Barriers and Bicycles

Even for people who have never been immersed in a language other than their own, the term "language barrier" is commonly understood to refer to the difficulties that arise when two people with no common language attempt to communicate. Using that phrase hints at the frustration and annoyance that arises from such a situation, but not its tangible consequences. I got a taste of those consequences last week.

After taking my bike out three times, I found that the cable to shift the rear gears had worn away and my bike was stuck at its most difficult speed. I had heard one good review of the bike shop down the street, and walked in with my bike and my housemate Megan (moral and linguistic support). As soon as the ornery man behind the cash saw my bike, he uttered a combination of sounds that I couldn't make head or tail of. But his hand gestures seemed to indicate a problem with the front wheel. In a much slower combination of sounds, I tried to explain that I needed a new gear cable. But the man kept pointing at the front wheel, and soon the younger repair guy came over to help translate (not into English, you understand, just into different Spanish). He was pointing at the front wheel too.

Megan made out that there had been some sort of serious impact to the frame that needed to repaired. The bike had been riding fine apart from the gearing issue, so I finally said, "¿Entiendes que el problema está aguí, sí?" (you understand that the problem is here, right?) while pointing to where the cable should have been. Both men seemed to understand, but continued to talk about this other problem they had spotted. Now, mechanic talk can confuse me even in my native language, but I can usually bluff my way through it and get an idea of what I'm up against. It's much harder to bluff in another language. Knowing that my problem was relatively simple and in good hands, I didn't raise any more questions and nodded my assent when they said the repairs would cost about €45. At least the bike would be in better shape, I figured.

Upon my return the following evening, the repair guy explained that they hadn't had the part necessary but he'd done what he could, so the cost would only be €8. I was pleased at the price reduction, but quickly noticed that there was no new cable for the gears. I asked about this, and the man looked surprised. The resulting conversation has stuck with me:
Repair Guy: "Ah, ¿quieres otro cable?" (Ah, you want another cable?)
Me: "Sí." (Yes.)
Repair Guy: "¿Lo quieres comprar y tú lo pones?" (You want to buy it and put it on yourself?)
Me: "No, que tú lo pones." (No, I want you to put it on.)

Why we couldn't have said those four simple sentences the previous day, I still do not understand. Perhaps it was because I didn't know the Spanish word for cable was simply...cable (KAH-blay). As it turned out, I returned half an hour later and the cable was replaced. I still have no idea what the original repairs were.