Spanish words that do not translate
A dhow, a kottu roshi, a khachapuri — words a dictionary can only give as a description in brackets, because the thing is not part of everyday life here. All such Spanish words are collected here: 40 words with an explanation of what it is and what it is for.
Words and what stands behind them
The midday break in the hottest hours, roughly from two to five: shops shut and streets go quiet. Not everyone actually sleeps — but the country's schedule is built around the gap.
A courtyard at the heart of the house, hung with pots of geraniums and lined with tiles, with a fountain or a well. In May the courtyards of Córdoba open to everyone and are judged like paintings.
A beach shack, often of wooden planks under a thatched roof, where fish is grilled on skewers in a boat filled with sand. Open only in season. The word also went figurative: a fly-by-night outfit.
A day off glued to a holiday across one workday: if the holiday falls on a Tuesday, you take Monday off and get four days in a row. With two workdays in between it becomes an acueducto — an aqueduct.
A pair of wooden shells tied with a cord and worn on the thumb, clicked with the fingers against the upper shell. The low macho sits in the left hand, the high hembra in the right — they sound different.
Asturian apple cider, still and sour. It's poured from arm's length overhead into a glass held down at the hip: the stream breaks against the side and foams. You drink it at once, one swallow, and toss the rest.
A chilled soup of tomatoes, cucumber, pepper, bread, and olive oil blended smooth. In summer it's drunk from a glass at any hour rather than eaten with a spoon, and it's sold in cartons like juice.
An indoor market in a cast-iron nineteenth-century hall: fish, meat, vegetables and bars right among the stalls, where what you buy is fried on the spot. Many have become places people come to eat, not shop.
A standing circle that meets at the same café on the same day to talk about the same things — politics, literature, football. The Madrid tertulias of the nineteenth century spawned whole literary movements.
What makes a flamenco performance come alive: not technique and not feeling, but a rare state that leaves the listener breathless. Lorca devoted a whole lecture to it and never gave a definition.
A light canvas shoe on a braided jute sole, tied with ribbons at the ankle. Once peasant and work wear, now summer city wear. Outside Spain known as espadrilles.
An evening walk up and down the main street — slow, there and back, greeting everyone you pass. In small towns at seven in the evening the entire population turns out, from babies to grandparents.
Song, guitar, handclaps and dance of Andalusia — one art, not three. Born in Roma and Moorish communities, it stayed domestic and street-level for a long time. On the UNESCO list.
Strips of choux dough pressed through a star-shaped nozzle and fried in oil. You eat them dunked in a cup of thick hot chocolate — for breakfast, or in the small hours on the way home.
The old town inside the former city walls: narrow crooked streets no car can pass, house numbers out of order and a square at every crossing. Nightlife usually lives here too.
The week before Easter with night processions: dozens of men carry heavy floats with figures on their shoulders, penitents walk ahead in pointed hoods, and drums and a lone song from a balcony sound through the streets.
The leg of the black Iberian pig, cured for two to four years. The top grade is de bellota, from pigs fattened on acorns in open pasture. It is carved by hand with a long knife into nearly transparent slices.
A lace veil worn over a high comb, the peineta, and draping onto the shoulders. Black is worn in Holy Week and at funerals, white at weddings and bullfights.
A city's principal square, enclosed on all sides by houses with arcades on the ground floor. Markets, trials and bullfights once took place here; now there are cafe terraces. The layout repeats from Madrid to Salamanca.
A slab of almonds and honey: the hard Alicante kind with whole nuts or the soft Jijona kind ground to a paste. It appears in the shops only toward Christmas and vanishes in January.
A glazed, hand-painted tile used to face walls, benches, staircases and street signs. A legacy of Moorish Spain: first geometry without images, then scenes and flowers.
A pilgrimage to a country chapel, long since turned into the whole district's day out in the country: carts, horses, campfires and feasting for days. The biggest, El Rocío in Andalusia, draws about a million people.
The conversation that carries on at the table after the meal: plates cleared, coffee drunk, and everyone stays to talk — sometimes an hour, sometimes three. Leaving right after eating is almost rude. There is no separate English word for it.
A thick omelette of potatoes fried in olive oil, flipped onto a plate and served in wedges, hot or cold. The question of whether onion goes in genuinely splits the country in two.
A lunch of first course, second course, bread, drink, and dessert or coffee for one fixed price, on weekdays. Introduced by law in the 1960s and still going — the cheapest way to eat well in Spain.
A partner dance in four parts danced by everyone at the feria and taught in childhood across Andalusia. Not flamenco: simpler, merrier, and with set figures people know by heart.
A snack on a slice of bread held together with a skewer — the northern cousin of the tapa, from the Basque Country and Navarra. They sit in rows on the counter, you help yourself, and you're charged by the skewers left on your plate.
A small glass of draft beer, about two hundred grams — the standard measure. People order exactly this, not a big one: the beer has to stay cold to the last sip. One at a time, and often.
A club with its own premises built around a shared passion: football fans, flamenco lovers, neighborhood friends. Members chip in for the rent, cook together, travel to matches. Somewhere between a circle of friends and a family.
A sparkling wine made by the bottle method, like champagne, but from Catalan grapes. The name has been legally protected since 1970 — before that it was called Spanish champagne, until France objected.
A spring fair turned week-long festival: streets of caseta tents, horses and riders by day, sevillanas and manzanilla till dawn. The Seville feria is the most famous, but every town has its own.
Young people gathering outdoors with their own drinks in a park or square: the bars are pricey and the crowd is large. City authorities have fought it for decades, without much success.
A night street festival for the neighborhood's saint: garlands between houses, a band, tables set out on the street and dancing till sunrise. The neighbors' association runs it, and entry is free.
The little dish that arrives with your drink. In Granada and Jaén it comes free and grows more generous with every round; in Madrid you pay for it. Bar-hopping and eating one at each stop is called tapear.
A Madrid tenement of the nineteenth century: the flats open not onto a stairwell but onto open galleries around a shared courtyard. Neighbors see each other daily, and all the life of the house happens on those balconies.
A café's or restaurant's tables set out on the street or square. Half of public life happens at them: breakfast, lunch, work sessions, and evenings that run late. The same coffee can cost differently inside and out.
The hours between midnight and dawn — a time of day with a name of its own. Las tres de la madrugada is three in the night; a Spaniard cannot say 'three in the morning', because morning is mañana and it starts later.
A ring-shaped cake with candied fruit eaten on January 6, Epiphany. Hidden inside are a figurine and a dry bean: whoever finds the figurine gets the crown, whoever finds the bean pays for the cake.
A milky-white cold drink of chufa tubers ground with water and sugar. Drunk in Valencia in summer, dunked with a long sweet bun called a fartón. There is no milk in it at all.
Not just a drink but a time of week: tomar el vermut means going out at midday on the weekend for a glass with an olive and soda, nibbling tinned seafood and chips. The ritual before Sunday lunch.
Why such words are in the course
These are a language's ID marks: they cannot be translated because the thing they name is not part of everyday life here, and they are exactly what you hear on day one. There are few of them on purpose — 40 words out of 4061 words in the course. A course where every seventh word is a local curiosity would teach local studies, not a language.
Every word here has its own page, with pronunciation, a look at the spelling and an example of use.
Frequently asked
Why can't these words simply be translated?
A translation assumes the thing exists here too and is just called differently. Not in this case: “a dhoni is a boat” is true and useless — there are many kinds of boat, and a dhoni is known by its tall curved prow and by being the only way between the islands. An explanation answers the question about the thing, not the word.
Do you have to learn them?
Not before everything else. But you will meet them early: local food is offered on the first day, and a festival is named without explanation. Knowing what stands behind a word is more useful than being able to translate it.