Cola in Spain

FF #13

Europeans are spoilt for holidays. Austria, for example, has the highest number: 25 paid vacation days and 13 public holidays. Everyone in Europe, even the lab rat scientist, is particular about their holidays. July and August are usually vacationing time; all holiday destinations in the continent are packed during these two months. Because of this, and because I’d had enough sun in India during my childhood, I would work in peace during July and August, and either travel in Europe in June or September, or visit India during the winter.  

I hadn’t planned my holiday that year. So when Ana mentioned that she was excited about an approaching conference in Salamanca, a pretty university town in western Spain, I decided Spain it’d be for me too. I would fly to Barcelona, spend a few days there, and take a train to Salamanca coinciding with Ana’s visit. We’d hang out in the evenings. She’d return to Munich after her conference, and I’d explore other parts of the country for another week before flying back from Madrid.

I loved Barcelona; Gaudi’s architecture was a revelation. After dinner, I would try out the one of the three famous gay bars of Barcelona. Spanish red wine, the Rioja, is famous. Sadly, I wasn’t much into wine those days. I’ve never been able to develop a taste for beer either. So just for the sake of convenience, I’d order a cola in bars. This was basic Spanish that I had figured out from my Spanish phrasebook: “Una cola, por favor,” one cola, please.  However, whenever I ordered the drink, I was getting rather strange reactions. The barman would stare at me for a few seconds, and then get a bottle of Coke or Pepsi, open it, pour it in a glass, hand it to me—all the while staring at me. Or some variation of this act. I put this to their surprise at my not ordering wine, or maybe they hadn’t seen an Indian in their gay bar before.

Salamanca is a romance in sandstone. Ana’s parents had travelled from Andalucía to meet her there. We went out for dinner together in the evening, and I ordered my drink: Una cola, por favor. Ana was sitting next to me; her eyes widened with horror.

“Neel,” she said in a low stern voice, “In Spain, never, never, say ‘cola’!”

While her parents were ordering, she whispered that ‘cola’ is a child’s word for the penis in Spanish.

She couldn’t stop giggling when I mentioned that I had been ordering colas in the gay bars of Barcelona.

24 Jun 2016