El Jodillón de las Pampas

"Once you arrive at Portela International Airport you get a cab to Santa Apolónia train station. Make sure you are not overcharged by the taxidriver because those guys at the airport are thieves. You should not pay more than ten to twelve euros, including luggage. At Santa Apolónia you take the Rápido to Santarém. I will be waiting for you there at the train station. From Santarém it is a short drive to Chamusca."

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When his plane landed at Lisbon Airport early in the morning of April 23rd, John knew by heart the intructions Cristina had laid down to him the last time they were together in Buenos Aires, six and a half months ago.

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As he cleared customs he stopped at the first bank teller to exchange currency. He found the euro expensive. However, as he crossed the airport lobby he had an urgent question in his mind. He approached a gentleman with a moustache who was looking at the arrivals information panel in the lobby of the airport and politely asked:

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"Sir, would you please tell me how do you say El Jodillón de las Pampas in Portuguese?".

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The man starred at John. He was at the airport with a group of eleven family members from Torres Vedras, Estremadura, waiting for the arrival of the TAP flight from Paris that morning which would bring back on vacation his cousin Leonel who had emmigrated to France a few years ago. José Silva was his name. He told John:

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"O senhor espere só um momentinho, se faz favor".

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Then he turned his back and called loudly his brother- in-law who was also looking at the arrivals information panel:

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"Ó Chico, tu que sabes falar em francês chega aqui para atenderes este senhor."

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Chico approached John and José in slow, small steps, a knowlegeable look in his eyes.

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"Ora então o que é que se passa, Zeca?", he asked.

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"Vê lá se percebes aqui este senhor", José said.

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John repeated his plea:

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"Sir, I would like to know how do you say El Jodillón de las Pampas in Portuguese".

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Chico looked at his brother-in-law:

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"Eh pá, o homem não fala em francês. Com este capado é capaz de ser mas é amaricano".

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John had just understood his first word in Portuguese. He said smiling:

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"Oh yes, I am American... from Austin, Texas."

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"Mas o que é que o homem quer, pá?", Zeca started to look a bit nervous.

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"Não sei, pá. O gajo fala em amaricano e de amaricano eu não percebo nada. Parece que o tipo disse que é cowboy do Texas...", Chico said.

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A passenger who had just arrived in a SATA flight from Azores was passing by carrying heavy luggage on both hands. Chico grabbed the man by his arm and requested:

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"Olhe, o senhor, faz favor, não se importa de dar aqui uma informaçãozinha a este senhor que é amaricano?".

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The man acquiesced. John repeated to him:

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"Sir, I just would like to know how do you translate El Jodillón de las Pampas in Portuguese...".

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The man thought for a little while and then said to Chico:

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"Bem ... talvez se ele escrevesse num papelinho fosse mais fácil...".

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Chico looked in John's eyes and said very, very slowly:

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"P-o-r ... f-a-v-o-r ... e-s-c-r-e-v-a ... n-u-m... p-a-p-e-l", as if by spelling the words this slow he expected to be understood by John.

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Zeca extended a piece of paper and a pen to John. John understood what had to be done and wrote:

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"Jodillón de las Pampas".

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Meanwhile, the other ten people from the group of Torres Vedras, among them seven women, joined their relatives Zeca and Chico, the passerby from Azores and John. One of the women said:

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"Mas então, vocês não conseguem ajudar o rapaz? Perguntem ali ao senhor guarda...", as a policeman, his hands behind his back, was slowly approaching them to check what was going on.

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Several people crossing the lobby of the airport were now stopping by, all of them trying to help. Soon there were more than twenty five people around John. The little piece of paper was now flying from hand to hand. One of the onlookers said:

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"Pampas, pá? Isso é na Venezuela...".

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Another man at his side got upset:

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"O senhor não diga asneiras, homem. Vá aprender Geografia, caraças. Toda a gente sabe que as Pampas são no México. O ensino em Portugal cada vez tá pior, fosga-se!... E anda um gajo a pagar impostos para isto...".

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One woman seemed to agree:

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"O senhor tem muita razão. A culpa é do Governo. Se eles em lugar de andarem a gastar o dinheiro em aeroportos construíssem escolas...".

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The mention of airports started a big fight between two other onlookers who had stopped a few moments ago to help John, one saying that the best location for the new Lisbon airport was Ota and the other defending that Alcochete was by far preferable. A third man readily joined the discussion arguing that the best solution was what he called Portela plus one.

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Zeca's wife was now mad at both her husband and her brother for their inability to help John.

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"Ó Lurdes, tu sabes que eu de línguas só percebo as de vaca e é no prato estufadinhas por ti. E depois da doença das vacas loucas nem isso. O teu irmão é que tem a mania que sabe falar em estrangeiro...", Zeca said.

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Zeca's mention of Lurdes cooking abilities seemed to appease his wife. Chico was clearly on the defensive, though:

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"Qu'é que vocês querem, caraças? Eu sei falar em francês, pá. Um gajo não é obrigado a saber falar todas as línguas, porra! Chega aqui um camone qualquer e um gajo tem de saber falar logo a língua dele? Era o que faltava.... Vão-se todos mas é lixar!".

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The crowd was now split in more than a dozen small groups all of them hotly discussing such diverse issues as winds and air humidity at Ota and Alcochete, foreign languages such as French and Amaricano, the location of the Pampas and several other subjects. A group of four men debated fiercely whether the referee had favoured F.C. Porto over Benfica in last Sunday´s soccer match.

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Women had now joined together around the policeman, one of them with John's handwritten note in her hand. As the cop consulted the Lisbon Street Guide he disappointingly told them:

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"Não vejo cá essa rua...", as he kept turning page after page of the Guide.

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From his 1,97 meters John was towering above the crowd. He was finding it amazing how nice the Portuguese people were trying to help him. There were now more than thirty of them discussing the exact terms of translating the expression El Jodillón de las Pampas into their native language, he thought. Had he some knowledge of the Portuguese language himself and he would have found out that reality was a little bit different.

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The two men discussing the exact country location of the Pampas were now insulting each other like crazy with mutual aggressive gestures of their hands and arms. John was looking at them trying to make sense of what they said to each other:

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"O senhor é burro, pá ... se alguma vez já se viu as Pampas na Venezuela...", said one.

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"Olhe, o senhor vá-se mas é foder que eu não estou para o aturar...", the other said.

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At this moment, John jumped from where he stayed in the middle of the crowd and placed himself between the two men. He excitedly asked the man who had spoken the last:

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"Great, that's it, joder! Please, sir, say it again, joder!", he almost implored.

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The man agreed to the request. Looking at John and pointing to the other man he said:

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"Sim, ele que se vá foder que ninguém se meteu com ele... andar aqui a chamar burro às pessoas...".

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John could now vividly recall the moment Estela for the first time called him El Jodillón de las Pampas in his bedroom at the Calderón's family house more than six months ago. She had then explained to him that Jodillón derived from the Spanish verb joder.

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He grabbed his handwritten note from the woman's hand, where it had stayed since the disappointing answer given to her by the cop. His finger pointing at the word Jodillón he said loudly for everybody to hear:

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"Jodillón ... from ... joder, joder!", as the crowd looked at him.

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There was silence for a moment. Then, a man stepped forward from the back of the crowd, grabbed the piece of paper from John's hands, looked attentively at it and said:

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"Pera aí. Estou a ver... esta merda ... ora esta merda quer dizer Fodilhão das Pampas."

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"Fodilao dás Pampas!?" John said very excited, though with obvious difficulty with the Portuguese phonetics for ão and lh.

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"Thank you very much to everybody", he said as he took his luggage and left the airport.

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The crowd of Portuguese people, now numbering fourty two, stayed there for another half an hour hotly debating in small groups of two to five people each such issues as the geography of the Pampas, the referee of the last soccer match between F.C. Porto and Benfica, the incompetence of the Government to reform the education system, the humidity of the air and the intensity of jetstreams at Ota and Alcochete, the effects of mad cow disease on língua estufada - a traditional Portuguese dish - and the unhelpfulness of Portuguese police to provide information to foreign tourists.

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Women were mostly commenting on John himself. One woman said to other who was standing by:

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"Veja lá a senhora, aquele rapaz estrangeiro com tão bom ar e afinal saíu-me cá um ordinarão. A senhora ouviu o que ele disse? Que pouca vergonha. E a gente aqui a perder o nosso rico tempo a procurar ajudar aquele malandro!"