Me duelen las manos

I like how travelling to such diverse corners of the world hones understanding of cross-cultural communication, and how to approach it in a clear, effective way. Or more accurately, how this should be honed over time alongside broadening experiences and horizons. Some are further along the learning curve than others. I was having a lovely time with a strong coffee and chocolate pastry type thing (herradura) in a little hole-in-the-wall cafeteria when a northern Irish woman with a strong accent comes in and proceeds to attempt to make no sense for the poor woman behind the counter.

In northern Irish drawl:
'I want a large mug of coffee.'

Bemused server:
'.........?'

'A coffee. In a mug. A mug.'

'Errrr coffee?'

'Yea but I need a mug. I've got sore hands.'

I chip in with taza grande (large cup) to hurry the conversation along.

Server displays a large glass.

Northern Irish woman turns to me and explains that she needs a vessel with a large handle as sore fingers make gripping difficult. I express sympathy. She says she is ever so grateful for my contribution.

Woman rejects tall glass but server shrugs at continuing references to mugs.

Coffee is served in tall glass by server who is not an expert in hand conditions. Woman skulks off clasping coffee and chuntering about her sore fingers.

Such interactions smack of anglophone arrogance and general inept communications skills. Brits abroad have got to get more linguistically savvy or at least realise that tempering a strong accent, acknowledging that English isn't the lingua franca of the world, avoiding colloquialisms and twigging that the Spanish wouldn't be seen dead drinking coffee in a mug will aid mutual understanding immensely. Perhaps language improvements could be included in one of the parties' election manifestos for education.

Malaga is lovely. When I saw this building I kept imagining Eva Peron gliding onto the balcony and addressing the crowds. Wrong continent. Same language. Good musical.