I am delighted to share an extract today ~ thanks to Rachel’s Random Resources for organizing.
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Genre ~ travel memoir, humor memoir
Publication date ~ December 1, 2023
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Extract:
Staying in downtown Los Angeles on my first trip away as a 20 year old, a group of us went to watch a basketball game. After the game we did not know how to get back to our hotel, or even where our hotel was.
One of the older members of the wolf gang decides to ask this man if he knows how we can get a bus back to downtown.
“Mate, do you know how we can get back to downtown?”
“No hablo Ingles,” the stranger replies.
“What is he saying?” I ask.
This is my very first worldly interaction with a person who speaks a language that is not English. Also, the first time I have met someone with so many tattoos on his neck. The same goes for everyone else in the wolf battalion.
“He speaks Spanish,” deduces Dohers.
The group’s combined grasp of Spanish extends only as far as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s line in Terminator 2. Hasta la vista, baby. At least we knew how to say goodbye confidently.
Except for one member of our tribe.
Dohers claims he has done some preparation for this exact scenario by learning some phrases in Spanish prior to the trip. His claim sounds legitimate. He has constantly been greeting everyone we met in Los Angeles with the line, “Que pasa, tio?” The translation in Doher’s mind is, that he is asking What is going on, mate. Sure, when a person is talking to a person from Spain. What is going on, uncle, if talking with a person from any other Spanish-speaking country.
“You have to understand that there are masculine words and feminine words in Spanish. Nouns ending in the letter ‘a’ are feminine. Those ending in ‘o’ are masculine. Amigo, man. Amiga, female,” Dohers lectures us.
“I’m already confused. Why do they do that?” I ask.
“It is derived from Latin,” he says.
“Fucking Romans,” hisses the drunkest member of the wolf group.
Dohers steps up to the man on the bus bench. “¿Que pasa, tio?”
“No soy tu tío,” the man replies seriously. I am not your uncle.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He said all is cool,” Dohers answers me confidently. “Tio is slang for things being cool.”
“That’s good,” I respond reassured, not wanting to get on anyone’s bad side while standing on a deserted road in a rough-looking neighborhood of L.A. after midnight. Even if the person whose bad side I did not want to get on was homeless. And especially if he had lots of tattoos. He is probably not so homeless as to not own a gun.
Dohers turns back to the stranger. “Do you know how we can catch a bus back to downtown?”
I think nothing of the fact that Dohers has gone back to speaking to the man in English. My awareness of cultural differences is limited to the idea that we needed to speak Spanish just by way of introduction, after which both parties would carry on the conversation in English. Dohers is as confused as I am when the man looks at us like we are as stupid as a bag of rocks.
“No hablo Ingles,” he repeats incredulously. “Habla Español?”
“He is asking if I speak Spanish,” translates Dohers. This is somehow looked upon as success in this endeavor. “Si, habla Espanol. Do you know how we can catch a bus back to downtown?”
“Si.”
“He said, yes. He knows where we need to catch the bus.”
None of us are smart enough to understand that Dohers has inadvertently told the man that the man speaks Spanish. Si habla Espanol is a statement. Yes, you speak Spanish. The man replied, si. Yes. He had asked Dohers, Habla Español? Do you speak Spanish? But Dohers had not gotten far enough into his Spanish phrase book to learn that verbs need conjugating. As for the part of the sentence with the question about catching a bus? Well, the man likely did not understand. But we did not know that. We thought this conversation was going places.
“Where do we catch the bus?” the four of us ask in unison.
“Habla Español?” The man asks again.
“Si, habla Espanol,” answers Dohers.
“Si,” says the homeless man.
Blank stares between the five of us.
“I don’t understand why he doesn’t just tell us where to catch the bus,” Dohers says.
“Fucking Romans,” chimes in the drunkest wolf.
“Habla Espanol,” Dohers tries again. “I am telling him I speak Spanish.”
“Si. Hablo Español.”
“Then the bus stop for downtown. Where is it?” Dohers implores.
A blank stare from the homeless man followed by a scowl.
“¿Qué pasa, tio?” Demands Dohers.
“No soy tu tio,” the man yells angrily.
“This Roman is fucking with us,” throws out the drunk wolf.
It occurs to me that if the UN cannot get shit done, then what chance do we have of sorting out this mess? A taxi is coming towards us down Flower St., and I flag it down.
“G’day mate. We are not sure where we want to go, but it is a motel in downtown. Near a diner. And there are lots of homeless people around it,” I say to the man behind the wheel.
“I got you sorted,” replies the driver.
Book blurb:
Australian author Simon Yeats, who from an early age learned that the best way to approach the misfortunes of this world is to laugh about it.
Simon shares his comedic insights into the unusual and uproarious elements of living life as an Aussie ex-pat and having a sense of Wanderlust as pervasive as the Bubonic Plague in the 1300s.
From what to do when several people converge to rob you after midnight on a deserted Copacabana Beach, to how to save the Sierra Mountain Range from a wildfire outbreak due to a lack of quality toilet paper, to where not to go in Tijuana when trying to locate the origins to stories of the city’s mythical adult entertainment, to how to save yourself from drowning when caught in a storm while sailing off the California coast.
Simon Yeats has gone into the world and experienced all the out of the ordinary moments for you to sit back and enjoy the experience without the need to lose an eye or damage your liver.
Purchase Links
Author Bio –
Simon Yeats has lived nine lives, and by all estimations, is fast running out of the number he has left. His life of globetrotting the globe was not the one he expected to lead. He grew up a quiet, shy boy teased by other kids on the playgrounds for his red hair. But he developed a keen wit and sense of humor to always see the funnier side of life.
With an overwhelming love of travel, a propensity to find trouble where there was none, and being a passionate advocate of mental health, Simon’s stories will leave a reader either rolling on the floor in tears of laughter, or breathing deeply that the adventures he has led were survived.
No author has laughed longer or cried with less restraint at the travails of life.
Social Media Links –
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