AN IDIOT ABROAD
In America, We Call Them Tortillas
The double L is pronounced like a Y. (TOR~TEE~YUHS)
Before I went to Belize, I published an article about my upcoming trip. Here’s a quote, as it relates to the current article:
I’m going on a trip to Belize, and will be joined by my two sisters, my niece, and my 81-year-old QAnon mother. None of us have seen each other since before the pandemic started.
It seems like a miracle that I was able to convince my mother to go. I’m still not sure how I did it. She’s so far down her rabbit hole that we hardly hear from her, much less, see her anymore. My sisters and I have all vowed to overlook the crazy and irritating things she says, and try to keep her focused on the trip.
When the airline tickets were being bought, Mom was adamant that they be fully refundable. Sounds sensible enough, but her reasoning was far from it. You see, she was fairly certain that Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, and many other people would be in jail by now, and that the entire country would be under martial law. I am keeping my fingers crossed that this won’t happen at the 11th hour.
In the article’s comment section, I received many lovely wishes for a wonderful, drama-free holiday. It was touching. While I would never question anyone’s sincerity, I did notice a common thread. Many of my well-wishers included a line like this: I hope there’s no drama with your mother, but if there is, don’t be stingy with the details.
Much to my delight, there was no drama. My mother was on her best behavior and didn’t utter a peep about politics or any other troubling topics. It was great. Everyone got along quite well. This doesn’t mean she didn’t irritate or embarrass me at times. She very much did. And that’s what this article is about.
Belize is part of The British Commonwealth and its official language is English. I mention this because visiting a non-English-speaking country would be a nightmare with my mother. She’s not comfortable with silence, she’s a bit of a dingbat, and she loves to talk. It can be a bad combination. Especially when her audience is indifferent or can’t understand her.
Reading social cues is not my mother’s strong suit. No matter the cause, be it disinterest or incomprehension, a blank stare rarely stops Mom from talking. If she ever realizes she’s not being understood, she does what many stupid Americans do. She talks louder and slower. For some weird reason, this never works.
Years ago, when my mom came to visit me in Portland, we went to a Vietnamese restaurant that had recently moved to a larger space. We had eaten at their previous location several times, and she was excited to go back. The food was exceptional.
When the waiter came to take our order, my mother tried to start a conversation.
“Wow, this is great! It’s so much larger than your last place! How long have you been at this location?”
The waiter’s polite, uncomfortable smile told me everything I needed to know. He spoke limited English and had no idea what she was saying. When she didn’t get a reply, my oblivious mother pressed on.
“We used to eat at your restaurant on Sandy Blvd. Your food is wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!”
The waiter, who was still smiling uncomfortably, responded in heavily accented English.
“Are you ready to order?”
We gave him our orders. And despite hearing the man’s accent, my mother looked mystified as she watched his retreating form.
“That was really weird. He never responded to my questions or anything.”
My sister’s ex-husband, Hermes, is from Honduras. When my niece was born, my mother and I visited Houston at the same time as her Spanish-speaking grandparents. Watching my mother try to communicate with them was one of the most infuriating things I’ve ever experienced.
To make matters worse, I had recently quit smoking and had no business leaving the house. Due to my unbridled usage of nicotine gum, I was experiencing frequent heart palpitations, a mild sore throat, and perpetual stomach problems. Minor inconveniences. Even with the gum, I could barely keep my shit together. Perfect timing for a family reunion!
My mother was trying to tell my in-laws that my niece resembled their son. After failing with her slow-motion shouting method, she walked into my sister’s bedroom and grabbed a framed photograph of Hermes. I was so furious that I had to leave the room.
Behind the closed bedroom door, I could hear my mother as she loudly repeated similar phrases.
“SHE…LOOKS…LIKE…HERMES!”
“SHE…LOOKS…A…LOT…LIKE…HERMES!”
I could only imagine the sort of grotesque pantomime that was taking place beyond the door. I’m glad I never saw it.
A few minutes later, Mom opened the door to my sanctuary. She slumped down on the bed and quietly voiced her frustration.
“I’m having a really difficult time communicating with them. They don’t seem to understand what I’m saying.”
I can’t believe I didn’t catch on fire. I was so incredibly angry. I wanted to scream at her, but I didn’t want my in-laws to hear. Like a frazzled parent at a funeral service, I whisper-yelled my response at her.
“You speak different languages, Mom! You can’t communicate with them! If you have something to say, you’ll have to wait until Hermes gets home!”
She didn’t listen and continued to make an ass of herself for the rest of the trip.
As I said, English is the official language of Belize. Everyone we encountered spoke English, but it’s still a Central American country. There are plenty of Hispanics there. Much like the Southeastern United States, many of the towns and landmarks have Spanish names, and many of its residents speak Spanish.
We went to the grocery store one evening to get some supplies for our rented beach house. The store was pretty disorganized and carried many brands and products that were unfamiliar to us. We wandered around for quite a while, trying to decide on what to buy.
We had picked up some rice and beans and talked about getting tortillas. At that point, we hadn’t seen any, so my mother wandered off to look for some.
A few minutes later, my sister and I turned the corner and saw my mother speaking to an employee. She was in mid-sentence and was holding her hands in a circular shape. Oh. Shit.
“ …..package of flatbreads about yay big. They usually come in wheat or corn versions. In America, we call them TORTILLAS.”
My sister and I were mortified. The young woman she was speaking to was Hispanic. Since she lived in an English-speaking country, I can’t be certain this girl spoke Spanish. But I am certain about one thing. She didn’t need an American white lady to educate her about tortillas.
For readers who haven’t seen it, I highly recommend the British television series, An Idiot Abroad.
Created by comedians Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, the series follows their close-minded friend, Karl Pilkington, as he travels to surprise destinations around the world. I find Karl hilarious. He’s often sent to difficult and uncomfortable situations, and his reactions, both spontaneous and after the fact, kept me laughing through all three seasons.