SPANGLISH!

It wasn't part of the plan. I was meant to be in Salvador sipping on cocktails and then trying navigate myself through the tropical jungles of the Amazon all the way to Peru, with plenty of scandalous stories I picked up on the way. Instead I find myself living in not the prettiest surburban area of Montevideo, with guy I have only know a couple of weeks, his mother and dog which is blind in one eye. Definitely not part if the plan. Once BB had gone, it was just me on my own. As I have travelled more on my own than with companions this didn't bother me. What did bother me was I missed Nico (Robert Pattison). After I had left the first time we had still emailed each other every day, and the longer it went on the more I wanted to go back to him. So that's what I did. I gave up the wonders of the Brazilian Amazon and the delights of Salvador for a man!

Now Montevideo wouldn't have been my top spot to go back to in Uruguay if it hadn't been for Nico. In fact my friend Lauren called it "The Swindon of South America!" but I think she was being biased as she had her bag stolen with everything in it, while traveling there. Though I had to admit it was not a terribly exciting city. The first week living back with Nico, his mother and the dog, didn't go too well. He had warned me he had to go to work, like normal people do. "No problem" I thought to myself "I can amuse myself!" The problem was I didn't. There are very few tourist attractions in Montevideo and I had seen what few there was to see on my last visit. I had no routine there or any idea what the locals did, so I ended up staying in all day on the internet, reading or writing. By the time Nico got home from work which was late, I was like caged animal. I was frustrated! I had not come travelling to stayed locked up in a house all day. I'm an Independent person who likes to do her own thing, but I felt trapped and totally reliant on Nico for everything. I took my frustrations out on Nico and arguments ensued. I thought I had made a huge mistake by coming back. "Maybe I should have run off to Havana?" I thought to myself. By the end of the week I was ready to leave and put it down as a bad experience.
"You haven't really tried or made an effort Carly!" Said Nico as I told him I was planning to hit the road again. Now I'm selfish, a bit headstrong, and stubborn but I am the first to put my hand up when I'm wrong. I thought about it! He was right, "I hadn't made an effort!" It was time to try, so I cancelled my plans. "Right!" I thought "It's time to go back to Spanish school!"

When I first came to South America I didn't speak a word a Spanish apart from the words "Gracias" and "Si" which any idiot knows? Everyone seemed shocked that I was going traveling to South America on my own and didn't speak any Spanish apart from me. Well that was until I landed in San Jose and spent over an hour in a taxi being lost because the taxi driver spoke no English and it seemed like no one else did either. Frustrating wasn't the word! So I booked myself into a two week intensive course in Costa Rica. Now I remember language classes at school; Mr Ellis stood at the front of the class shouting at us and writing stuff on the blackboard which we had to repeat like lemmings. Occasionally he would say something to me which I would look like a rabbit in the head lights as I hadn't a clue what he was saying and would mumble back something in half German and half English which made no sense at all and the rest of the class would laugh resulting in me turning red. This is how I remembered language classes. I didn't like them and I wasn't a natural. So it was kind of a big deal for me when I decided to go back to the class room to learn Spanish. From the moment I entered the room, the rabbit in the head lights look returned to me again but this time it was worse as the teacher never spoke any English. It was 2 weeks of Hell and feeling completely stupid. I wanted to cry most of the time and at the end of it I felt I hadn't learnt a thing, but slowly and surely on my travels things started to sink in, to the point I could get by which was a real achievement for me. Getting by was fine, but I wanted to be better, especially when Nico's mother didn't speak any English and I loved her so much I wanted to communicate with her more. Also Nico's father didn't really speak much English either as I found out the first time I met him. It was late one night and Nico had just got in from work. He didn't look happy. "My father wants to meet you" he said with displeasure. Nico and his Father don't seem to have the greatest of relationships and he didn't seem keen on me meeting him, but he relented for a easy life. We are sat at the dinning table in his fathers house eating empanadas. It all feels very formal. Nico sits like a sulky teenager peeling the coke label from a bottle not looking at anyone, while his father tries to speak to me in very bad English. It's all rather painful. We try speaking Spanish. I can't understand everything and then Nico speaks up with a translation. "He says he likes homosexuals!" I shoot Nico a look, as I know that's not what his father said and he's taking the piss. He just sits there still peeling the label but this time with a smirk on his face like a naughty child. I want to kill him. He's really not helping. As the awkward conversation continues Nico bursts in with another translation.
"He says he was kidnapped by UFO's and...." Before he can go any further I interrupt him.
"Nico that's not what he said! Will you stop it!" His father looks on a bit confused by it all and I want to be angry at Nico, but all I'm trying to do is not laugh as this whole situation is just silly. I tell him he should never become a translator, as he would be a nightmare. I guess this was just another reason to add to the list to improve my Spanish.

The first day I was nervous as I walked into the Spanish school building. I had to have an assessment to see what level my Spanish was at. One on one with a teacher for 3 hours, I was right to be nervous, but as she started firing questions at me in Spanish, instead of the wide eyed rabbit look that usually appeared, I sat calmly and answered the questions. I could understand her! What the Hell! Apparently my Spanish was OK! The next day I was put into a group lesson. I was warned before hand that I might be a little too advanced for the rest of the group. "What! Me too advanced for a Spanish lesson. Is this some kind of joke" I think "What are the rest of the class like?"
It turns out my new fellow class mates (all 3 of them) have a combined age of 100,000! Ok a little bit over the top, but they are old! Like really old! Ken and Liz a pensioner couple from Washington D.C have come to Spanish school not to learn Spanish, like you think most people would do when attending Spanish school but more for a social. I learn all about Ken and Liz's life: their vacations; their family; what they like for breakfast and what their political views are. This is all done in English with not even the slightest effort of trying to speak in Spanish. Marie my third class is a retired nurse from a Oklahoma. She is so nervous and shy its hard to understand her English never mind her Spanish, which is pretty bad. The three of them sit chatting away for hours in English while I try to smile and pretend it's ok through gritted teeth.
"How was your class today?" asks Nico when he gets home from work. "Terrible" I moan "I'm in a class with Donde Esta Monsters!"
What is a Donde Esta Monster, you ask? It's a phrase me and Nico coined to describe people that speak Spanish in a bad accent. It derives from the time I was in a supermarket in Costa Rica and over heard an America couple with the thickest Brooklyn accent shouting "Donde esta la narañja orange juice!" I remember being in stitches with laugher in the supermarket aisle. I would recall the tale to Nico one night re-inacting with my best Brooklyn accent. We both laughed and couldn't stop saying the sentence over and over again, laughing each time like children. This is how we came up with the term "The Donde Esta Monster!"
I lasted one more day in that class until my teacher said I was way to advanced and was moved to tuition on my own. I was happy at first but was going to miss the "Donde Esta Monsters", as they were highly entertaining. I'd come a long way from Mr Ellis's class room.

The days came and went. I got myself into a little routine. I would catch the bus to school everyday. I learnt which numbers I could take. I learnt which stops to get off at. I would buy a alfajor from the same shop on the way to school to eat on my break. I would wander the city sometimes after class trying to get my bearings of the city. Later I would sit in the garden and do my homework while sneaking a class of wine under the table at the same time, as Latin people don't drink much and I started to think Nico's mother thought I drank too much as I would have a glass of wine most nights. It was too hard trying to explain that English people drink all the time but where not alcoholics, in Spanish. Sometimes I would play with Mcshooney and wait until Nico got home. He would get home always give me a kiss, put his music on, roll a cigarette and we would just lay there hugging saying nothing until it was time to eat. It was one night, that I had a relisation. We were sat eating pasta at the table. Paco de Lucia the famous Spanish guitarist had died that day. Nico was a big fan and so was playing Tres Aguas, Paco de Lucia's most famous song. Thersita would come out and offer us more homemade cake and McShooney would sit loyally by us while we ate, waiting for scraps you might throw his way. It was at this moment in the little city of Montevideo; living with a guy I had met by sheer chance; with his mother; his dog with one blind eye; wearing no make up; no fancy clothes; living just the simple life; I realised I was truly happy. It was a wonderful feeling.

It was always lingering in the back ground that I would have to leave eventually. At times I told myself I didn't have to. "I could find a job here. There is always work for English speakers?" but in reality I knew I had to go. I had been fine until we reached the airport, as I had put my departure completely to the back of my mind, but when it came to say goodbye the tears started to flow from my eyes. He said he would come to London, that we would see each other again. I wanted it to be so, but deep down inside I knew the reality of it all. We were from completely different lives and cultures on the other side of the world from each other. This is going to sound crazy but I'm going to say it anyway. The first time I stayed at Nico's I left my hair band there. When I returned the second time I saw he was wearing it around his wrist. He told me he wore so that I was always with him and he could always remember me. I would look at that band on his wrist everyday and everyday it would get thinner. I started to see it as representing us; that when it broke so would we. It was like looking at sand going through an hour glass. I knew our time was running out. I cried at that airport because I knew I was never going to see him again. I cried because I knew he was never going to come to London. I cried because I knew we had no future. Now all these months later I know this to be true. I remember trying to grab my last glances of him as he went down the escalator and finally out of view. I think after I left that hair band finally broke and with it so did we.
Next stop Lima, Peru!