En La Montanyas del Andes (In the Mountains of the Andes)

 

‘Hola!' said Antonio as the woman came up the aisle of the bus.

            She looked at him warily, but relaxed once she saw his kind and smiling face. Very pretty, with dark features and a strong nose, she was clearly a local in these Peruvian parts. The only remaining seat was beside Antonio, so she sat down next to him, placing her rucksack on her knees. The bus pulled away.

            At length he spoke again seeing this as the perfect opportunity to practice his Spanish.

‘Como estas?’

The woman smiled wearily. ‘Mas o menos. Trabajo,’ she explained.

 A moment later she looked at him again curiously. Finally she spoke, as if testing her hypothesis. ‘Tan..tu no Bolivian, si?’

From her intonation and those last three words, Antonio could at least figure what she was getting at. He shook his head. ‘No, no es Bolivian.’

‘Americano?’

‘No way! I’m, er…yo soy Australiano.’

Her face brightened. ‘Australiano? Donde ellas dicen ‘Heh-dai may-eet?’

Antonio laughed at her thickly heavily accented English. The road—more or less a goat track—hugged the rugged rock-faces that rose upwards. As they climbed higher, they could see below the sprawling plains of Bolivia.

            ‘Como te llamas?’ asked the woman.

            Antonio remembered his Spanish lessons back home. ‘Um…me llama Antonio. Cual es…tu  nombre?’

            ‘Mi nombre es Carolina. Habla mucho Espanol?’

            ‘Only un poco,’ said Anonio. ‘Still muy elementario! "Gato"..."beinvinido"..."cumpleanos"..."basura."  Y simple frases like "Como estas?" "Cual es cuanta?" Stuff like that. Tu habla Inglis?’

            Carolina shook her head. ‘No...pero yo eschuchar inglis mucho.Sin embargo mi papa es un professor en Brisbane, tan el hablo inglis con frequencia. Yo entiendiendo mucho.’

            ‘So…tu naciste en Bolivia?’ asked Antonio.

            ‘Si, en Cocachamba.’

            ‘No way!’ exclaimed Antonio, slipping back into English. ‘Que interesante! I have…err……mi querido amiga also de Cocachamba!’

            ‘Si?’ asked Carolina. ‘Es pequeno mundo!’

            Suddenly the bus ground to a halt. There was some commotion up, the front before the driver informed his pasengers there’d be a half-hour wait at customs. Apparently, some new fitting had to be checked before heading further up the mountains. Antonio and Carolina looked at each other then shrugged. They weren’t going anywhere and there were clearly more annoying travel companions to be stuck with.

            At length Carolina spoke again.

            ‘Tan tu, donde naciste en Austrliana?’

            ‘Si,’ Antonio replied. ‘En Newcastle. Pero ahora vivo un pueblo llamada Muswellbrook.’

            Carolina practiced a few times trying to say it before laughing. ‘Es un gracia nombre! Pero trabajas—a que te dedicas? ’

            Antonio was ready for this one. It had become one of his favourite phrases since learning Spanish.

            ‘Fregar los platos!’

            ‘Cual es nombre del restaurante?’

            ‘Oh, es llamada “Miner’s Arms”. Pub-grub,’ he added with a cheeky grin. ‘Comeda mucho delicioso!

            Carolina simply smiled, as much of what he said was gibberish to her—as was her speech to him. But they could make out little bits here and there, and Antonio was surprised at how they could already communicate on some level.

And he smiled too, knowing he might have met un amiga for his trip through Latinoamerica…