there are
local n	a person who lives nearby	location, premises, site
mama	mother	breast
manga	a Japanese comic style	sleeve
mayor	the leader of a city	bigger; older
media	plural of medium; environment	sock, stocking, pantyhose; mean, average; half
once	one and only one time; as soon as	eleven
pan	flat vessel used in cooking	bread
quince	a tree, Cydonia oblonga, or its fruit	fifteen
real	existing in reality	existing in reality; royal
red	a colour	network, web
sensible	reasonable	sensitive
sin	a violation of a moral or religious law	without
taller	more tall	workshop
tan	a darkening of the skin after exposure to UV light	so, as

Molinas y molinos

From the latest (November 2011) issue of Fuerteventura Grapevine:

Fuerteventura's windmills are identifiable by gender. Female windmills (moilinas) are one storey high rectangular buildings, while male windmills (moilinos) are 2 or 3 stories and circular.

Molinos date from mid to late 1700s, they were round and built out of stone and wood and whitewashed with lime. The miller's tools were stored on the ground floor, the grain on the second and the milling machinery on the top floor.

Most moilinos and moilinas have four sails although there are some with six or even twelve.

¿Dónde puedo copiar la llave?

Now that I officially (!) live in Spain, I reckon it's time to move beyond tourist Spanish. In places like Corralejo, ¿Dónde está el bar? or ¿Dónde está el restaurante? are really silly questions. They are, well, everywhere. ¿Dónde está la ferretería? — entirely different matter. I actually had to ask this last week. Although even that did not help: not every ferretería provides the service I was after.

¿Dónde puedo copiar la llave?

(For the record, I did not find any open establishment doing that in Corralejo.)

Here are a few more words which can be of real use when you just move in and start looking for stuff:

el cubo	bucket
el cuchillo	knife
la escoba	broom
el fontanero, la fontanera	plumber
la fregona / la mopa	mop
el hervidor	(electric) kettle
la lavadora / el lavarropas	washing machine
el lavavajillas	dishwasher
el (punto de) reciclaje	recycling (point)
el recogedor	dustpan
el sacacorchos	corkscrew

Naming names

According to Lonely Planet's Canary Islands Travel Guide, 4^th edition, p. 31:

Although the term Canario has come to designate all of the islanders, it once referred more strictly to the people of Gran Canaria alone (now more often as not referred to as Grancanarios or Canariones). The people of Tenerife are Tinerfeños; those of Lanzarote are not Lanzaroteños but Conejeros; Fuerteventura, Majoreros (from the Guanche name for much of the island, Maxorata); La Gomera, Gomeros; and El Hierro, Herreños.

Unfortunately, this text misses Isla de La Palma, whose inhabitants, I believe, should be named Palmeras (f) and Palmeros (m).

La canción de la semana #118

The Renaissance song Din Din has been performed by many vocal ensembles — check YouTube, for example. I first heard this version performed by (then) all-female Afro-Belgian band Zap Mama. Incidentally, that is the only song in Spanish I heard from them, but I loved all their a cappella songs from this album.

Dindirin danya, dindirindin. Je me levé un bel maitin, Matineta per la prata; encontré le ruyseñor, que cantaba so la rama, dindirindin. Dindirin danya, dindirindin. Encontré le ruyseñor , que cantaba so la rama, "Ruyseñor, le ruyseñor, facteme aquesta embaxata, dindirindin." Dindirin danya, dindirindin. "Ruyseñor, le ruyseñor, facteme aquesta embaxata, Y digalo a mon ami: que je ya só maritata, dindirindin." Dindirin danya, dindirindin.

Kirill

El inglés de la calle

Hola a todos,

just came across El curso del slang inglés for Spanish speakers. Of course, this can be used by English speakers as well. How to say in Spanish "It's raining cats and dogs"? See Cuestiones meteorológicas.

Kirill

El mundo de Goomer

Hola a todos.

Aquí os coloco un vínculo con un tebeo en español, El mundo de Goomer.

Espero que os guste. De momento, se pueden escuchar 13 episodios. Y están todos muy bien. Seguramente lo utilizaremos en clase algún día.

Elena

¿Qué tiempo hace?

Some basic science of tormentas eléctricas. And from the Tiempo Severo en España website, Atlas de Nubes.

Kirill