I Say Tomate, You Say Tomato – English, Arabic, and Spanish Word Migration

Photo by Fastily Talk

It wasn’t until I started learning Spanish as an adult that I realised a lot of words used in English were, in fact, of Spanish origin. I grew up with words such as cargo, chilli, chocolate, and oregano, using them in the English sense but not having a clue about their beginnings.

English and Spanish are both part of the Romance language family (along with Italian, Portuguese, French, Romanian, and Catalan), so once I got my head around learning a new language, Spanish didn’t feel so hard (except for the grammar, don’t get me started on the grammar!). Since becoming fluent in Spanish, I’ve found I can read or hear other romance languages and get the general gist. And when words from one language are used in another in the same context (or at least sounds similar), then it makes life a lot easier.

American English (as most of you know) comprises of a lot of Spanish words passed to us from Mexican and Central and South American immigrants. This influence dates back to the days of the Gold Rush, and with more adventurous palates, Spanish words are used to describe certain dishes of which there is no English equivalent. Sometimes we adapt a foreign word even though there is a version in English – coriander is often substituted with cilantro, a Spanish word of French origin.

But it’s not just Spanish that influenced the English language. A lot of Spanish words have strong ties to Arabic, harking back to the occupation of the Iberian Peninsula in the 5^th century and continuing on into the 8^th and 9^th centuries. Many people of Islamic descent occupied this region, and as time went on, many Arabic words migrated into the Spanish language. You’ll find many words in English that begin with al have Arabic origins and commonly a Spanish influence. Classic examples are alcove and alfalfa.

The Internet and increasing travel opportunities have opened up new worlds of language, so it's no surprise that words from numerous languages are adopted across borders. Perhaps one day, there will be a single common language, such as Esperanto (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Esperanto), but in the meantime, English will continue to adopt new words from different cultures and put its own spin on it.

Photo by Enzik

Here some examples of Spanish to English (with a bit of Arabic, Caribbean, Nahuatl, Quechua, and Arawak thrown in):

adios

aficionado

alcove (Arabic al-qubba)

alfalfa (Arabic al-fasfasah..)

alligator (from el lagarto, "the lizard")

alpaca (Aymara allpaca)

armada

armadillo (means "the little armed one")

banana (originally an African word but was adopted in Portuguese and Spanish then English)

barbecue (Caribbean barbacoa)

barracuda

bonanza

bravo (Italian and old Spanish)

cafeteria (cafetería)

canyon (cañon)

cargo (Spanish meaning to load -- cargar)

chaps (chaparreras)

chihuahua (dog breed named after Mexican city and state)

chocolate (Nahuatl language xocolat)

cigar, cigarette (Spanish cigarro)

cilantro

cinch (Spanish word cincho)

condor (Quechua)

conquistador

corral

el Niño (means the child and this weather pattern was named this because it appeared close to Christmas)

enchilada (Spanish participle enchilar which means to season with chili)

fajita (In Spanish faja means a sash or belt which best describes the cut of meat)

fiesta

flan

flotilla

Picture by John Ryan M. Debil

galleon (Spanish galeón)

garbanzo

guacamole (Nahuatl ahuacam, "avocado," and molli, "sauce")

guerrilla

hacienda (silent H in Spanish)

incomunicado

jalapeño

llama (Quechua)

machete

machismo

maize (Spanish maíz but originally from the Arawak mahíz)

mariachi (a Mexican musician that performs a special type of music)

matador (in Spanish it means a person who kills)

mosquito

nacho

oregano (from orégano)

papaya (Arawak)

patio (often means courtyard in Spanish)

piñata

plaza

poncho (originally Araucanian, an indigenous South American language)

potato (Caribbean batata)

puma (Quechua)

rodeo

salsa (In Spanish this word refers to any sauce or gravy)

sassafras (sasafrás)

savvy (Derives from sabe which means to know)

siesta

silo

sombrero (The Spanish version of this means any hat, not just the Mexican hats most people think of. The word originates from sombra, which means shade)

stampede (estampida)

tango

tequila (named after a Mexican town that makes this drink)

tobacco (Caribbean tabaco)

tomatillo

tomato (Nahuatl tomatl)

tornado (tronada which means thunderstorm)

tortilla (in Spanish, an omelette is called a tortilla)

tuna (atún)

vanilla (vainilla)

vigilante

yucca (Caribbean yuca)

Goddess of Domesticity--or Not

Alli on the summit of Mera Peak, Nepal (6476 metres, 21,246 feet)

In my twenties and thirties, I scaled mountains in the Himalayas and the Andes. I swam and rafted the Ganges, trekked through spider-infested jungles and got so far off the beaten track, I thought I’d never see civilization again. And I had the time of my life. Living in suburbia and being a mom was the last thing on my mind.

Then I fell in love.

I’m a big believer in things happening for a reason, and even though I didn’t know it at the time, falling pregnant with my first child started me on an adventure I could never have dreamed of. And now, with two young kids and an awesome hubby by my side, I’m on a whirlwind journey that combines my old world with the new—and I couldn’t be happier.

When I grew up in Australia, it would have been easy to shelter myself from the rest of the world. As a kid (yes, I’m showing my age), there was no Internet, no cable TV, and (gasp!) one had to go to a library to find out information. But I had a geography teacher who found it impossible to contain his love for other continents and cultures, and his enthusiasm made me want to learn as much as I could about foreign countries and people.

I often get asked if I miss pouring Guinness in Peru or sashaying down Calle Florida in Buenos Aires (actually, I can’t sashay, but I like watching those who can!). Sure, I miss those times. In fact, I will probably miss South America every day for the rest of my life. But as with a lot of things in life, we need to move on, even if we don’t feel ready to. We have to open ourselves up and be ready to head in a new, adventurous, direction we may not have anticipated.

Writing novels set in South America certainly gives me the chance to reflect on my experiences and incorporate some of those more hairy escapades into my character’s adventures. It’s fun flicking through old travel diaries and slides, reminiscing about friends from the past, and enjoying being in contact with those who have continued on in the present. The memories are enough to stoke the fire in my belly. And when the kids ask about a photo of me standing on the summit of Aconcagua, I get to share that experience with them and see it through their eyes.

Travel has expanded my world. I’ve met people from many, many cultures, seen natural and manmade wonders from modern and ancient civilizations, and had so many close calls, I’ve lost count. I’ve discovered how to be patient, empathetic, accepting, and tolerant. I’ve learned to be self reliant, ask for help when needed, and know my limits. What travel has done is made me a better person. And it’s this knowledge I hope my kids will embrace and put their own spin on.

Even though the kids are young, I know the seeds of wanderlust have been planted. I’ve spoken to the kids in Spanish and English since they were born, hoping the language part of their brain is opened and remains that way for life. In our house, we listen to music in Spanish, French, and Portuguese, to name a few languages. Next year, our eldest will start learning Italian at primary school. My husband and I talk freely about our travels, and encourage the kids to ask questions. We’ve even been fortunate enough to take some extended international trips away as a family. 

Now that we’re back in Australia and settled into school and routine life, those days of long trips are over—for now. But rest assured, as soon as another opportunity presents itself (or we make one), those passports and bags will be packed in record time. First stop? Preferably South America. But who knows what the universe will throw at us? What I do know is, through my husband and I sharing our love of travel and culture, our kids will be well equipped to deal with a variety of situations and won’t always need a passport to experience them.

Australia prides itself on being a multi-cultural country, and visiting a school or local neighborhood shows the diversity of people from many nations now calling Australia home. What better way to start a love for different cultures than with the people living next door?

For now, I’ve packed away the dusty trekking boots and ice-axe, but one day, I’ll take them out and give them a good airing. I’ve pressed the pause button on my crazy adventures, but I know I’ll eventually get to hit play and experience it again with the whole family. And I can't wait.

Bridging the Cultural Gap with Words

Created on www.wordle.net

Whenever I set foot in a foreign country, I try to immerse myself in the culture. I’ve learnt how to make Batik in Bali, toffee in Ecuador, and play chess in Turkey. Diverse as the languages and customs are, the one thing that binds all of the countries I’ve travelled to is this—I’ve made an effort to learn the language.

I’ll probably never be fluent in Turkish, Nepali or Indonesian, but at least I’ve learned some basics -- hello, goodbye, please, and thank you. Body language and dodgy drawings on a scrap of paper can take care of the rest. Along with a lot of smiles and nods of the head. I’ve discovered making an attempt at a country’s language can narrow the great cultural divide.

I’m often asked why I’m fluent in Spanish when I don’t have any family ties in Spanish-speaking countries (apart from some ancestors around the time of the Spanish Armada). My simple answer is Spanish comes to me naturally, and I love the lyrical quality of the words and the flowery phrases. Why wouldn’t you say, “I have thirty years” instead of “I am thirty years old”? Having thirty years (experience) just sounds so much nicer to my delicate ears. 

My first foray into immersion was in Argentina. My post on Argentine slang is here. It didn’t take me long to learn the slang and vocabulary but the grammar...oh, the grammar! That was by far the hardest part for me to get my head around. I still mess it up, and I won’t be writing speeches for the Argentine president any day soon, but I can at least hold a conversation and get my point across without causing embarrassment for either party. Unlike the early days.

Here’s an example: I had only been in Argentina a few weeks when I was invited to a friend’s mother’s house for dinner. The meal was extremely tasty, and when my friend’s mother asked me if it was “rico,” I said “no.” Her eyes bulged, mouth dropped open, and color drained from her face. I looked to my friend who spoke fluent English, and she explained the reason for my confusion. “Rico” translates to rich, and in English if a food is rich, it means that it isn’t so great (usually). “Rico” in terms of food in Spanish means it is delectably delicious. Uh oh. Luckily, my friend cleared that up quickly with her mother and from then on, everything I tasted at the mother’s house was “ricisimo!”.

This experience highlighted my need to learn the nuances of Spanish, especially Argentine Spanish which is a different animal altogether. By the time I left Argentina, I had perfected lunfardo (slang) and had a wonderfully thick Argentine accent, complete with an Italian twang. But when I moved to Peru, I found out the rest of the world didn’t share my love of Argentine Spanish. In fact, Peruvians would give me a hard time and constantly ask, “Why does a gringa (foreigner) speak with an Argentine accent?” I didn’t want to lose my accent and unique Argentine vocab--I adored it--but for the sake of being accepted in my new country, I had to change what came out of my mouth. I started saying “yama” instead of “szhama” (that’s llama, in case you’re wondering!), and eventually the Peruvians saw me in a different light. 

I adapted to Peruvian Spanish easily, picking up the slang and accent but of course, once in a while, I’d forget and add in an Argentine word here and there. This resulted in many raised eyebrows and bemused looks from the locals. And as I’d learned Spanish earlier from listening to rock bands, I have a musical lilt not unlike the women who live in Miraflores, a beach suburb of Lima, Peru. 

So with this mish-mash of slang and accents, I’ve become a source of amusement among my Spanish-speaking friends. Depending on who I am speaking to, I’m able to change my accent and word usage. In a way, I’m a chameleon of Spanish, which suits me to a tee—I’ve been a chameleon my entire life. It’s not hard for me to be a mountaineer for weeks on end then come back to civilization, shower and put on makeup and a dress and go to a swanky restaurant. 

When I moved back to an English-speaking country I was worried about losing the Spanish I’d spent years cultivating. Luckily, I have Spanish speaking friends both here and abroad and so I can practice through writing, reading and talking. It’s not the same as living in a country that speaks Spanish, but it’s enough to flex those linguistic muscles. 

The day I realised I was fluent was when I caught myself thinking in Spanish. It was a shock, but a wonderful one. Finally I could leave the house without my dictionary and it felt like a load had been lifted. These days I don’t speak Spanish on a daily basis (unfortunately), but I can switch languages at any given moment. Spanish is embedded into my brain, and into my soul. It will always be a part of me. 

Since my kids were born I’ve spoken to them in Spanish and English. They have a wide vocabulary and a passion for learning the language. We sing songs and read books in Spanish and their spongy minds soak up everything (hopefully not my shocking grammar). They can roll their r’s better than me. 

I want to encourage their learning Spanish because for me, as with other people who have learned second, third, and fourth languages, a whole new world can open up. And really, isn’t an understanding and appreciation of cultures one of the greatest gifts we can teach?

How about you? Have you ever learned another language and for what reason?

You Say "Che!" I Say "Huh?"

At school, I could never understand the need to learn another language. English was spoken at my house, and the city I lived in had migrants but a majority spoke some form of English. At school I learnt German, Indonesian, and French. I didn’t study but still passed with flying colors. I look back now and can see I had a talent for languages but had absolutely no clues about my ability or what being bilingual or multilingual could do for me. Ah, hindsight, what a frustrating thing.

On my first few trips out of Oz, I had my trusty phrasebook with me. In places like Nepal and India, I bumbled along, frustrated at not being able to find the right word or phrase in those dodgy little language books. To get my message across, I usually ended up drawing stick figures or conducting mime sessions that would make Marcel Marceau proud.

It wasn’t until I hit the shores of South America for the first time that I realized I needed to formally learn a language. A tiny book with phrases like “more beer, please” just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. I wanted to converse with the locals and talk about more interesting things other than how to find the bus station. So off to language school I went.

I enrolled at a local one upon my return to Australia and learnt the basics. My Argentine friends sent me a heap of pop CD’s in Spanish. This included, Shakira, Los Piojos and Los Fabulosos Cadillacs. I translated the CD booklets into English so I knew what I was singing about. My poor neighbors were subjected to my (very bad) singing but hey, it was fun and I got a workout from dancing around the house (the curtains were drawn). I obsessively went to weekly Spanish classes, and by then it was time to get out of the classroom and put my skills to the test. I failed miserably.

The teacher I had in Australia came from Spain. She spoke beautiful Castilian which was almost useless in Argentina, especially in Buenos Aires. It didn’t take long before I realized I needed to learn everything again – this time with an Argentine accent and the Spanish commonly used in Argentina known as lunfardo.

For all intents and purposes, lunfardo is unintelligible to the average Spanish-speaker who wasn’t brought up in Argentina. Since the 1970’s the Argentines have debated if the slang of Buenos Aires actually qualifies as lunfardo. Traditionalists say lunfardo has to have a link to the argot of the old underworld, tango lyrics or racetrack slang. But others maintain the colloquial language of current day Buenos Aires is lunfardo. I’m no linguist, but I do use the term lunfardo to describe the language of the Argentines.

My discovery of this language started a lifelong delight in learning new words and phrases that the locals use. Unfortunately, lunfardo is dying out. The younger Argentines are steering away from it and creating their own version of Spanish, but many of my older Argentine friends still enjoy using this language spoken by the Porteños (people from Buenos Aires) for many generations.

If you listen closely, you’ll notice a slight Italian twang when an Argentine speaks Spanish. In the early part of the 20^th century, millions of Italians immigrated and spoke mostly in their local dialects (mainly Neapolitan, Sicilian and Genoan). The Argentine accent is influenced by the Italian immigrants and some of their words are used in Argentina today.

Many South Americans have said my Spanish is a mixture of Buenos Aires Spanish and the sing-song lilt of the women from Miraflores, a beach suburb of Lima, Peru. I smile and say “gracias” and silently thank my Spanish-speaking pop-stars for helping me along the road to fluency.

And of course, I couldn’t end this post without sharing some examples. Happy practicing!

Che! – Hey!

Chabón – lad

Chirola – small change

Cobani/Grey Hair (pronounced in English) – police

Macanudo – used in a positive response to an invitation (“all good”)

Mango – not to have any money (“I don’t have a mango”)

Minga – not to have something, nothing

Pilcha – clothes

Pucho – cigarette

The Cerviche Wars

Photo by Manuel González Olaechea y Franco

The warm wind rustled the paper table cloth, and soft sand oozed between my wiggling toes as I waited for the dish that would cause my taste buds to have a fiesta. Gazing at the azure waters of the Pacific Ocean, I couldn’t think of a better place to be -- Mancora, on the far north coast of Peru, is a haven for foodies, especially those with a penchant for devouring plates of cerviche.

Popular in most coastal regions of Central and South America, this seafood dish has been the centre of a dispute for many years. Made from fresh raw fish and marinated in lemon or lime juice, it is spiced with peppers, onion, salt and usually accompanied by sweet potato, lettuce, corn, or avocado (depending on which region you’re in). The juices cook the fish, but beware – only eat cerviche early in the day or else you’re likely to end up with a nasty bout of food poisoning. Unfortunately, I found out first hand why you don’t eat cerviche late afternoon, but it still didn’t put me off one of my favourite dishes.

Many nationalities have laid claim as to who invented cerviche. Central and South Americans and even some Polynesian islands in the South Pacific have all put their hands up as the creators.

Every former Spanish colony has its own version of cerviche. The Spaniards stocked citrus fruit on their ships to prevent scurvy on long voyages, and some historians believe the recipe was brought to Peru by Moorish women from Granada, who accompanied the Spaniards, and the recipe morphed into the cerviche as we know it today.

Those in the Polynesian camp say the Spanish encountered this dish on their voyages through the islands. The Spanish sailors enjoyed it so much, the recipe spread through the its colonies, and each region put their own spin on it.

But perhaps the strongest argument is for Peru and Ecuador. Archaeologists have discovered evidence that documents cerviche was eaten by the Moche civilization in northern Peru almost 2,000 years ago. Some say banana passion fruit was originally used to marinate the fish, and when the Spanish arrived the indigenous people preferred to marinate their fish in limes and lemons.

Depending on who you talk to, you’ll get a different story and reasons why a certain country did, or didn’t, invent cerviche. Many a time, I’ve inadvertently become embroiled in a heated discussion between a Peruvian and Chilean or Ecuadorian as to who created the original cerviche. At times, I felt like I was back in Australia, debating with a New Zealander as to who invented the pavlova, but that is a whole other post and sure-fire way of getting our New Zealand readers offside. (I jest!)

I’ve eaten cerviche in many parts of the world (including an Australian version), but today, I’ll post the Peruvian recipe.

1 ½ pounds of mahimahi, ono, or bluenose bass, diced

½ red onion, slivered

¾ cup lime juice (make sure it is a highly acidic type)

1 habanero chili, seeded, halved, and thinly sliced (optional)

1 tbsp of ají amarillo sauce (available pureed or in jars in most Latin markets)

½ cup cilantro leaves, chopped

1 orange sweet potato, peeled, boiled, cooled, and sliced

1 cob sweet corn, boiled, and sliced into 1-inch pieces

4 butter lettuce leaves

Preparation:

Rinse diced fish and slivered red onion in cold water and dry thoroughly.

In a large glass bowl, combine fish, red onion, lime juice, salt, habanero chili, and ají amarillo (if using). Cover and refrigerate for 20 minutes.

Just before serving, stir in the cilantro. Place lettuce leaves on the plate, sweet potato, and corn to the side and spoon the cerviche on top of the lettuce leaves.

Eat and enjoy!

To be honest, I don’t care who invented cerviche. All I know is whenever I hear the word, smell lemons and limes, or eat the dish, I’m instantly transported back to a thatch-roofed hut on a deserted beach in Peru. My stomach rumbles, I can sniff the salty breeze and my mouth waters at the thought of diving into a dish that can cause heated debates between so many nationalities.

What food takes you back to a special time or place?