Mountains out of molehills

I'm not sure what the Spanish equivalent is of this phrase, so I'll leave it, I think, in English. Ah, according to diccionarios.com, it's hacer una montaña de un grano de arena - to make a mountain out of a grain of sand. How beautiful. The Spanish word for molehill, by the way, is topera. Before I get distracted about language, the point of this gabbling is that my friend has just got back from a trip to his homeland after ten years' absence. That is just beyond my comprehension, it truly is. I live in countries where my culture is still fairly similar, the differences are minimal - so complaining should, therefore, also be. Yet I moan about the four weeks every year that I get with friends and family and how rushed I feel. Perspectiva, como siempre, is the most important thing to make you realize just how lucky you are.

Sin embargo, I owe thanks to those of you who have commented on my post yesterday on migration. You can, of course, comment on the website (for goodness' sake, WHY OH WHY DOES NO ONE POST ON IT???), but I appreciate the comments nonetheless. I suppose I feel I adapt to places, I am happy in them - I'm not pining for home all the time. But my identity - in my head, at least - is so strongly based in my being from London. The rolling green hills of Albion and much about the place I do love, but a lot of missing it comes from extrañando a family and friends who are there. But even if they weren't there, I'd miss London. It's the same for me and Barcelona - I knew almost no one there, and I still get pangs for it.

Anyhoo, self-pitying aside, onto language. It's extraordinary, what we have as the same, and what we cannot translate. Phrases, and so on, that make sense in one language - e.g. volver la tortilla - but not in another (return the omelette? No, our equivalent is the tables have turned). To get the hang of something is, apparently, to catch hold of a wave in Spanish (at least, according to the fifth Harry Potter). I like that. It will do me in good stead for next weekend when I go to the beach. This weekend, I shall explore San José (apparently it won't take long), and do some washing. And read, read, read on the Tico identity. Wundebar.

New Spanish learnt: chimar=to rub (as in a blister) in CR, but to hacer el amor en Guatemala; queque=cake. ¡En serio! Every day, something new. I feel as if I'm regressing at the moment, speaking in pidgin occasionally, but I'm surviving - managed to buy a subscription to the pool so will actually have to go to justify the expense. Fabulous. Tomorrow morning, in the blue. 8am.