Oct 21st- Christina

Each morning of my stay at this beautiful hotel begins a ritual which I dread. I am a creature that awakes, rubs her eyes, and is instantly starving. I like to have breakfast immediately. Often before I shower. Usually before coffee. In fact, coffee is more like a breakfast dessert to me. On an empty stomach it becomes an enemy to the general peace I try to maintain in my digestive system. Especially since I prefer it black.

There exists one tiny hindrance to achieving this goal here at the hotel Eldorado. I don't speak Spanish. And the breakfast cook doesn't speak English.

The breakfast area also serves as the bar in the evenings. Three rows of bar stools are set up around three sides of the bar and cooking area, facing into the centre. This is the hallowed ground where the lovely Christina cooks the lightest crepes, the fluffiest huevos, the most divine omelets. It is into this haven of delicious smells that the guests call out their requests for breakfast.

This is also where my coffee is hidden.

It is a testament to my love of coffee that I have been able to learn the words “cafe” (coffee) and “negro” (black). If you mix these with “gracias” and the early morning perfunctory “MUCHOS gracias”, you almost have conversation.

But food is difficult. One technique is to find the solo menu and sit expectantly with it in front of me, waiting for Christina to notice. Then I will point shyly at the item I want to order, and she will try not to roll her eyes. Christina is a saint. She is a wonderfully patient woman.

Once, I saw Christina reach for a container of plain yogurt (“nature”- I deduced that this meant “natural”, or plain) and I was so excited! At home, this is what I eat. I really am not fond of sweetened, flavoured yogurts. It's akin to having ice cream for breakfast. Just at the last minute, before the beautiful pure yogurt was added to my bowl, she lovingly dished some out into a separate vessel, and carefully stirred in maple syrup to sweeten it. Oh well. Christina was so pleased when she placed my meal in front of me. “muchos bueno, mi amiga,” I smiled shyly. “De nali,” she replied, confident that she had prepared it to my liking.

After the first five mornings of employing my menu technique, we ran out of yogurt. Or fruit. I'm still not sure which it was. Christina was trying to explain to me the trouble, and I had no idea what she was saying. It was very frustrating for both of us. She tried shaking the granola bag followed by a string of Spanish. Yes. Granola was not the problem. That's about as far as we got that morning, and I drank three cups of coffee and waited longingly for lunch.

When the stocks of yogurt and fruit and granola were replenished, I started to get embarrassed about always pointing at the same thing on the menu. Now, this is silly, I know, because the technique was working just fine, but I somehow got it in to my head that to point at the same thing every day was somehow retarded. So I began to say “same” and grin wildly, and then Christina would reply “same!” and laugh, and then I would laugh, “same, same!” and we both would laugh. It was a genuine moment. We were bonding! The boundaries of language were veritably falling away! I could have cried with joy.

Two days later we ran out of fruit. This time Marjo and Oli were there to walk me through asking for two crepes (which quickly became three as I could not resist their light airy yumminess). This is why I do not order crepes. “I should have two,” becomes, “I will not be satisfied until I've polished off seven.”

I chose to have them with fresh squeezed limes and a light sprinkling of sugar. Instead of attempting to ask for all of this, I scurried around inside the bar, trying to keep out of Christina's way, gathering a small lime, a knife, a spoon for my sugar, and securing a refill of coffee at the same time.

Meg: 1, Language Barrier: 0!

I was half way through the absolute heaven of my first citrusy crepe when I realized I was being watched. I looked up, and my eyes met with the liquid brown pools that are Christina's eyes. She was shocked. Or horrified? I settled on amused and shrugged sheepishly, offering a crepey grin, “moo-ey bueno!”

She laughed (thank you, God, she laughed!) and began tidying her workspace, shaking her head at this crazy gringo that eats the same thing every day, and then has LIME JUICE on her crepes instead of syrup like regular folk.

It is now my last week here at the Hotel Eldorado. I still have not learned any Spanish, but Christina has learned that, “fruit, yogurt and granola?” means the breakfast I am always so grateful to receive. She giggles at me, and busily chops three kinds of fresh fruit, sprinkled with a lovely granola containing tiny yogurt bits and tops the whole thing off with a small container of the yogurt of the day. Today it is strawberry.

I am not sure how it became so important to me that Christina likes me, that I not offend her, but this desire was almost instantaneous. Maybe it's because she is pretty in that somewhat exotic way with her lovely caramel skin and chocolate eyes. Perhaps it's because she speaks fluent Spanish, and I feel like an ass already, coming to her country so linguistically ill-equipped. Maybe it's because she is the keeper of my morning eats, and it is best not to bite the hand of the one that feeds you.

Maybe it's just because she's cool, and I would like her to be my friend.

Whatever the reason, I am grateful for her gracious smiles, for my morning bowl of yummy food, for my daily pot of cafe negro. And this bar stool with a view of the crashing surf, surrounded by the laughter of my friends, has become my favourite restaurant on earth.