non-verbal communication

The year I turned 30, I spent three months in France and Spain, mostly staying with the family of my then lover, a man who called himself a SuperWog. Born in French colonial Algeria, he was a real mixture of Mediterranean bloods. He'd taught himself English watching Kojak as a squatter in London, but despite being naturally gifted with languages, he didn't care for talking much. Unlike me, an obsessively verbal type. I thought I'd go mad. I had no one to talk to, not even books to read. I'd studied German at school and he'd only given me a handful of lessons in French before we left. His family tried hard to make me feel welcome but I was desperately lost and lonely. With the vocabulary of a two year old, I began to feel and behave like one too.

Eventually, with the help of red wine and high motivation, I managed to crack the code. The more abstract the topic the easier it was to converse because the English words tended to come from French. Interestingly, though, I got by much better in Spain even though I had almost no vocab. It wasn't just because Spanish isn't slurred together like French. It was because Spaniards are so expressive. Someone would say 'equestro' and then mimic riding a horse. Hey presto. Non-verbal communication.

Last week in Turkey, the same magic was at play. My partner and I and another couple were staying in Uskudar, on the Asian side. No one spoke English and none of us had any Turkish. But we managed to have traditional Turkish baths, buy groceries, order meals, and explain and solve problems. All because of good will and high motivation. At times I felt like a one year old, especially when pretending to be a dog tearing our rubbish bags apart, but I needed to explain why I couldn't leave the bags where instructed. 'OK, OK,' said the guards. They got me. How wonderful.