Spainglish
I knew my native language had preceded me in Spain—the steady march of English across the globe is old news—but I didn’t know just how eagerly it had adapted to its new home, just how Spanish it had become. Like captivated visitors who opt out of their return flight, more than a few English words have skipped across the Atlantic and/or the Channel and started their lives anew in Spain. Liberated from the constraints of their former identities, they have taken on Spanish ones. Some of the transformations are purely cosmetic: like a spunky new hairstyle or an affected posh accent, they have to do with the way the word looks and/or sounds. Wi-Fi, for example, is pronounced “wee-fee.” The word hasn’t had any major work done—it’s still written Wi-Fi—but because the letter i can only make an “ee” sound in Spanish, if you need Wi-Fi in Spain, you’ll want to ask for “wee-fee.”
Conversely, the English word “football,” kind of the elder statesman of traveling English words, sounds more or less the same in Spain, but has been gallivanting about the Iberian peninsula for generations with a jaunty, distinctly Latinate look: fútbol. Fútbol is just one of many adopted words that have undergone cosmetic changes to preserve their English pronunciation. Others include friki ( from “freaky”), mítin (“meeting”), and líder (“leader”). In El Puerto de Santa María, there is a restaurant that features a “Yack Daniel’s” burger, which is not made with yak meat or marinated in cheap knock-off bourbon. “Yack” is simply how you have to spell Jack in Spanish if you want it to sound like Jack in English. Something similar is happening with pollo kentaky, which is not, as I first imagined, some kind of Asian poultry dish, á la chicken teriyaki. No. Pollo kentaky is “Kentucky chicken,” i.e. fried chicken. If you order the pollo kentaky but don’t finish it, you can take the leftovers home in un táper, which is to say, “a Tupper,” which is to say, a Tupperware.
Still other words have foregone superficial cosmetic upgrades in favor of deeper, more elemental changes, making themselves over as entirely new parts of speech. In Spain a campsite is un camping, a parking lot is un parking, and a shopping mall is un shopping. Meanwhile, snow is not the cold wet white stuff that blankets the Sierra Nevada in winter—it’s snowboarding. If a Spaniard asks you, “¿Quieres hacer snow?”, she’s not asking if you want to make some snow. She’s asking you to grab your board and head for the slopes. You may hear elements of your own language in the question, but she’s speaking hers. Warmly received by the locals, snow rather likes its new life as a winter sport here in Spain, and is certainly here to stay.
Should all this seem weird, funny, and/or just plain wrong to you, bear in mind that English has been having its way with Spanish words for centuries. English swallowed juzgado (courthouse) and spit out “hoosegow.” El lagarto (the lizard) morphed into “alligator,” estibador (one who stows) into “stevedore.” In the States we pronounce Spanish loanwords like armadillo and vigilante in ways that render them utterly unrecognizable to the very people we borrowed them from. The Toledo in Spain—the original Toledo—is pronounced something like “toe-LAY-tho.” The one in Ohio is…not.
Words, like people, travel. They find new lives in other lands. The fact that contemporary Spanish is chock full of English speaks not just to the popularity of the latter, but to the adaptability of the former. As a language, Spanish is remarkably flexible and accommodating. In my experience, Spaniards are, too. They’re happy to meet you halfway. In the course of a conversation about where to find free Wi-Fi—remember to say “wee-fee”—you’re likely to learn a little Spanish and teach a little English. Who knows? When all is said and done, you might even add a word to the dictionary.
Till next time,
Charlie
Raised in Charleston, SC, Charlie Geer currently lives in Andalusia, Spain. His work has appeared in various journals and magazines, including the Threepenny Review, The Sun Magazine, Tin House, the Southern Review, Garden and Gun, and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency. His novel Outbound: The Curious Secession of Latter-Day Charleston was published by River City Publishing in 2005, and his collection of essays in Spanish, ¿Qué Dices, Teacher?, was published by Plan B in 2020. Follow him online at @amerizano and at charliegeer.substack.com.