In Search of Epsom Salts

Rod and Barb return from their afternoon shopping. Like us they are recent retirees, learning Spanish to enhance their volunteer service in Nicaragua.

They arrived at our guest house yesterday, and this morning was their first Spanish lesson. They learned greetings such as Buenos dias (Good morning), Como estas? (how are you) and Como se llama? (What is your name), along with a few basic pronouns and verb endings.

At the end of her session Barb asked her teacher the Spanish word for Epson salts. She had bruised her toes just before leaving the US, and wanted to soak them to reduce the swelling. Her Spanish teacher wrote a combination of words, and Barb and Rod set out in search of Epsom salts.

The trekked from pharmacy to pharmacy with their slip of paper, without success. Each pharmacy directed them to a new location—perhaps it would be there.

They enter the guesthouse, fuming about Nicaraguan pharmacy supplies. “You would think Epson salts would be standard for a pharmacy!” Barb says. “I do not understand it.”

When our hostess Raquel joins us for dinner, Barb shows her the paper with the words “sala de belleza Letty.”

Raquel explains in Spanish. Matthew, another guest, fluent in English and Spanish, translates. It turns out Rod and Barb have been asking Granada pharmacies for a specific beauty parlor (sala de belleza) with an owner named Letty.

Apparently, when Barb told her Spanish teacher in English that she wanted to soak her feet and toes, the teacher (an excellent Spanish teacher, but not fluent in English) concluded she wanted a pedicure and recommended a local beauty salon.

The phrase for Epsom salts, Raquel tells us, is very simple: sal Epson.

Duhh . . .

Tomorrow, armed with a new paper, Barb will go again to a pharmacy.

Meanwhile, we shake our heads and laugh about the pitfalls of communication across languages.

And somewhere in Granada, pharmacists are laughing, shaking their heads, and telling their families over dinner about the tontos Norte Americanos (silly North Americans) who can’t tell a pharmacy from a beauty salon.