La Famille Strange likes to get out and about in the world bringing it’s unique viewpoint to those who may be called “civilians” or to be nice locals. “Nation shall speak peace unto nation”* is a noble idea but when the Stranges go out and about it is more like “tourists shall bring confusion and calamity upon the residents”. Naturally it is always better to be able to speak a foreign language so I am proud to say I am fluent in English (inc. all scouse variants), French and of course Strange. I class fluent as being able to speak without the “satellite zone” pause for translation purposes. Mater can also speak French but has a unique capacity for saying what she wants but then not listening to the answer (not only in doing it in French either!). This means that all orders in restaurants need to be double checked before you end up with Tripes au Caen (tripe in tomato sauce – disgusting) when you’d hoped to get salade au chevre chaud (goat’s cheese salad). I’ve learnt that a visit to the toilet before the meal is ordered can lead to a horrifying and expensive meal. The dogs rely on being cute which generally gets them what they want. Mind you they like tripe!
Normally we drive to France for our holidays but sometimes we like to spoil ourselves and go elsewhere. As a result I’ve been shouted at in New York by an irate pedestrian, nagged senseless in a Marrakech souk in order to get me to part with money for tat, watched Return of the Jedi with Spanish dubbing on Boxing Day whilst eating my own weight in Manchego cheese and pretended to be a religious affiliate to get 2 euros off the price of admission to the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. Surprisingly, my passport still works.
I’ve been to Barcelona 4 times over the past 20 years and visited the Sagrada Familia each time. It’s still not finished. Is this the ultimate expression of the Spanish “manana”? the gargoyles on it are particularly strange though – which I like.
For information the picture above of Marrakech Souk makes it look clean and a pleasant place to roam. It isn’t. The place smells of something best described as used and organic and you cannot walk past any stall without some man saying “Come buy my shoes/bags/kaftans/tagines/herbs/spices/argan oil/useless, useless tat” constantly or being knocked over by a tuk tuk or motorbike or bitten by a pissed off donkey. It’s not for me. It wasn’t strange. It was gross.
* The motto of the BBC