In the window box of my new apartment, there’s a pigeon and her two pidgelets. I’ve watched over them since they were wee little eggs, and now I watch their growth and increased plumage (and poopage) every day, several times a day. So when the mama pigeon seemed to disappear for around a 12-hour period, I panicked. It didn’t help that there are always these sleazy-looking cats slinking around the interior of the apartment building. I was certain the two little chicks were now alone in the world, and I was going to Google what to feed baby pigeons, how to keep them warm, and, potentially, how to teach them to fly when the time inevitably came. (And maybe ask my parents to look around and see if they still had our VHS version of Fly Away Home) Just as I had fully mentally assumed my new role as Mother Pigeon, I heard their frantic cheeps/píos píos and looked over to see the real Mother Pigeon back. Did she meet a man? Just need some me time away from her needy little wards? I’ll never know, but I was relieved to see that she hadn’t been eaten, nor had she abandoned her helpless kiddos. She looked a little guilty, but all was well.

Did you like the story? I tell it to say that, in the same way, I haven’t abandoned the blog. I just didn’t really have Spanish on the brain for a while, there. A month passed where I seriously felt like the only new word I learned was how to say funnel in Spanish. (Embudo) Blazing new Spanish trails, I was not. There was a lot of English, a lot of silence, and a lot of Spanish that more or less consisted of the same ol’ same ol’. And new relationships, dwellings, work, activities, and studies that kept me away from the blog. Oh, and there hasn’t been internet at my apartment for almost three weeks now, thanks to a real gem of a Spanish gentleman who took it upon himself to cut the cable because he suspected us of stealing from his connection. But, just like Mamá Paloma, I’m back and ready to be Spanish blogger extraordinaire again, hitting the books, so to speak, and teaching you how to express your rad self in Spanish. Before I share something new, let me (re)share something old: my second column from The Bogotá Post. I first wrote this post in October 2011, but this version is revamped, improved, and definitely more accurate than the first go, thanks to a sidekick who’s helping me out. And you guys? How’s the Spanish going?

Let’s make a collaboration! 

At first glance, colaborar and collaborate seems to be one of those translation pairs we like best. One means one thing, the other means the same thing, and everything’s hunky-dory, right? But then you come to Colombia and you start hearing colaborar used left and right, whereas in English it’s one of those words you hear rather infrequently. What’s going on? Are Colombians just a particularly collaborative bunch? Are they renowned for playing well with others?

In English, “collaborate” gets bandied about in power breakfasts between businessmen, trade deals between governments, and newspaperese. Not being a company bigwig, politico, or journalist largely exempts me from using this word in my day-to-day parlance, though. Spanish, however, does use this word quite often, and Spanish speakers will often reach for colaborar when we would use a more run-of-the-mill word such as plain old “help,” “work together,” or even “volunteer.”

What does this mean for you, oh-so-diligent Spanish learner? Well, make sure you realize that it’s used much more in Spanish, meaning you should be using it more often. Don’t worry; you won’t sound excessively fancy. Whereas in English it generally means working together on some kind of intellectual effort, joining forces and brainpower to attain mutual goals, in Spanish it just means two or more people co-laboring on . . . well, just about anything.

As you can see, it’s often used with the more watered-down meaning of “to help.” To whittle it down even further, Colombians like to dispense with the prepositions. Thus, people regularly say the Spanish equivalent of things like “I collaborated her” or “Will you collaborate me?”, treating the word as if it acted like “to help,” instead of “I collaborated with her” or “Will you collaborate with me?”.

¿En qué le puedo colaborar? ¿Le colaboro en algo?

Can I help you? Be prepared to hear this from ten different salespeople when you walk into stores. Note that in these constructions the phrase is colaborar en, but it’s otherwise colaborar con.

¿Te colaboro?

Do you need help? Here, let me give you a hand.

Con mucho gusto les colaboro con las traducciones.

I’d be happy to help you with the translations.

If you’re the one in need, a smooth ¿Me podrías colaborar? will be sure to elicit the aid you’re looking for. As the word is so vague, context and body language will convey the nature of the favor you’re looking for.

¿Usted me podría colaborar acá con una empujadita?

Would you mind helping me out and giving it a push?

Oye, ¿me colaboras un momento con estos libros?

Could you hold these books for a second?

Mona, ¿me colaboras con una monedita?

Hey, blondie, can you spare a dime?

The noun form -colaboración- is also very common.

Cualquier colaboración será bienvenida.

We appreciate each and every donation, no matter how small.

Necesito su colaboración para poder entregar los documentos a tiempo.

I’m going to need everyone to make an extra effort so we can turn these documents in on time.

Rather unkosher, but the word colaborar also tends to show up when, say, someone tries to dodge a ticket from a police officer.

Uy, ¿y será que usted no me puede colaborar con eso?

Isn’t there a way we could work this out between the two of us?

Or, when you’re just a few decimal points shy of passing your class and need to beg your teacher for some leniency.

Uy, profe, colabóreme ahí, por favor.

Come on, please help me out! Just this once!

You generally use colaborar with a stranger or with someone with whom you speak formally (like a boss, for example). It’s a kinder, softer way of phrasing things, and it slyly includes the listener in the action so you’re not just asking for a favor point-blank. It’s also A-OK to just use ayudar. To use colaborar with someone you’re close to could sound a bit cold and formal, as if you’re trying to signal distance all of a sudden. When you’re annoyed with someone you’re close to and want to let off some steam, it’s an ideal word to use.

Oiga, pero colabóreme porque llevo todo el día haciendo aseo y usted en un segundo llega con las patas cochinas a ensuciarme todo.

Hey, how about a little help now and then? Here I am cleaning all day, and then you just track mud in and make it all dirty again.

When pressed to explain why one would choose colaborar over ayudar, an old boyfriend once told me that ayudar sounds more formal around here. Sure, you could just say ayudar, but wouldn’t it be more exciting to collaborate, as if you’re working together on the problem instead of you just looking for a handout?

I know, I know–enough with the reduxes! Long-time readers are getting lots of déjà vu lately, and even the fun of saying déjà vu with a sexy French accent isn’t making up for the flurry of retreads. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, today I submitted a column that’s 100% new–no rehash. See the original juicioso post here.

Juicioso

When I came to Colombia in 2009, I arrived feeling that I had a pretty solid grip on Spanish. Oh sure, there were words I didn’t know, but I was certain that all my years of learning Spanish in school would be enough to confer me high intermediate or even low advanced status. How sadly naive I was.

The fact was I was seriously deficient in actual interaction with native speakers. This meant two things: 1) I could barely speak in a way that came even close to sounding natural, and 2) My ability to understand native speakers was even more abysmal. My inflated self-confidence took a dramatic nosedive.

Today’s word marked one of those crushing moments when reality began to sink in. One of those words that hammered in the depressing verdict that maybe I wasn’t such a Spanish hotshot after all. Maybe my Spanish was terrible. Now what?

It was my first weekend in Colombia, and I was at the house of some relatives of the family I was living with. An uncle, Orlando, jovial as ever, greeted me by saying something to the effect of, ¿Qué más, mi niña? ¿Juiciosa?

And I said, WHAT?

¿Juiciosa?

WHAT?

¿Juiciosa?

The meaningless syllables mercilessly ricocheted on my brain only to indicate that I had nothing. It was pitiful. Later that night, I turned to the dictionary for guidance. Now, the dictionary will tell you that juicioso means judicious. In Colombia, however, juicioso is used to mean hardworking, well-behaved, and responsible. As you can imagine, it’s often used to tell children to be good or to describe someone’s work ethic. It’s also frequently used in a less straightforward way to ask if someone’s been working hard recently or been a “good boy” or “good girl,” i.e., staying out of trouble. The noun form juicio is also used.

¿Qué más? ¿Cómo te ha ido? ¿Juiciosa? – Ah, pues, bien, gracias a Dios. Sí, claro, muy juiciosa con mis estudios.

How’s it going? What have you been up to lately? Staying out of trouble? – Oh, you know. Pretty good. Busy with school stuff.

¿Así que al fin no fuiste a la fiesta? – No, me quedé en casa cuidando a mis hermanos. – Ah, ¡tan juicioso!

So, you didn’t end up going to the party? – No, I stayed home to babysit my little brothers. – Well, aren’t you responsible!

¿Qué más? ¿Qué hace? – No, por acá juicioso en el trabajo.

How’s it going? What’s going on? – Just working hard over here.

When you notice your friend who’s typically a lazybones knocking himself out and being responsible, use this word to highlight your incredulousness.

Uy, ¿y ese juicio? – No, hoy me dio por asear la casa.

Well, check you out! Mr. Responsible! – Nah, I just felt like cleaning the house today.

As mentioned, it’s common to hear a parent or teacher use juicioso or juicio with children.

Hoy se quedan con la abuela, así que por favor pórtense juiciosos y me le hacen caso.

You’re staying with grandma today, so be good and do what she says.

Ojo, pues, mucho juicio.

Behave yourself!

I consider juicioso a sort of muletilla in greetings, one of those filler words that usually doesn’t mean very much at all. Are your friends really interested in checking to make sure you haven’t been up to mischief? Would anyone ever confess to not being juicioso lately? The asker is looking for a yes, so make sure you give them one, simultaneously confirming for them why they think so highly of you. A win-win.

I just read a feature in El Tiempo called 22 frases que caracterizan a un colombiano en cualquier parte del mundo (22 phrases that will identify a Colombian anywhere in the world). As these kinds of linguistic jumbles are wont to do, it disappointed. Many of the phrases are not even close to being uniquely Colombian. I’m sure you’ve experienced this before, when someone teaches you that por si las moscas or nunca digas “de esta agua no beberé” and the like are, like, soooo quintessentially Mexican/Salvadoran/Colombian/Bolivian! Um, no. No, they’re not. Phrases like those and hundreds of others are used pretty much everywhere. Of course, it’s difficult to know which phrases and words “belong” to your country and which ones are open source, and it’s natural to want to claim certain words and phrases to boost regional pride and identity. I never say that a certain word or phrase is uniquely American, because the odds are good that they use it in England/New Zealand/Jamaica/India/etc., too. Not that this kind of imprecision ruffles my feathers or anything, it’s just that I appreciate knowing what’s used where. And I do enjoy bandying about uniquely Colombian words and phrases to ratchet up my Colombianness . . . but many of these phrases just won’t be the ticket. Let’s look at some of them.

1. A mí me gustan las cuentas claras y el chocolate espeso - (Knew it. Not uniquely Colombian.)

Literal translation: I like my accounts clear and my chocolate thick.
Translation: I like to keep money matters transparent, but I like my hot chocolate nice and creamy.
Meaning: Short reckonings make long friends.

I like to keep money matters and debts (cuentas) transparent, and my hot chocolate thick and creamy. I know, whaa? In a drink, claro and espeso are opposites, claro/clarito meaning well watered-down, weak, and thin, and espeso being nice and thick/creamy/frothy, as well as cargado (like strong coffee). You’re comparing two completely unrelated things, but just to say that each thing should be as it’s supposed to be. There’s a time for everything . . . but when its time comes, that thing better be just as it should be. There’s a time for being clear, and there’s a time for being dense. Don’t be trying to make what you owe me all murky and convoluted and bogged down with small print; that’s for my hot chocolate! And what are you doing serving me this sissy hot chocolate where it’s so thin that I can see the bottom of the cup? Save that no-BS, straight-to-the-point transparency for when we sit down to talk about when you’re going to pay off your debts with me! As you can see, the phrase really has nothing to do with hot chocolate; it’s just a rhetorical device. The best way to drink hot chocolate is nice and thick, and the best way to handle debts is by playing things by the book and settling them as soon as possible. Transparency is of the essence . . . except for when we’re talking about hot chocolate, of course.

Variants and similar phrases (the phrases with “y el chocolate espeso” are definitely used in Spain; the other, chocolateless versions seem to be used in many countries):

Las cuentas claras y el chocolate espeso (Apparently sometimes one person simply says las cuentas claras, and the other person chimes in with the second part)

Las cosas claras y el chocolate espeso (Call things by their name, call a spade a spade)

El agua clara y el chocolate espeso

Cuentas claras, amistades largas

Las cuentas claras conservan la amistad

Also, confession time: Colombians like to “thicken” their hot chocolate with something that I find, well, rather odd. (I’m sure it’s delicious, but I just can’t get over my mental prejudice.) They like to dunk cheese in their hot chocolate, let it melt, and then spoon it out, nice and melty and stringy. I like cheese almost as much as the next gal, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let it gunk up a perfectly delicious mug of hot chocolate! Why they haven’t realized the vastly superior virtues of miniature marshmallows in the cheese’s stead, I couldn’t tell you. Also, I think it might be a very Bogotá thing. I guess they could change the phrase to a mí me gustan las cuentas claras y el chocolate con queso without making a dent in the meter or rhyme. Look, we can nibble on cheese while talking about money; I might even be willing to accept cheese as payment if it’s really fancy or if the debt is minimal. BUT KEEP YOUR CHEESY PAWS OFF MY HOT CHOCOLATE! I’ll take cheese in my money matters if I must, go ahead and cheese it up to the max, even, but I’m gonna have to say ixnay on the hot chocolate cheese. Anywhere but my hot chocolate. Thank you. I, um, just needed to get that off my chest. And I know we eat and drink plenty of weird things in the U.S., too. Don’t take it personally, Colombia. I find it charming . . . just not for me, not for now.

More phrases to come!

Another so-called uniquely Colombian phrase from this list, another verdict. Unique or not, you’ll certainly sound mind-bogglingly colloquial and Colombian if you salt and pepper your Spanish with these phrases!

2. ¿Durmió conmigo anoche o qué, que ya no saluda? (Knew it. Not uniquely Colombian.)

Literal translation: Did you sleep with me last night or something? And that’s why you no longer say hi to me?
Translation: Did we sleep together last night or something, and now you don’t think you even have to say hi to me?
Meaning: Hey, how ’bout a simple hello? Is that too much to ask?

I’ve never had this one directed at me; I’m not even sure that I’ve heard anyone say it to anyone else. I knew it existed, though. This phrase is used for calling out someone who doesn’t greet you, either pretending to not see you or just flat-out ignoring you. Of course, we’re talking about someone who knows you, not every Tom, Dick, and Harry who passes you on the street and doesn’t see fit to acknowledge Your Highness. It’s about asking someone if they’re upset and insisting on courteousness. So, what does the phrase literally mean? So, you’re not even going to say hi to me? What, did we sleep together last night or something? And how does that make sense, exactly? I figure that either the sex was really, really bad, and you’ve decided that this person no longer exists for you. (Because you’re embarrassed or embarrassed for the other person) Or, you’re embarrassed that it happened to begin with and are filled with regret, preferring to just never acknowledge this person’s existence again in the hopes that it will be as if it never happened (the encounter may have come about with alcohol, leading to decisions you’re not all that proud of come morning). An unclassy phrase for unclassy behavior–I hope I’m never on the receiving end of it. I have to admit that I kinda really wanna use it, though.

I’d never seen the phrase with “ya,” just ¿Durmió conmigo anoche o qué, que no saluda? There’s also: ¿Acaso dormimos juntos? (Um, did we sleep together last night by any chance?)

In Venezuela, they say things that are extremely similar: Mira, ¿yo dormí contigo anoche?, Mira, ¿y acaso yo dormí contigo anoche?, and ¿No me vas a saludar? ¿Dormí contigo anoche o qué?

I also found this one online, and of course that saludai form is telltale Chilean. Chileans, do you also tell off non-greeters by accusing them of sleeping with you the night before? – Y vo’, ¿¿dormí contigo anoche que no saludai acaso?? Maybe it was uttered by a Colombian or Venezuelan transplant in Chile, though, or vice versa.

So, two phrases down, and we’re still hunting for one that’s 100% uniquely Colombian. They certainly abound, just not on these kinds of lists. But since your average Joe has no idea what’s truly unique and what’s used in other countries, you’ll get tons of brownie points for sounding oh-so-“Colombian” with these phrases. If nothing else, this phrase should really underscore just how essential it is to always greet in Colombia, so it’s an excellent opportunity for brushing up on your C0lombian greetings. There’s just no such thing as overgreeting down here, but undergreet or nongreet at your own risk.

We continue with our list of Colombian phrases, scrutinizing them to see which ones really cut the mustard when it comes to being uniquely Colombian. And speaking of cut, and speaking of mustard, today’s phrase is quite apropos.

3. Tengo un filo, que si me agacho me corto (Knew it. Uniquely Colombian.)

Literal translation: I have a blade, and if I bend over I’ll cut myself.
Translation: I have a hunger that’s so sharp that if I bend over I’ll cut myself.
Meaning: I’m starving, I’m ravenous, I’m dying of hunger.

El filo is the edge or blade of a knife. In Colombia, filo can also mean tremendous hunger. So, just imagine having a sharp knife in your stomach, blade-side up. You’d have to walk very upright to make sure the blade didn’t cut into you; if you bent over, it would slice right into your stomach. So violent! But it’s just a phrase.

But, wait, a quick internet search reveals, devastatingly, that filo means biting hunger in many countries! I had no idea. I just swallowed what I was told–that it was an out-and-out Bogotanismo. Not at all, though. They can’t claim the credit for this one. Filo also means hunger in Mexico, Venezuela, Peru, and Central America. And probably some other countries as well. Strangely, the RAE only recognizes El Salvador’s usage of filo as intense hunger. So, if there’s any country that could claim rights to the word, it would be them. Describe your filo with adjectives like atroz, enorme, tenaz, voraz, and tremendo.

Depending on the country, you might hear some variation of: Ando con filo, Qué filo tengo, Cargo un filo enorme, or Me dio filo.

Filo‘s not uniquely Colombian, but it appears that our colorful phrase is. Say something like, Uy, parce, tengo un filo donde me agache me corto (donde + subjunctive = si) and there will be no room for doubt regarding where you (are trying to) hail from!

The list of so-called Colombian phrases goes on, and today’s entry is one I find particularly fun and with a fascinating backstory. Not to be read on an empty stomach!

4. Uy, ¿quién pidió pollo? (Knew it. Uniquely Colombian.)

Literal translation: Ooh, who ordered chicken?
Translation: How did we get so lucky to have this attractive person grace us with their presence?
Meaning: What a babe! Ooh, sexy! What a stud! What a hunk!

¿Quién pidió pollo? is said when a really attractive person walks into a room. Ooh, who ordered chicken? Why chicken and not chorizo? Why meat and not asparagus? Why are we comparing people to food at all? It’s kind of a long story.

So, chicken used to be a luxury food for Colombia’s middle-class city dwellers. Sure, it was frequent fare in the countryside, but its high price (due to high production costs and inefficient production methods) made it a treat for special occasions city-side. Chicken was for the well-off, and to be able to eat chicken regularly meant you had elite status. Elite families could splurge on chicken on Sundays, and non-elites had to wait until the December holidays to savor the delicacy.

As chicken was so expensive, it became common for a diner in a restaurant to jokingly screech Y eso, ¿pero quién pidió pollo? when the check arrived, indicating their faux shock at the high price, one that could only be explained by someone at the table having ordered the opulent dish. Either to identify the prodigal person and stare them down, or to ironically point out that as no one had ordered chicken, there was no justification for such a sky-high bill. But, really it was just a joke, a meaningless line to gripe about having to fork over the payment and to elicit a chuckle or two. Basically, good grief! You’ve got to be kidding me! Though maybe funny at first, the line is now considered by many to be the height of tastelessness and low-class behavior, eliciting only groans. Dude, you ate the food; just pay what you owe and don’t be stingy. No need to be a drama queen about it. Oh, and the eighties called; they want their joke back.

Sometimes the phrase is used to express that a bill for anything is expensive, not necessarily chicken. It’s when you do a double take when the bill comes, incredulously asking yourself, how can that be?

Recién llegado a Colombia, me comí unos patacones con pollo y queso en un restaurante del centro comercial Santafé. Allí me cobraron la módica suma de U$ 12. ¿Cómo? ¿Quién pidió pollo? Bueno, yo pedí pollo, pero me pareció costoso.

I’d just gotten to Colombia, and I ordered some patacones with chicken and cheese at a restaurant in the Santafé mall. The bill came for the totally reasonable amount of a whopping $12 USD. Excuse me? But, who ordered chicken? OK, I ordered chicken, but it still seemed crazy expensive to me.

Times have changed, though, and chicken is now the cheapest meat in Colombia. Whereas before chicken would have been unreachable for the lowest strata, it’s now a food for the masses. To be pertinent today, the phrase would have to be: Who ordered beef? Or, who ordered pork? Not to mention who ordered lobster, Waygu beef, or caviar. The phrase lost its punch and has largely disappeared from Colombia’s lexical landscape, after its peak during the 50s and 60s. Well, with this meaning anyway. ¿Quién pidió pollo? is still alive and kicking, after being reborn in an entirely different environment. From being used to describe a luxury food, it’s now used to describe a luxury person. That is, when an attractive man or woman walks into a room, catching people off guard.

How to reconcile this new usage with the old one? This gringa‘s guess is that the “chicken” (the luxury item) has arrived, luscious and mouth-watering, and now people want to know what they did to deserve such over-the-top eye candy. Like, people walk in and out of a room or an office constantly, and they’re just rice and beans or a plate of lentils. Filling but nothing to get excited about. But, chicken? And nobody even ordered it? It just walks in to freely bestow us with such attractiveness? Yessiree, count me in. It’s a phrase of admiration. The question also seems redundant to me–it’s not really asking who does this “dish” belong to? It’s more like, um, nobody here ordered such a gourmet dish, but we’ll take her/him! I’d love to hear the perspectives of others–like I said, these are just my speculations.

Some people think the phrase is used because an attractive woman is similar to a chicken: legs, bronzed skin, and what have you. I don’t really buy it, though. And, as noted, the phrase is also used for men.

So, you might hear this when someone (or even you, you stunner you!) attractive walks into a room, or you might just hear it used as a piropo when someone who’s a looker passes someone on the street. It’s like, would ya look at that . . ?

Eh ave maría, ¿quién pidió pollo?

This was bizarrely enough one of the first Colombian phrases I learned when I arrived five years ago. Family members of the people I first stayed with put on some clips of Antonio Sanint’s classic standup comedy routine, ¿Quién pidió pollo?, going on and on about how it was the funniest thing ever, oblivious, I guess, to how iffy my Spanish was. Yeah, funniest thing ever, I’m sure, except when you only catch or understand every tenth word. So, that was a bomb, but I listened to the routine on Youtube years later while working a boring desk job. Much, much funnier that time around. I listened to the routine again last night while making dinner for, um, research. Here’s the part about the phrase, and Sanint touches on both meanings and uses of ¿Quién pidió pollo?

Pero la reina de todas las frases, las que no podemos evitar decir, es cuando uno está en un restaurante y le llega la cuenta y uno mira a los amigos y aunque no se les hace cara, uno dice, uyyyyy, ¿quién pidió pollo? Yo me imagino que en algún momento fue chistoso . . . cuando el pollo era caro, creo. Pero ya no, entonces esa frase ha, ya ha montado, ya ni siquiera es con la comida, sino, uy, ¿quien pidió pollo? Con esa pierna, ¿pa’ que la otra? Así me la recetó el médico, ¿sí o qué?

But the king of all the phrases, those ones that we can’t help saying, is when you’re in a restaurant and you get the check, and you look at your friends, and even though they don’t even think it’s expensive, you say, oooooh, but who ordered chicken? I imagine that was funny once . . . back when chicken was expensive, I guess. But it’s not anymore, so that phrase has, it’s taken on, now we don’t even use it with food, but, oooooh, check her/him out! With a leg like that, what do I need two of them for? Just like the doctor ordered–am I right?

I’m pretty sure this phrase is as Colombian as it gets. For better or worse, you’ve just stared right into the Colombian psyche. Food, money, sex, culture: this slice of language encapsulates all of them. What else needs to be said?

We continue wending our way through the list of Colombian (or “Colombian”) phrases, and today we wend not on tiptoe, not in a sprint, but in a dance. We’ll even give this post a soundtrack, just for the heck of it. When that one ends, you can finish reading the post and leave your comment while shaking to this one or this one. Oh man, such good music for breaking it down.

5. Baila como un trompo (Knew it. Not uniquely Colombian.)

Literal translation: he/she dances like a top
Translation: he/she is a great dancer
Meaning: to be a great dancer, to be light on your feet, to be a twinkle toes

I think I’ve mentioned a few times that I love to dance. No, really, love to dance. Adore it. Salsa, cha-cha-cha, cumbia, porro, bachata, and merengue. Plus the little bit I know of tango (mostly faking and letting skilled friends glide me around). I don’t think there’s anything I enjoy more. And obviously I’m obsessed with Spanish, especially Spanish of the Colombian persuasion. So, ahem, that makes me uniquely qualified to comment on today’s phrase. Not really, but it does speak my language and matches my groove. Let’s boogie!

Someone who dances like a top is obviously smooth, fluid, and has it going on. Also, they can just go on and on, totally in their element as they whip out dance after dance, azotando baldosa. The bailar como un trompo phrase is a great visual. I admit that sometimes I forget if it’s trompo or trompa. Dancing like an elephant’s trunk just wouldn’t be the same, though! Actually, though, a top is called a trompa in some places, as well as a thousand other names. Here in Colombia, it’s a trompo or a pirinola, which is a variation.

Oh, you know what I just learned? A trompo isn’t just any old top. It’s a top with a string attached to it, also known as a whipping top. This type of top is apparently common throughout Latin America. I’d never heard of or seen one, but I can imagine them. Like a cross between a top and a yo-yo. A stringless top is a peonza, and you can also say that someone dances like a peonza. I’ve been told that skilled top-spinners can make their tops spin the most incredible and intricate figures. I’m now imagining tops doing figure skating-type moves: triple axels and overhead lifts. So, we’re not talking just any old top here, and now you see that we’re not talking any old dancer.

This phrase is not uniquely Colombian by a long shot, but what else is new? Maybe it’s used more here (because many Colombians, especially Caleños, are incredible dancers), but the phrase is definitely used throughout Latin America. Here’s Elaine dancing like a top that’s spun out of control.

I’m sure we have natural ways of expressing this in English, but I just can’t think of them. Because I would never actually say the phrases above, that someone’s light on their feet or that they’re a twinkle toes. How would you say that someone’s an amazing dancer? Maybe compare them to Fred Astaire or Michael Jackson? I guess the most recent ode to a great dancer in pop culture was Maroon 5’s Moves Like Jagger. So, I’m sticking with that: bailar como un trompo means to bust a move like the iconic Mick Jagger. And that’s that!

Also, just as a side note, don’t be beguiled into believing the overgeneralization that all Latins love to dance or are great dancers. Although personally I do have this stereotype to thank for getting me into dancing–I started dancing the summer before I moved to Colombia because I thought that I’d be a dweeb with no social life if I came here and was a wallflower at parties, unable to mover el esqueleto. I did it purely out of a sense of obligation and dread, kicking and screaming all the way. Then I started dancing, and I loved it, shedding all my ridiculous self-consciousness and uptightness. But, you know what? I got here and quickly realized how wrong my expectation was! By no means is everyone a championship-winning dancer here. Salsa’s what I like most, and, like all music, it has a historical context. Its heyday has long come and gone, so a lot of young people feel that salsa is more the music of their parents’ generation, or even their grandparents’. Of course, there are still lots of fans of salsa, and new music is still being made, but it just doesn’t speak to the times and embody the pulse of the moment like it once did. Plus, there are lots of people who simply don’t care for it, or who have never liked to dance. And the expectation and pressure that they have to because of their ethnicity is just annoying. It would be like a foreigner going to the U.S. and expecting everyone to know the jitterbug, disco, or breakdancing. Also, if you do learn how to dance (socially or ballroom) with teachers or even just in the U.S./European scene, you’ll get here and realize how different it is to dance with people who learned like they learned Spanish . . . by listening and growing up around it, by “feeling” it. Some people are great, lots of people can’t do anything “fancy” and just kind of shuffle in a circle (but might have lots of natural rhythm and flow), and it’s all OK. So, if you’re not into dancing, don’t shun Colombia, thinking that you have to hide the fact that you just weren’t born to cut a rug. And if you do love to dance, well, just know that people might not dance exactly like you learned how to back home! There’s still so much to learn, share, and enjoy.

Can you imagine if the grocery store you always shopped at was renowned for being a shoplifter’s paradise? If the store was totally permissive and seemingly even went out of their way to accommodate thieves? On their way out, thieves would wave the stolen goods at the cashiers and security guards, and the personnel would just shrug their shoulders and go, “meh, I can’t be bothered.” Or they’d see them, but they’d be too lazy to pause the games on their cell phones to do anything about it. With plenty of acne and only a few stray facial hairs beginning to sprout, these security guards would be mere teenage boys, visibly bored and armed with what essentially came to nail clippers. Sometimes they’d even wink at the shoplifters and slyly give them a thumbs up. Other times the store officials would mock-seriously wag a finger at the miscreants, who would then pull their pockets inside out to show that they can’t afford to pay, poor little things. And then everyone would laugh and go about their business. When stopped, the sticky-fingered shoppers would regularly protest that the quality of the products is so poor that it isn’t fair or logical to expect them to pay for them. As the store owners would never be able to come up with a good comeback to this (they would know that their products are undeniably crappy, and they would have no plans of remedying this), they would just uncomfortably shrug and look in the other direction.

Imagine that we’re not talking one or two or even ten shoplifters in the supermarket chain’s stores, but almost seventy thousand a day. You’re a law-abiding citizen, of course, and you would never think of stealing (though it would be so easy to do, seeing as there are no cameras and an absolute laxness and impunity that mean you could get away with it, no questions asked). But, naturally, it ires you to know that you’re subsidizing these criminals, and the problem only gets worse as more and more people realize how unnecessary it is to pay for anything. Only a fool pays when you could just take it. And it would appear that the store couldn’t care less. Oh, but that’s where you’d be wrong. They absolutely do care, routinely fretting over the health and safety of their thieves. This leads them to periodically make half-hearted denunciations of the non-payers, tsk-tsking them for putting their lives in danger. No mention whatsoever is made of their criminality or, at the very least, extreme selfishness, and no effort is made to reduce shoplifting. Once in a blue moon, shoplifters are play-nabbed, but then just as quickly let go. It’s all a game, and this joke of a system is carried out right in front of the honest folks. What kind of self-respecting person would continue to patronize this establishment? Well, when it’s essentially the only choice you have, all the other nearby stores being either convenience stores filled with junk food or prohibitively expensive gourmet shops. You continue to bear it, your dignity suffering a little more each day. The local newspapers report on the shoplifting epidemic regularly, but this changes nothing. It’s an open secret, and the store appears to be entirely complacent.

And then you arrive at the store one day to face a huge sign hanging over the doorway: Due to low revenues, we are forced to raise our prices. Thank you for understanding. 

SEVENTY THOUSAND daily thefts that the store took zero measures to curtail or stop. SEVENTY THOUSAND daily thefts that the store still has no intention of lifting a pinky finger about. And these buffoons have the effrontery to feel sorry for themselves and force their honest customers to make up for the loss in revenue that their own incompetence brought about. No, I don’t and won’t “understand” it. What nerve, what gall, what utter audacity. Of course, raised prices will only ensure that the thefts will increase, but at this point, one almost starts to feel that those idiots deserve those thefts. In the face of such boundless ineptitude and indifference, I for one refuse to ever support their services again until a serious anti-shoplifting policy is implemented. I’m not holding my breath.

Don’t live in Bogotá? I’m talking about this horrendous little system called TransMilenio. I’m actually a huge supporter of TransMilenio (and have a lot of respect for Enrique Peñalosa), but its current administration is flabbergastingly horrible. Like, couldn’t be made worse even if you were paid to think of how to make it more useless. I used it twice yesterday, railed against this very topic with a friend, and then came home to learn that the fares are going up. And I’ll be honest with you: it doesn’t really affect me because by local standards, I’m rich. Yes, it’s just a “measly” five cents, but if you only knew how measly local salaries are you’d know how brazen this is in light of the rampant thievery that goes uncommented and unimpeded. Also, TransMilenio is very expensive compared to Latin American averages. It’s the principle, though, and TransMilenio and the local government show time and time again that they have none. They’re all talk, all squawk, all speech, all plan, all study, all announcement, all defense, all self-pity, all conspiracy theory, all accusation, all improvisation, all self-congratulation, all self-nomination for obscure international awards . . . with so very little to show for it all. Jokers, every last one of them. So, again, I refuse to ever take TransMilenio again (even though my card has almost 30.000 on it) until this problem is seriously and effectively addressed. I don’t even insist that they address all of their other ills–just fix this problem of the non-payers, at the very least! Their silent condonation makes them complicit in their own robbery and in the robbery of the rest of us. It already felt like a daily slap in the face, and this new fare hike now feels like a kick in the gut. I wash my hands of the whole scummy ordeal.

I recognize that I’m privileged in that I can even consider forgoing this option, instead relying on walking, biking, taxis, and SITP (I see them as a mal menor, as at least they’re not affected by non-payers). Many, many Bogotanos absolutely can’t, and they’re the ones that will be most hit by this fare raise. Surely, many of them will resort to not paying themselves. Not that everyone who sneaks in without paying does so because they can’t afford to . . . many do so just because; to stick it to the man; because stealing is their nature; because papaya servida, papaya comida; and so on and so forth. I’m glad that this fare raise is supposedly going to help continue the subsidy for those on SISBEN, but for me it still doesn’t excuse the gargantuan problem with the non-payers and the complete silence and invisibility of the authorities on this issue.

Where’s the Spanish? Well, let’s see, I probably shouldn’t teach you emputada or any of the “four-letter” invective I find most suitable for everyone related to this decision. But, there’s this: these 70,000 daily non-payers are called colados. Colarse means to get in somewhere without paying, to sneak in, or to gatecrash. It also means cutting in line. And just plain old colar means to strain, so a piña colada is a drink made from straining pineapple. Cut out the entire mesh part of the strainer or sieve and just let the entire pineapple plop into your drink, and you get what TransMilenio lets happen every day. TransMilenio was inaugurated on December 18 (hey, my birthday!), 2000, and the name was clearly chosen to evoke the progress and innovation that the new millennium represented. That era has long come and gone, though. Though it was truly innovative at the time and showed great promise, subsequent administrations didn’t follow through with the system’s extension plans (there should be 388 kilometers constructed by 2016, and instead there’s only about 112 currently). Always a man more concerned with superficial image than actual substance, current mayor Gustavo Petro recently got his panties in a bunch about wanting to change TransMilenio’s name. Yes, that’s what keeps him up at night: the name. Not the service or lack thereof. OK, fine. I have the perfect name for you, mayor Petro: TransColado. A much more apt description of what the system’s become and of what clientele it truly caters to, this name will provide you with a legacy that fully encapsulates all that you’ve given the city. (I don’t deny his many contributions to gains in social areas, but he’ll be remembered for his effective do-nothingness, incapacity, and arrogance on the transportation nightmare.)

I’m not stingy. I’d be willing to pay even more if we received a world-class service, or even a simple service characterized by respect, efficiency, professionalism, and dignity. But, sadly, that’s far from the case.

¡Ay, Bogotá! Vote with your feet and your pesos.

My latest for The Bogotá Post centers on all things love. Because I am clearly such an expert on the topic . . . cough cough. I have been around the block a time or two, though, and I think I can definitely hold my own in falling in love in Colombian Spanish. When you’re in love in a different language, on the one hand you tend to stop caring about saying things perfectly because all that really matters is what you feel and just being with your sweetheart. At the same time, though, I feel that more than ever you want to know all the words out there so you can express yourself with absolute precision, not just approximations. So, single or already partnered, it’s a great time to learn some key vocab if there’s even the remote chance that you might ever find yourself in love with a Colombian. Highly recommended, by the way.

All you need is love for your newfound relationship with a Colombian, at least at the beginning. Even if you don’t know a lick of Spanish, if there’s attraction, understanding, and un buen feeling between you and your Colombian honey, you should be able to get by on just sparks and body language at first. But eventually by, oh, I don’t know, the second or third day or so, you’re going to want to know a few words and phrases to express all these new marvelous sensations you’re experiencing. Here is some local vocabulary, phrases, and idioms for relationships, many of which don’t translate literally.

It all starts with a crush. And in local Spanish, it starts with a traga. Tragar literally means to swallow, and tragarse de alguien could range from being really into someone who doesn’t even know you exist to being crazy about your long-term partner. Note that una traga can refer to a man or woman. Un trago is something totally different: a drink.

¿Quién es tu traga? Who do you have a crush on?

Estoy muy tragado de Natalia. I’m really into Natalia.

La nueva secretaria tiene tragado a Mauricio. Mauricio’s crazy about the new secretary.

If your crush is unrequited and it ends up just causing pain for you, it’s una traga maluca.

So, you have a crush. Now what? How are you going to get that person’s attention? You flirt. The standard way of saying this is coquetear, and someone’s who’s very flirtatious is coqueto or coqueta. A more colloquial way of saying to hit on someone is echarle los perros a alguien. Literally, to throw the dogs at someone or set the hounds on them.

Te estuvo echando los perros toda la noche, obvio que le gustas. He was flirting with you all night–he obviously likes you.

To pick someone up is levantarse a alguien.

Hey, your flirt game isn’t so bad! You’ve gone out, you really like each other, and you decide to make it official and start going steady. Here in Colombia, they call this step cuadrarse con alguien.

Juan y yo nos cuadramos el sábado. Juan and I decided to be a couple on Saturday.

Se conocieron apenas la semana pasada y ya están cuadrados. They just met last week and they’re already boyfriend and girlfriend.

Maybe friends with benefits is more your style. In that case, you’ll be amigovios (from amigos + novios) or amigos con derechos. Machuque is another very colloquial word you might pick up somewhere.

Maybe friends with benefits is more your style . . . while you’re with someone else. An affair is un affaire or un romance, and cheating on your partner is ponerle los cachos a alguien. Literally, to put the horns on someone. It’s very similar to the old-fashioned idea of cuckolding someone. If your secret lover is a man, he’s el tinieblo (the shadow) or el mozo; if a woman, she’s la moza. Or they can be el otro or la otra. If you have someone interested in you that you don’t encourage but you don’t exactly discourage either, just kind of keeping them on the side in case you ever need a plan B, you have an arroz en bajo. To have a pot of rice just simmering there in the background.

Supe que mi novia me estaba poniendo los cachos y la eché. I found out that my girlfriend was cheating on me, and I dumped her.

Sadly, things don’t always work out, maybe for the reason listed above. To break up is terminar, and after the breakup comes a long painful period of wallowing in your sorrows, listening to vallenato, and trying to drown your grief in alcohol. This period is called la tusa or el despecho in Colombia. Someone going through this stage is, then, entusado or despechado. But cheer up! Un clavo saca otro clavo–the best way to get out a nail that’s stuck in something is by using another nail, and the best way to get over an old flame is by meeting someone new. Now you’re all set with all the vocabulary and phrases you need to do so!

Do news proofreaders exist in Colombia? And if they do, then why are they so sloppy? Inquiring minds want to know, and bleeding eyeballs are crying out for a linguistic armistice. Enuf is enuf!

I’ve been in the U.S. for the past ten days, so my Spanish has more or less come to a screeching halt. I said in my last post, though, that I have to blog like I have to breathe, so it’s good to come up for some air. I may not be speaking much Spanish here (besides some Skype calls), but I still tend to regularly scan the headlines and a few news articles back home. And as I did so yesterday, the discouraging same ol’ same ol’ inspired me to make a teaching moment from it.

What do I mean by the same ol’ same ol’? I’m not talking about the content of the news, but rather its presentation. To wit, I personally find that the online news in Colombia is RIFE with spelling and grammatical errors. I mean, absolutely filled to the gills with typos and gaffes. I rarely read print versions of the news, so I can’t comment on that. These errors seem to be more the rule than the exception, and sadly it’s across the board. I decided to collect a few examples to see if you can find the mistake.

My methodology: I read ONE column on El Tiempo‘s website and found a typo, and then sat down to read just ONE article on Semana‘s website and came across a wide gaping gaffe right off the bat. Not ten articles; not even two. Just one news item each was all it took to come across these errors. If I’d read every article on their respective sites, there’s no doubt I would have found mistakes galore. It was at this point that I decided to intentionally look for and collect errors. I then went to the websites of El Espectador, El Colombiano, La Silla Vacía, Publimetro, and Pulzo. And on each site I chose only ONE article to read. With El Espectador, I never even made it to an article; the headline of the top story had a big typo-filled grin for me. Not one of these articles was free of spelling/grammar mistakes.

OK, challenge yourself to see if you can find the mistakes as well. The answers are below, and I’ve indicated in yellow what sections the mistakes are in. At least the ones I found– if there are others, please let us know.

1. El Tiempo

2. Semana

3. El Espectador 

4. El Colombiano

5. La Silla Vacía

6. Publimetro

7. Pulzo

ANSWERS

1. No es contra ti, Salud, but your spelling leaves a lot to be desired. Perjuicios? I’m sure you meant prejuicios. Expect to be both pre-judged and post-judged when you write sloppily.

2. Well, we don’t have to look far for this mistake. First sentence: Esta semana Bogotá fondo. Look ma, no verbs! They clearly meant to say that Bogotá tocó fondo. This newspaper’s writing hit rock bottom with this opening line. Let’s just hope that their writing also has arreglo.

3. Fueron condenaron? Close but no cigar: it’s fueron condenados. It’s no fun to spectate gaffes like these ones–it’s like 20 fuetazos for my poor eyes.

4. A triple whammy: three mistakes in one sorry sentence. Ideam should be capitalized, just as it is in every other mention in the article; por lo que se sugiere OR por lo que sugieren, but not the two combined; and it should be posibles crecientes. Red alert for typos.

5. Las pestañas, not la pestañas. Empty chair, absent proofreader.

6. Dejar de usar, not dejar se usar. Please don’t stop using a proofreader; but do get a better one.

7. Gestión should definitely be capitalized in that name. And shouldn’t it be Javier Pavo, since he’s a man? Just kidding on that last count.

How did you do?

Sorry about the snark, but I can’t help it! I’m just as harsh with my own stupid mistakes. A translator and editor by trade, I have eyes like a hawk (or lynx-eyed, like they say in Spanish: ojos de lince). Shouldn’t this be a prerequisite for any writer or publisher? Also, Spanish is my second language, and as such I try to treat it with a lot of respect. I mean, I started this blog three years ago to help people learn and improve it. Is it too much to ask for Colombia’s journalism to show Spanish the same level of care and respect? It’s rather embarrassing to see mistakes like these on a daily basis, feeling my intelligence insulted in the most indifferent manner. Come on, Colombia! ¿Dónde quedó el profesionalismo, pues? Show some respect for your readers, your language, and yourselves.

I’m not capable of speculating why these kinds of mistakes happen, but feel free to leave a comment if you have insights into this. I know that Salud Hernández-Mora and her ilk are hardly ill-read, so I just have to put it down to typos and sloppy or nonexistent proofreading. I make typos all the time; and . . . then I catch them. It’s not rocket science. Colombian newspapers, hire better proofreaders, pay them more, and make it easier for readers to report typos! I’ll do this test again in a few months, and I’d better see improvements.

You can call misprints and typos gazapos, although this word is on the erudite side. I’ve used it many a time with zero comprehension on the part of my listeners. Misprints in previous issues of books or articles are sometimes listed in a fe de erratas: errata in English (erratum in the singular). An ex and I used to call mistakes rats because of the similarity. I found a rat! we’d declare, when proofreading each other’s writing. Colombian newspapers, please call exterminators and set out mousetraps post haste.

Promising news: during the writing of this blog, Semana caught their error and fixed it to exactly what I said it was supposed to be. Now that’s what I’m blogging about!

It seems like a lifetime ago, but I used to live in Medellín. And, yes, as you might have gotten wind of, the women are beautiful there. (And so are the men, which is why I found myself there in the first place.) But I think the women are also beautiful in Bogotá, as well as gorgeous in the other parts of Colombia I’ve visited. And I think that American women are very pretty, Polish women are charming, Mediterranean women are stunning, Indian women are ravishing, Kenyan women are lovely, Asian women are knockouts, etc. I’ve never felt there was any scarcity of feminine beauty in the world, nor any exclusivity. Beauty is generous and abundant, and with an endless variety that’s fascinating.

Medellín and the department of Antioquia seem to have many elements, though, such as poverty, extreme regional pride, and narco culture (both current and leftover from its height in decades past) that have combined to create a particular subculture of beauty and vanity. The women I knew and spent time with in Medellín were probably the last people to ever do something like get plastic surgery or dream about competing in a beauty pageant, but I can’t deny that that cult of beauty is very strong in that region. It manifests itself in a lot of ugly ways, and it also not infrequently has tragic consequences. My dance instructor there died shortly after I left following a botched series of at-home injections of liquid silicone to give him a more shapely butt.

I’m grateful that the city is becoming much more proactive and aggressive about sex tourism and child prostitution–the kerfuffle caused by a recent controversial newspaper article calling the city the biggest brothel in the world seems to have spawned deeper reflection after the initial defensive backlash. I’m also encouraged that there are government campaigns that insist that our [their] women are not a tourist attraction–when people ask you what’s so great about Medellín or what you liked about it, please stop talking about how hot the women are. Seriously, think of a better and more respectful answer that doesn’t reflect so poorly on you. Are the women just more beautiful scenery to gaze at? Boosts for your ego? Cheap investments? I’m not so sure that Medellín is quite ready to position itself as a top tourist destination (I feel the same way about Bogotá), but, believe me, it has a lot going on and is headed in what I feel is a very positive direction. Even if you couldn’t help but appreciate the attractiveness of the women in Medellín (even Rihanna did at the World Cup), was there not anything else? Many Medellineans are tired of this shallow characterization of their city (beautiful women and cocaine), and they’re seeing that this kind of publicity makes their city a destination for many unsavory types whose dollars they’d rather not be courting.

I read an article this morning titled Las ‘reinas’ que no quieren cetro y corona (had to look up cetro: scepter) and also found it to be incredibly heartening. When the current governor of Antioquia, Sergio Fajardo, was mayor of Medellín (2003-2007), he cut off the city’s sponsorship of the beauty pageant part of their annual Feria de las Flores; he also saw to it that Antioquia’s support for the departmental beauty pageant dried up. His wife, Lucrecia Ramírez, a psychiatrist who specializes in body image issues for women, headed these initially controversial initiatives. Many in Medellín’s society apparently had gotten fed up with women only being exalted for their looks, and the profligate amounts of money spent on the contests also caused concern. Then there was the embarrassing fact that the city was quickly becoming almost exclusively associated abroad with drugs and beautiful women. Another person cited the fact that the ubiquity of cosmetic surgery also made these pageants more than a little pointless.

But they didn’t just cut off support and then move on. Instead, they rechanneled those same funds into the creation of a Miss Talented Pageant (Concurso Mujeres Jóvenes Talento), having women compete based on their merits in academic excellence, artistic and athletic skills, and community leadership. Apparently 80 municipalities in the department have replaced their beauty pageants with Miss Talented Pageants. While some ephemeral kind of hope and distraction from the decades of violence and displacement in Antioquia might be found in the glorification of beauty, it’s just sad when you think ab0ut how fleeting, ineffectual, and arbitrary beauty really is. What does it accomplish, again? Whereas the promotion of leadership and skills in youth is the only true hope for any society. I think Medellín’s example here is so awesome that . . . well, I just had to write a blog post about it. Forgive me if Spanish learning is minimal today.

There was one word in the article that got the ball rolling in my mind for this post, though. That word was cosificación.

La psiquiatra había atendido en su consultorio varios casos de jóvenes afectadas por la obsesión de ser delgadas, y había encontrado un efecto claro de los reinados en las mujeres: “la cosificación”, cuando una persona ubica su cuerpo por fuera de sí misma y lo convierte en una cosa, “y como las cosas se venden y se compran, se exhiben, carecen de valor humano, se tiranizan y se modifican al antojo de quien las compre”, dice Ramírez, inevitablemente este efecto baja la autoestima de cualquiera.

The psychiatrist had seen several cases of young women affected by the obsession with being thin, and she witnessed one clear effect of the beauty pageants on women: objectification, which is when a person locates their body as being outside of him- or herself, turning it into an object. “And just like things that are bought and sold, they’re put on display, they lack human value, they’re oppressed, and they’re custom-fitted to please whoever purchases them,” says Ramírez. “This effect would inevitably lower anybody’s self-esteem.”

I didn’t know the word cosificación; to objectify someone is cosificar. In addition to the objectification of women, the terms are also used in the contexts of animals and workers.

Here are the four most talented (and, I would say, beautiful) women in Antioquia in 2014. Each of their stories moved me deeply. And I loved the woman who was certain that it’s only a matter of time until more people tune in to watch this talent pageant than to watch the traditional beauty pageant in Cartagena!

Yesterday being Sunday, I was out walking in the Ciclovía (I want rollerblades for Christmas!), and I briefly got caught in the middle of a piropo sandwich. Behind me and to my right a little, one guy was saying to another, qué mujer más hermosa, es radiante, radiante como el sol. I cocked my face about five degrees and gave the tiniest little upward curl of the lips to show that I appreciated it. I don’t know if it’s true, but I want to be radiant!

And right then an old man who was seated on a sort of giant planter box (that separates the bike lane from the rest of the street) said to me out of nowhere, usted no me pica el ojo, que estoy comprometido ya. And then laughed at his joke/piropo. If I’d heard that a few years ago when I was a Colombian Spanish virgin, I would have thought he was saying something like, you don’t make my eye itch. So, I would have figured that to make someone’s eye itch was to seem attractive to them, to catch their eye (and pour itching powder into it), making them crazy for you. I’m no longer a Colombian Spanish spring chicken, though, so I knew that picar el ojo has nothing to do with itchiness or spiciness or any of picar‘s usual meanings. Here, as well as in a few other countries, picar el ojo means to wink at someone. Wink wink,   . . . that’s it, you’re an old pro.

To wink is usually guiñar, and a wink is a guiño. Which is how I usually hear it here, even though you could say picada de ojo. I’m not much of a winker in real life, but I’m a very prolific winker in writing.  How else to convey your ultra-facetious and flirtatious nature?  Fine, fine; my ultra-facetious and flirtatious nature.  Until recently I had someone to wink all the livelong day at, and it was great   You know how they say it’s physically impossible to sneeze and keep your eyes open? It was similarly impossible for me to get a sentence out with quickly closing at least one eye.  Happily, my winking was neither unrequited nor unrewarded   Now my writing is full of sober, grim emoticon-free sentences or, at best, just a half-hearted, staid smiley  (), which is never quite as fun as when accompanied by a playful open-and-shut of the eyes. I’ve got an eye itch that needs a scratching badly! 

I remember that in Medellín they also said matar el ojo for to wink. To kill the eye–just imagine. I’m thinking that might be overkill; a mere scratch has worked just fine for me to make my point. But if the phrase was ever apt for an individual, here he is.

If winks could kill

By the way, in case you think winking is puerile and distasteful (in a vice-presidential debate, of course) and just gives you eye wrinkles, you should know that one day when we all use Google Glass, we’re going to be winking as furiously with our eyes as people used to peck away with their thumbs on their Blackberries. For now, you take a picture by winking, but I’m sure that the wink feature will continue to be developed. So, we might as well start practicing now.

So, what the old man had said was (in, I should point out, a totally non-gross, non-dirty, non-creepy old man way) was, don’t you wink at me–I’m already taken! Wishful thinking, I mean, wishful winking, at its finest. But I was in a good mood, and he said it in a very friendly, good-natured way and the sun was beautiful and radiant, so I just smiled and went on my way 

I’ve been reading Eileen at Bearshapedsphere since I first came to Colombia in 2009 and developed a strange addiction to extranjera-in-Chile blogs. She’s one of the few who’s still blogging, and we’re very much linguistic kindred spirits (though her Spanish is oh-so-Chilean, and mine’s very Colombian). Here on the blog, I’m a writer, a teacher, a humorist, and a dramatist–I am not, alas, a storyteller. It’s just not my forte, and I don’t have the patience to work on it. Eileen, on the other hand, is a fantastic storyteller, and she has spun so many colorful and exquisitely textured yarns over the years–in Chile, in New Zealand, in Paraguay, in Suriname, and many other far-flung corners of the globe–that I’ve delighted in getting tangled up in. She was definitely one of my main inspirations for starting this blog, so I encourage you to check her out!

Anyway, one staple of her blog are her feria reports, where she regularly takes pictures of all the produce she bought at the market and reports prices. And I’ve always kind of wanted to do that, always wanted to show you how far your pesos can take you fruit and vegetable-wise in Bogotá. I buy all my produce at the plaza de mercado in my neighborhood, which is about five short blocks away, but it usually makes for one hell of a heavy lug home. Which I don’t really mind at all. I’m sure I could get things cheaper somewhere, but I’m not one to crisscross the city to save a few cents. I always buy from the very first seller, so, who knows? Maybe the guys at the back are where the best prices are at. And maybe I get charged a gringa tax–I don’t think so, but it’s definitely possible. Just putting all those caveats out there in the event that some other Bogotá dweller tells me that I’m paying a fortune for my fiddleheads, making me a real knucklehead. Go ahead–it’s not like it would be the first time or anything.

5 bananos (bananas) = 2000 COP = $0.85
2 pimentones (red peppers) = 1000 COP = $0.42
1 brócoli (head of broccoli) = 1000 COP = $0.42
2 zucchinis (1 zucchini, 1 squash) = 1500 COP = $0.64
13 papas criolla (creole potatoes) = 1500 COP = $0.64
3 tomates (tomatoes) = 1000 COP = $0.42
4 duraznos (peaches) = 1000 COP = $0.42
4 manzanas (apples) = 3000 COP = $1.27
3 naranjas (oranges) = 1000 COP = $0.42
1 granadilla = 500 COP = $0.21
2 aguacates (avocados) = 1000 COP = $0.42

+ 4 mandarinas (mandarin oranges) thrown in for free (ñapa)

14,500 COP = $6.16 (the dollar is at 2,353)

I’ve never had a head for prices, tracking them from week to week or country to country, but I’d say the prices are great. The peaches are small, and the broccoli’s bigger than it looks in the picture. I usually never buy apples (I decided a long time ago that why would I come all the way to Colombia to eat expensive imported apples when delicious tropical fruits abound?), but today gave in to whimsy. I realized that the only uniquely local produce in this haul is the granadilla and the papa criolla–most of the most eye-catching “exotic” (read, local) fruit here is best in juice, and I wasn’t planning on making any.

So, if you come to Bogotá and find yourself with just a little over six bucks in your pocket, know that at the very least you could buy yourself this much produce. Not too shabby, eh?

As for the ñapa, yes, that always happens at these kinds of places; no, they’re not going to give you a ñapa at Éxito or Carulla. After the produce, I bought some things at the dry goods area inside the plaza, and the girl also gave me a ñapa–a bocadillo treat. Then I bought toilet paper from a lady at a household products stand, and she gave me a ñapa, too. No, not a few extra squares; a piece of chocolate. These are people I’ve been buying from for almost a year now, so I have a nice rapport with all of them. What I can’t find at the plaza, I begrudgingly get at the Éxito supermarket down the hill. And even if they were to throw in a ñapa (which they never would), the experience wouldn’t be even half as nice as shopping at the mercado! More mercado reports to come.

My latest column in The Bogotá Post came out a few weeks ago, but with 12 days spent in Nicaragua it’s just now that I have a chance to share it here. I’m posting what I wrote, and I’m including the link to TBP’s website, where you can see the column in its final format. Rain is an ever-present backdrop to this city, and you can come to love it. Especially with the trend of global warming/weirding–Bogotá’s cool, drizzly weather may be something we look back on fondly in decades to come! Enjoy it while it lasts, and use the words and expressions below to sprinkle your Spanish with fluency and colloquiality. Happy new year!

Bogotá is a fairly rainy city even at the best of times, but lately the rain has been absolutely relentless. That’s because we’re in what’s called invierno, a rainy season that’s particularly strong in November and December. In fact, some people jokingly call November lloviembre, combining noviembre and lluvia. It’s said that Eskimos have one hundred terms for snow due to its importance and ubiquity in their culture, so it’s only logical that Bogotanos would have a plethora of vocabulary for talking about rain.

When dark clouds look menacing or you can just tell that it’s going to rain, you’ll want to say Tiene ganas de llover or Quiere llover.

There are many ways to say that it’s raining hard. The most common word locally for a downpour is aguacero. More colloquially, many people call this a palo de agua. You can also say: está lloviendo a cántaros (it’s raining buckets), llueve hasta maridos (it’s raining men), or, está cayendo un diluvio (it’s flooding).

Esta tarde cayó un aguacero ni el berraco, jamás había visto semejante palo de agua.

It rained so much this afternoon–I’d never seen such a torrential downpour before.

If you get caught in the rain without an umbrella, you’re going to get soaked to the bone. The standard and most common word for this is empapado, from the verb empapar. Of course, there are also a few local ways to say that you got drenched, one of which is emparamado. You can also say, Me pegué una lavada.

Maybe it starts to sprinkle and nothing else. The word for this in Spanish is una llovizna, and informally it’s also called un espantabobos. That is, just a little drizzle to make all the silly rain-paranoid people panic. Espantaflojos and espantabrujas also exist.

No te preocupes, es solo un espantabobos.

Don’t worry; it’s just barely sprinkling.

A key rain-related word to know is escampar. It refers to when it stops raining, when it lets up. It can additionally mean to take shelter somewhere while you wait for it to stop raining, like ducking into a cafe or standing under a doorway.

Nos vamos apenas escampe.

We’ll leave as soon as it stops raining.

Vamos a escampar en ese chucito para que no nos mojemos.

Let’s go wait out the rain in that little hole in the wall so we don’t get wet.

For umbrella, you’ll hear both sombrilla and paraguas here, though sombrilla is more common. Puddles are charcos, and they are legion.

If you read my column a few weeks back, you’ll recall that a moza or mozo is the person you’re having an affair with. Well, this word makes a reappearance with rainy weather in the phrase para moza (or, para mozo). This expresses that the lousy or rainy weather just makes you want to be curled up in bed with the person you’re seeing on the side. It’s a play on words of paramoso, which means rainy.

Uy, este clima está como para moza.

This weather just puts me in the mood to snuggle with my sweetie.

Arrunchar means to cuddle, and the sight of rain always makes locals express their desire to be in bed, either watching a movie or spooning with their partner. This is called a plan arrunchis.

So, you’ve got your umbrella, check, you’ve made your plan arrunchis, check, and now you’re fitted with the vocabulary for any and every rainy situation. A hard rain’s gonna fall, and you’re going to handle it as fluently as a local.

I just read a feature in El Tiempo called 22 frases que caracterizan a un colombiano en cualquier parte del mundo (22 phrases that will identify a Colombian anywhere in the world). As these kinds of linguistic jumbles are wont to do, it disappointed. Many of the phrases are not even close to being uniquely Colombian. I’m sure you’ve experienced this before, when someone teaches you that por si las moscas or nunca digas “de esta agua no beberé” and the like are, like, soooo quintessentially Mexican/Salvadoran/Colombian/Bolivian! Um, no. No, they’re not. Phrases like those and hundreds of others are used pretty much everywhere. Of course, it’s difficult to know which phrases and words “belong” to your country and which ones are open source, and it’s natural to want to claim certain words and phrases to boost regional pride and identity. I never say that a certain word or phrase is uniquely American, because the odds are good that they use it in England/New Zealand/Jamaica/India/etc., too. Not that this kind of imprecision ruffles my feathers or anything, it’s just that I appreciate knowing what’s used where. And I do enjoy bandying about uniquely Colombian words and phrases to ratchet up my Colombianness . . . but many of these phrases just won’t be the ticket. Let’s look at some of them.

1. A mí me gustan las cuentas claras y el chocolate espeso – (Knew it. Not uniquely Colombian.)

Literal translation: I like my accounts clear and my chocolate thick.
Translation: I like to keep money matters transparent, but I like my hot chocolate nice and creamy.
Meaning: Short reckonings make long friends.

I like to keep money matters and debts (cuentas) transparent, and my hot chocolate thick and creamy. I know, whaa? In a drink, claro and espeso are opposites, claro/clarito meaning well watered-down, weak, and thin, and espeso being nice and thick/creamy/frothy, as well as cargado (like strong coffee). You’re comparing two completely unrelated things, but just to say that each thing should be as it’s supposed to be. There’s a time for everything . . . but when its time comes, that thing better be just as it should be. There’s a time for being clear, and there’s a time for being dense. Don’t be trying to make what you owe me all murky and convoluted and bogged down with small print; that’s for my hot chocolate! And what are you doing serving me this sissy hot chocolate where it’s so thin that I can see the bottom of the cup? Save that no-BS, straight-to-the-point transparency for when we sit down to talk about when you’re going to pay off your debts with me! As you can see, the phrase really has nothing to do with hot chocolate; it’s just a rhetorical device. The best way to drink hot chocolate is nice and thick, and the best way to handle debts is by playing things by the book and settling them as soon as possible. Transparency is of the essence . . . except for when we’re talking about hot chocolate, of course.

Variants and similar phrases (the phrases with “y el chocolate espeso” are definitely used in Spain; the other, chocolateless versions seem to be used in many countries):

Las cuentas claras y el chocolate espeso (Apparently sometimes one person simply says las cuentas claras, and the other person chimes in with the second part)

Las cosas claras y el chocolate espeso (Call things by their name, call a spade a spade)

El agua clara y el chocolate espeso

Cuentas claras, amistades largas

Las cuentas claras conservan la amistad

Also, confession time: Colombians like to “thicken” their hot chocolate with something that I find, well, rather odd. (I’m sure it’s delicious, but I just can’t get over my mental prejudice.) They like to dunk cheese in their hot chocolate, let it melt, and then spoon it out, nice and melty and stringy. I like cheese almost as much as the next gal, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let it gunk up a perfectly delicious mug of hot chocolate! Why they haven’t realized the vastly superior virtues of miniature marshmallows in the cheese’s stead, I couldn’t tell you. Also, I think it might be a very Bogotá thing. I guess they could change the phrase to a mí me gustan las cuentas claras y el chocolate con queso without making a dent in the meter or rhyme. Look, we can nibble on cheese while talking about money; I might even be willing to accept cheese as payment if it’s really fancy or if the debt is minimal. BUT KEEP YOUR CHEESY PAWS OFF MY HOT CHOCOLATE! I’ll take cheese in my money matters if I must, go ahead and cheese it up to the max, even, but I’m gonna have to say ixnay on the hot chocolate cheese. Anywhere but my hot chocolate. Thank you. I, um, just needed to get that off my chest. And I know we eat and drink plenty of weird things in the U.S., too. Don’t take it personally, Colombia. I find it charming . . . just not for me, not for now.

More phrases to come!