Category Archives: Learning Resources

Learning Spanish from political cartoons

I get my news in Spanish from El Colombiano, Medellín/Antioquia’s principal newspaper (plus from lots of great blogs, of course). I know there are better newspapers out there, but it’s just habit. When I lived in Bogotá, I read El Tiempo; in Medellín, I switched to El Colombiano, trying to be as regionalist as my new Paisa neighbors. (Also had a soft spot for Q’hubo, the local lurid rag for scandals and the scantily clad) It’s nothing amazing and certainly has its flaws, but I like it well enough. It also obviously lets me stay on top of what’s going on in Colombia. Today I wanted to share one of my favorite features of El Colombiano: their political cartoons.

Cartoons are always a fun way to learn more Spanish–I like Condorito, Mafalda, and Macanudo. I also enjoy Aleida. With political cartoons, though, you also learn about what’s going on in that part of the world, find out what people are talking about on the street, and get a feel for local humor and politics. You come across extremely cultural references to things that took place maybe 100 years ago but that are still fresh in locals’ memories and that still incite their passions and influence their actions. For me, reading political cartoons is like getting a secret peek into the imaginario colectivo of a society. Don’t stare, don’t point, don’t laugh, don’t ask nosy questions. If you want to make sense of what you’re seeing, research it on your own time. I don’t know, it’s just so intimate, like getting to eavesdrop on a culture’s inside jokes. At the same time, of course, cartoons are often very funny, irreverent, and insightful.

I really like reading the caricaturas on El Colombiano’s website because I find them to be very well-organized. Just go to the page, and you can then choose the cartoons from this year or any year since 2009. For each year, the cartoons are neatly categorized by month. Choose your month, click on a day, and then just use the left or right arrows on your keyboard to go from one day to the next. I have not found the cartoons sections on other Spanish-language newspapers’ websites to be anywhere near as easy to navigate. If you know of any or have a favorite political cartoonist to recommend (in either digital or print form), please let me know! You can find El Colombiano‘s main page for caricaturas here.

Viewing some of this year’s cartoons from a purely language perspective (with maybe a tad of culture thrown in), let’s see what kinds of things we can learn. Some feature important Colombian words, some good general words in Spanish, some cultural references, some political references. And some were just plain funny. These cartoons are by Esteban París and by Emerson Gaviria Cortés.

Key Colombian vocab

mercar, hacer mercado; mija/mijo; lechona (marrano) de navidad

guayabo - hangover

culebra - debt

ome; comuna; vos (many people don’t know that it’s used in Colombia)

More voseo

Words/grammar that I’ve blogged about before

Hamburguesa a caballo

Me tocó

Signos de admiración, puntos suspensivos, comas

Culture/politics

Propiedad de EC, Elcolombiano.comSombreros vueltiaos

Tanja Nijmeijer, kind of like Colombia’s Lori Berenson in a way

??? I know a Chucho (Jesús), and I know three different meanings of chucha, but this one has me scratching my head. Well, as the singers of Qué difícil es hablar el español made clear, it’s a tricky word.

Which one was your favorite? (I liked the snail one, the marrano one, and the guayabo one.) Could you understand them pretty well? Pick up any new vocabulary? Do you read the political cartoons of any cartoonists or newspapers? If you’re artistic, I could totally see how making your own cartoons could be a great way to help memorize and practice vocab.

La gente anda diciendo

I discovered a really cool page on Facebook yesterday called La gente anda diciendo. The concept is very simple: people in Buenos Aires, Argentina send in snippets of conversations they hear strangers say in public either to someone with them or on a cell phone, and most frequently on buses and on the street. Here’s La gente anda diciendo’s brief description of what they do:

Fragmentos de conversaciones que escuchamos por la calle. Frases sueltas, a veces inconclusas, casi siempre fuera de contexto. Twitter @gentediciendo

I love the snatches of ordinary, private life, and I love how colorfully people talk. Sure, I enjoyed it from a language-learning perspective as well, but, even more than that, it’s just a fantastic way to see language as a living, dynamic entity.

Here are a few of my favorites and my loose translations below.

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(If Felix Baumgartner could get a signal all the way out in the stratosphere, there’s no way you really expect me to buy the story that you couldn’t get a signal in that crummy bar.)

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(I don’t know, girl, at that price I’ll stick with my black tooth and just paint it with White-out.)

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(Psychology is what ruined everything around here. My old man would beat my back with broomsticks, and just look how well I turned out.)

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(Hey, you love yourself a little too; it’s not enough just for me to love you.)

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(She puts little reminders in his cell phone: “our one-month anniversary,” “our two-month anniversary” . . . and he still doesn’t call her.)

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(You’re not the person I fell in love with because obviously I never would have fallen in love with such a dumbass.)

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(I’m not saying you have to go out with the intellectual heir of Archimedes, but at least with someone who’s not a total idiot.)

Piotrek told me in the comments of the last post that I’m very affectionate; well, let me just proclaim my immense affection for this project. If I were still living in Colombia, I would totally be creating my own version. I confess that last night I went to bed kind of sad that I’m not living in a big South American city. Cities have lots of downsides, sure, but I love the constant intimate glimpses you get into the lives of strangers. Although when you live in such close quarters with millions of others (and have no car or mansion to enclose yourself in), you find that fewer people are strangers.

Do you like this idea? Like and follow La gente anda diciendo on Facebook here. And let me know if you know of any similar projects elsewhere.

(Oh, hopefully you’re at least decent with voseo! If you’re not, now’s as good a time as any to learn.)

Rereading Cien años de soledad

I just finished reading Cien años de soledad for the second time, and as I was reading it I realized that I was doing something I’d never done before: rereading in Spanish. Sad to say, but I haven’t even done much reading in Spanish. And, despite having been an English major in college, the past few years I wasn’t doing much reading at all. What can I say? I disappointed myself. The other day, as I was flipping through the agenda book I kept in 2010, I saw that I had penciled I miss reading at the top of one of the pages, and I’d underlined “miss” twice. Maybe I scribbled that while in some parent-teacher meeting, maybe secretly at church, maybe on the bus. This year I’ve been reading a lot, and now I miss other things.

If I continue to reread Cien años de soledad every year, I’ll be stealing the idea from someone I know. I think the theft might be necessary. I loved the book the first time I read it, but I took so long to read it that the effect was extremely diluted. This time, I read it in a week, and the emotions were much more intense. I definitely cried at one point. And whereas last time I struggled to keep all the characters straight, this time there were clear favorites–Úrsula, Aureliano, Amaranta, Petra Cotes, and Fernanda–each of them the spitting image of certain people I know, myself included. It was so reassuring to find them exactly as I had left them, never mind how much my life has changed in the meantime.

Even though my level of Spanish last year was sufficient to read Cien años de soledad, the language was still a formidable barrier. The characters felt far away, as if I were reading through a telescope, and I was always hyper-aware that I was reading in Spanish. Lift my eyes from the page for a second to cast a weary glance out the window and I’d come back to a papery, inky mess of Spanish words baring their unfriendly teeth at me. As much as I liked the story, it still took a great deal of resolve to keep plodding along.

This time, though, it was infinitely easier. I was barely aware of the Spanishness, and the story was much more vivid, much more heartfelt. It helped that I knew the basics of the story (although I had forgotten as much as I remembered), that I had another year of experience with Spanish under my belt, and that I had the confidence that I could read it, the assurance that the book would not get the best of me. The very first time I tried to read it, two years ago, I didn’t know that, and I eventually had to give up. Rereading Cien años de soledad was wonderful, and it reminded me of the distinct pleasures of rereading. Read so you can reread, so you can reread, so you can reread. Qué delicia.

My to-read list is miles long, but another Spanish masterpiece that I must read urgently is Don Quijote. I suspect that it will also become a book to reread over and over. Faulkner read it annually, and so did the Mexican writer Carlos Fuentes. “If I don’t read Don Quijote once a year,” the novelist once said, “I’m not going to be able to write, or to breathe, or to make love, or to think even. All of my emotions are caught up somehow in the magic of this book.” Mm, that is exactly how I feel about Cien años de soledad.

Freud learned Spanish, supposedly to read Don Quijote. Now people study Spanish the world over to read Cien años de soledad. Here’s a bit I translated from an interview with Conrado Zuluaga, an expert on García Márquez: “In Japan, in Portugal, in India, and all over the world they keep reading García Márquez. In Calcutta, for example, I spoke to an audience of 600 people, most of whom spoke Spanish. When I asked them why they had learned the language, almost all of them would answer, ‘to read Cien años de soledad.’”  Isn’t that marvelous? This knowledge makes me so happy. They will definitely be rewarded for their efforts and then some. And so will you.

If you were a little lacking in the motivation department lately in regards to your Spanish, maybe this reminder will help reinvigorate you. It’s not an easy read, but it’s well worth the challenge. Read easier books and work your way up to the harder ones. Of course, if you don’t like to read, all of this will fall on deaf ears. Reading this book is a magical experience, though, and it doesn’t appear to be coming to a theater near you anytime soon. However, there is a great song about Cien años de soledad you can listen to. (Typically played and danced to in December) It’s no substitute for the book, but maybe the infectious cumbia beat will get your hips shaking and the lyrics will intrigue you.


Besides a little Carlos Fuentes and Julio Cortázar this year, I’ve mostly been focused on García Márquez Spanish-wise because, sadly, I know he won’t be around much longer. I feel very motivated to read as much of him as I can while he is still alive. I’ve read five of his books this year (plus the reread), and I think I can squeeze in a few more. If only there were more people here I could talk with about these books! Or maybe there are and I’m just not giving them a chance. The other night I was reading Cien años de soledad for a few hours at a café, and this guy started talking to me. It turned out he was a García Márquez fan too, and he commented on the beauty of the end of Love in the Time of Cholera, his eyes practically misting. We chatted briefly, and he peppered me with questions. Where are you from? Are you Colombian? Oh, but I detected an accent. Is English your first language? When I left, he invited me to join him to go somewhere and talk more about García Márquez. And . . . I predictably declined. I mean, I do want what Aureliano Segundo and Petra Cotes had, that “paraíso de la soledad compartida,” but I didn’t really feel like sharing my solitude at that moment. Oh well. In general, I really do love to talk about books and whatnot, so hit me up with your thoughts on literature, Spanish, love, loneliness, and everything else. Les regalo mi soledad, que aprovechen pues.

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Read anything good in Spanish lately? I want to know all about it. Have you read Cien años de soledad or anything else by García Márquez? What did you think? Regardless of whether or not your current level of Spanish is adequate to read them, what are the books you dream of reading one day? What do you recommend?

Bats in Colombian Spanish

People seem to find my blog in interesting and sundry ways, most of which originate with Google. I’ll share some of the searches some day. The questions are funniest, as well as the long, sprawling searches.

Example: i trying to read these words but they are in spanish

That happens to me all the time. Seriously, nonstop. I love Spanish words, though. You won’t find me venting to Google about it, no siree.

Today someone found me through a slightly more logical search:

colombian spanish for bat

Now, this I can say something slightly useful about! So, I will. My pseudonym is vocabat, after all. It means nothing–please don’t lose any sleep over it–but it is fitting that I share the wee bit that I know about bats in Colombian Spanish. From the looks of it, at least one person wants to know, and that’s all the motivation this blogger needs.

“Bat” in Spanish is murciélago. I’m sure you already knew that.  Now, zoologists may have a bone to pick with this classification, but according to Spanish, a bat ain’t nothin’ but a blind mouse. According to the RAE, murciélago was originally murciégalo. See what they did there? I didn’t either at first glance. They just switched the “g” and the “l,” that’s all. Apparently, this derives from the Latin mus, muris for mouse (ratón), and caecŭlus, the diminutive of caecus, blind (ciego). So, it’s just a faulty mouse. In Spanish, mouse – vision = bat. That must make them feel great about themselves! It’s totally un-PC and reeks of ableism, but whatever.

Also, did you know that murciélago has only four syllables? I bet you pronounce it with five, don’t you? I always did, too, and then I learned that the cié is kept together because it’s a dipthong. Mur-cié-la-go. I also used to always say aeropuerto with four syllables, and then I noticed that everyone in Colombia pronounced it with five. It’s a-e-ro-puer-to. I think a lot of English natives tend to pronounce the first part as ai. Understandable, but wrong. It’s the little things that always get me!

I recently learned a cool word for bat in Colombian Spanish: chimbilá

Isn’t it great? I learned it while watching one of Colombia’s most famous telenovelas, Betty la fea (the original Ugly Betty). Here’s the line:

¡Y donde le presente a ese chimbilá me hace echar!

And if I introduce that hideous thing to him, he’ll fire my ass!

(referring to Betty) (note that it’s el chimbilá)

I’m not quite clear if it’s a certain kind of bat or a word for bat in general, but it’s apparently rather old-fashioned and regional. Just what region is a bit fuzzy- one source said it was a bogotanismo, another said it’s used in los llanos orientales, and another in small towns. One distinguished paper posited that it came from kimbiambila, a word from Kimbundu, a Bantu language from Angola, a remnant of slavery in Colombian Spanish from black slaves in Bogotá. Fascinating. It also exists as chimbilaco. Since bats don’t usually win any beauty pageants, you can understand why Betty was described as one. Pobrecita.

That’s the only word for bat that’s specifically Colombian Spanish that I’ve come across, but maybe my readers will add more. Online, I saw murceguillo, vampiro, and vespertillo as synonyms for bat.

Oh, and “blind as a bat” in Spanish is ser más ciego que un topo. Blinder than a mole.

Oh, and Batman is Batman.

All right, Google, send me another Colombian Spanish bat enthusiast! This time I’m ready.

_________________________________________________ Non-natives, what’s your experience with these words? Had you heard them before? How have you heard them used? Where? If you’re a native Spanish speaker, anything to correct, clarify, comment on or concur with? 

That’s incredible! Er, wait, no, it’s terrible!

Here’s one of my favorite Spanish-English mistranslation stories. It comes to us from Ruben, one of my colleagues at the high school I taught at in Bogotá. He and his wife, Nancy (my former boss), had just returned to Colombia after living in North Carolina for six years with their two daughters. They both spoke magnificent English, but they did make tiny mistakes here and there. Once when they were in North Carolina, he was at a department store. As the cashier was scanning his items, his two daughters ran up to him, saying, “Dad! Dad! There are some people who are stealing stuff from the store by ripping off the price tags!” He then responded, “Oh my gosh! That’s incredible!” Naturally, the cashier’s jaw dropped. He might as well have said, “Wow! That’s awesome! Let’s go join them!”, seeing as that’s how the cashier understood it. When he saw her aghast face, he quickly realized his gaffe. Beet red, he fumbled to explain that it was a mistranslation, that increíble means something else in Spanish, that he was not a native English speaker. Uh huh. He certainly looked quite “American,” and, as I said, his English was stellar. It was a real foot-in-mouth moment that made him want to die. Fortunately for me, I got a real kick out of it and learned something useful de pasoIncreíble doesn’t always translate to “incredible”! Incredible, right? Depends on how you mean it.

Most of the time, they do mean the same thing. That is, in Spanish, just as in English, it usually means astonishing, marvelous, amazing, en fin. Impresionante, extraordinario, genial. “The Incredibles” movie was Los increíbles. “The Incredible Hulk” was El increíble Hulk. No surprise there.

Muchos opinan que Google es una empresa increíble.

Many people think that Google is an incredible company.

Te invitamos a conocer y ser parte de esta increíble ciudad que te espera con juegos, retos y muchos premios. 

We invite you to know and be part of this incredible city that awaits you with games, challenges, and many prizes. (This comes from the spam folder in my email– see, even spam can teach you useful Spanish if you let it!)

“Incredible” has another side to it, though, a definition we forget to our Spanish-English translating peril:  So implausible as to elicit disbelief; unbelievable. You know, in- credible. Not credible. It’s in the dictionary all right, but if I had a nickel for every time I’ve ever heard it used that way . . . I’d be flat nickelless. It is often used this way in Spanish, though, and that’s what Ruben meant when he said that the stealing was increíble. Unbelievable. Not to be believed. Defying belief. Shocking, even. If the cashier had been bilingual, she surely would have cut him some slack. I mean, come on. What crook is really going to be that daft?

You know how you’ll see news headlines under categories like Strange But True or News of the Weird? In Spanish, they say Increíble pero cierto. Hard to believe but true. Not Wonderful but true– as if we were all a bunch of glass-half-empty cynics who refused to believe there could be any positive news out there.

@DiegoMorita Me parece increíble escuchar a alguien decir: colaboremen, demen, sientensen y mucho más si ese alguien es comunicador.#PenaAjena (I find it unbelievable/shocking when I hear someone say “colaboremen,” “demen,” “sientensen,” and especially if that someone is a PR person.)

@paty1978 Creo que ir a Santa Fe jamás estará en mis planes, ni por chamba, me parece increíble que tanta gente trabaje allá y sea tan difícil llegar! (I don’t think that going to Santa Fe will ever be in my plans, not even for work. I think it’s just unbelievable that so many people work out there and it’s so difficult to get there!)

¡Es increíble cuánto te amo!

It’s just mind-boggling how much I love you! (Loose translation. You could also say, “It’s incredible,” but it misses something, don’t you think?)

You just have to use context. If it’s something that sounds negative or that the person is struggling to wrap their mind around, “unbelievable” would probably be the best way to understand/translate increíble. I always appreciate it when Spanish helps draw out and accentuate certain nuances in English words that we tend to overlook. Yes, if I write, “I am so grateful to have known such an incredible person as you.” (which I have written), I am saying that you are exemplary. A knowledge of Spanish, however, evokes an essential meaning that underlies that word even without me consciously realizing it– your goodness is almost not to be believed. It’s inconceivable. It’s staggering. It’s marvelous, it’s astonishing, it’s amazing. Es increíble, ¿no?

_________________________________________________ Non-natives, what’s your experience with the usage of this word? Had you thought about the different nuances in Spanish before? How have you heard it used? Where? If you’re a native Spanish speaker, anything to correct, clarify, comment on or concur with?