"Ola" my new elderly neighbor greeted me in Portuguese. I smiled at her and nodded my head. I offered my hand to shake with hers and she accepted. Ah... the beginning of a wonderful relationship.
Living in a foreign country is a big challenge for me especially when English is not widely used by the majority of the country's population. However, it can be intriguing as well as frustrating.
I lived in other parts of the world where English is either the main language or easily accepted and understood. Things were easy and one can easily get acquainted to Joe Blow without having to use the universal language.
Portugal, a country that is not an English user-friendly is my first experience as a confused expat. I started my first venture to the immigration office. Phewww.. what a mess but I must continue with my account.
It was a blustery morning at the train station and everyone shielded themselves away from the unforgiving element. Passengers gathered behind the platform where cubicles were erected to provide protection from mother nature. Among the passengers, a Malaysian, who had just arrived two days ago.
I was wrapped in a t
hick couldroy jacket with matching breeches and a Lacoste handbag. I blended well except that I was shorter even with my 3 inch boots. Earlier, I purchased a train ticket to my destination. Equipped with a map, a translation book and a cellphone, I was confident that I could pull through this mission.
From a distance, I could see a vague elongated shape coming towards the platform. Perfect timing! Just as indicated on the ticket. An announcement was aired but unfortunately everything was in Portuguese. I pretended I knew and as soon as the train stopped, I quickly rushed for the door like the rest of the passengers.
Based on my train information pamphlet, I should alight from the beast at the tenth stop from where I started my journey. I was careful not to miss the number of stops. No announcement was made through out the ride. As the train was approaching my destination, I quickly gathered my things and walked to the exit door. Everyone looked at me vacating my seat but I thought that was normal since I am a foreigner. I ignored them.
I waited for over fifteen minutes standing by the exit door but the train did not stop. "Ehhh... can't be that far for the next stop" I wondered. I took the courage to ask a young man standing right in front of me. I spoke in English. He looked at me as though I just came down from the planet of moron. I attempted for the second time but all I got from this guy was an empty look. Hello, is anyone home? The lights are on but no-one's home.
Finally, I took my translation booklet and shuffled to the nearest page for a word that I could use. It took me few seconds and eventually found the word "where". Showed it to the guy and he mumbled, "eu não compreendo". Huh? I cussed in Kadazan, "Bosuon tuhun ngaavi diti" (Stupid people). I was desperate. "Oriente, where?" I almost shouted to everyone in front of me. Oriente was the station that I am suppose to get off.
Luckily a Moroccan man stood up, spoke English and said that the earlier last station that we stopped was Oriente. Boy, I must have counted wrongly. My mistake. I got off at the next station and went to the opposite side of the platform to get into the next available train to Oriente.
Now who is the dumb ass here? Take a good guess.
ends.
Living in a foreign country is a big challenge for me especially when English is not widely used by the majority of the country's population. However, it can be intriguing as well as frustrating.
I lived in other parts of the world where English is either the main language or easily accepted and understood. Things were easy and one can easily get acquainted to Joe Blow without having to use the universal language.
Portugal, a country that is not an English user-friendly is my first experience as a confused expat. I started my first venture to the immigration office. Phewww.. what a mess but I must continue with my account.
It was a blustery morning at the train station and everyone shielded themselves away from the unforgiving element. Passengers gathered behind the platform where cubicles were erected to provide protection from mother nature. Among the passengers, a Malaysian, who had just arrived two days ago.
I was wrapped in a t
hick couldroy jacket with matching breeches and a Lacoste handbag. I blended well except that I was shorter even with my 3 inch boots. Earlier, I purchased a train ticket to my destination. Equipped with a map, a translation book and a cellphone, I was confident that I could pull through this mission.From a distance, I could see a vague elongated shape coming towards the platform. Perfect timing! Just as indicated on the ticket. An announcement was aired but unfortunately everything was in Portuguese. I pretended I knew and as soon as the train stopped, I quickly rushed for the door like the rest of the passengers.
Based on my train information pamphlet, I should alight from the beast at the tenth stop from where I started my journey. I was careful not to miss the number of stops. No announcement was made through out the ride. As the train was approaching my destination, I quickly gathered my things and walked to the exit door. Everyone looked at me vacating my seat but I thought that was normal since I am a foreigner. I ignored them.
I waited for over fifteen minutes standing by the exit door but the train did not stop. "Ehhh... can't be that far for the next stop" I wondered. I took the courage to ask a young man standing right in front of me. I spoke in English. He looked at me as though I just came down from the planet of moron. I attempted for the second time but all I got from this guy was an empty look. Hello, is anyone home? The lights are on but no-one's home.
Finally, I took my translation booklet and shuffled to the nearest page for a word that I could use. It took me few seconds and eventually found the word "where". Showed it to the guy and he mumbled, "eu não compreendo". Huh? I cussed in Kadazan, "Bosuon tuhun ngaavi diti" (Stupid people). I was desperate. "Oriente, where?" I almost shouted to everyone in front of me. Oriente was the station that I am suppose to get off.
Luckily a Moroccan man stood up, spoke English and said that the earlier last station that we stopped was Oriente. Boy, I must have counted wrongly. My mistake. I got off at the next station and went to the opposite side of the platform to get into the next available train to Oriente.
Now who is the dumb ass here? Take a good guess.
ends.
2 comments:
Happy New Year Zia and Dave. Thanks a bunch for your Christmas card kio. It was really thoughtful of you:)
Any time Jo.
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