Saved by Der Wasserkocher


Did you know that the Spanish do not have a word for kettle? In fact, the majority I met had never seen one before in their lives.

If you think that is outrageous, be prepared for the following confession…

It had been six days in Spain before I had a cup of tea. SIX WHOLE DAYS. And this is because we had finally got gas and therefore hot water in the flat *rejoice*, so it still meant waiting for a saucepan of water to boil before I could enjoy my long-awaited cuppa. My reaction (“ERMEHGERD IT’S AMAAAAZING!”) was met with looks of shock and wonder, and perhaps a better understanding of how important tea is to an English girl, which I didn’t quite realise myself until my flatmate, Chris, placed a ‘Wasserkocher’ (A KETTLE GUYS, A KETTLE!) in our kitchen. I think I almost cried.

Going through old notebooks from my Granada Uni days, I came across scribbled conversations between myself and my Mancuniun mate/neighbour/drinking partner/moral-support-in-class companion, Helen. These had obviously been written during the class of History of Contemporary Literature of Spain in the Golden Age or some poncy culture module aka we hated it and had no idea why we’d signed up for it.

 

How are we ever gonna pass this year? Wahh

 

I’m gonna fail, for sure. I don’t even wanna think about Italy

 

I am here for a year so I better be fluent by the end – unlikely

 

You defo will, your Spanish is good now!

NO

YES. I can’t even order tapas without some sassy Spaniard going QUÉ

 

Well they’re just being rude – I can always understand you

 

Aw ❤ I did a really trampy thing today. I don’t have teabags. So when I went to the bakery I ordered a tea, drank it when I got back, and I really wanted another.

So I boiled water and used the same teabag.

 

Scandalous – why haven’t you bought any? Still!

 

Because I couldn’t find it in Día and Sunday it was closed 😥

 

You should have come down to mine – I have PG Tips

 

Being British Birds

 

What a Babe.

 

And slightly desperada on my part. The fact that I’ve managed to dedicate a blog post to a humble mug of English tea (no sugars, I’m sweet enough) says something. When it comes down to it, it’s the little things that count isn’t it? A cup of tea is not just a hot beverage; it is the end of a long day, a well-needed natter with friends, and for me, a pick-me-up when home is just that bit too far away.

Spanish of the Golden Age/Dream Interpretation
Spanish of the Golden Age/Dream Interpretation

 

 

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