Lesson #8: Dirty Water is for Wieners

This fantastic post has been brought to you by Hogga, from The Traveller – Which is the ultimate guide to balancing tequila and tourism, wrapped in amusing tales of around the world mishaps and adventure. Hope you enjoy! High fives for everyone! 

Cultural differences – or… um… me, and my need to wear a helmet.

Before I begin, I would like to inform you that I know some Spanish, but my knowledge of the language is lacking. I can get around, but having a full on conversation is challenging. I know how to ask where something is, how much something costs, tell people I’m drunk, I’m tired, feed me, go away it’s nap time. The important things one should know in another language.

While in Arequipa, Peru, I came across quite a studly, young Colombian. It turned out he was a big wiener, but that’s besides the point. We had an extensive language barrier, because his English was even worse than my broken Spanish. I often just said “si (yes)” when I had no clue what he was asking me, he would then give me a look that screamed, “REALLY?? fer real, fer real??”. I would follow up with “No, no… what? No, I dunno”. But as the days passed, our love flourished, and we began to use babel fish (online translator) for our more serious conversations. I know, ‘sigh’ young love…
ANYWAY, he (who will remain nameless) kept calling me “Linda”. Now, I’m no hussy and I demand some respect. WORD. This often ended in a slight ‘Spanglished’ argument because I would not put up with some Colombian whore who couldn’t remember my name. My name is LINDSAY, not Linda. Seriously? I let you touch my boobs and you can’t even get my name right? What the shit? 

I’m assuming those who know basic Spanish are probably shaking their heads at me by this point. It was eventually explained to me that “Linda” means pretty in Spanish. Ohhhh, I’m pretty, haha, my bad!

On another ‘cultural differences note’ he was living in Arequipa for a few months and before I left him for more adventures in Cusco, he gave me a little present. No, it’s not what you’re thinking… it was in the form of a water bottle from his freezer. And no, it was not his frozen baby makers. It was WORSE – dirty tap water, yum! I pieced this together after being sick all day in his bathroom. I was unable to eat for 10 days after that. I guess his roommate and himself are robots and bacteria filled water doesn’t effect them. I won’t go into details, but it was intense.
Do not stress my friends – I lived. And maybe one day my awesomeness will live on… hopefully it doesn’t have to come from a freezer.
To sum up: don’t date Latin men… just kidding.
But if you’re good, I will tell you more about my adventures with the Colombian and what happened when we met up in Bolivia. Dun, dun, dun…

The End. 

You can find Hogga on the Twitter! @TheHogga. And if you don’t want to be tweet friends, you can eat garbage.

If you like this section, check out my other lessons on living with an Italian. Do you have some quirky cultural difference of your own to share? I’d love to feature them!