Even more hampered by language in Spain than I am in France, I have struggled to order even basic stuff here. Sitting in a bar in San Vicente I noticed a family on the next table sharing a plate of something that looked particularly appetizing. I ordered another beer and the waiter clearly enjoyed my charades and non-too-discrete pointing at the next table as I attempted to order the same dish. Eventually he broke into a wide grin and delivered a stream of rapid and unintelligible Spanish. I nodded and smiled weakly. Ten minutes later a bag of crisps was unceremoniously dumped next to another beer. Accepting defeat I ate them in silence whilst stealing furtive glances at the feast on the table next to mine. I’ve only myself to blame.


About basculetheteller

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