You’ve successfully studied our language and, quite satisfied, you go out to practice and show what you’ve learned to the world. However, to your surprise, in the city you are in, you hardly understand half of what you hear. Take a deep breath, you’ve got to understand it is not your fault, every city in Spain has its own slang and accent. As far as Córdoba goes, it may not be as rich but it sure is used heavily. Now, I’ve written a short story using as much Córdoba slang as possible so in the near future you can identify the local tongue and be able to get by in any given conversation.

You will find the meaning of each word or expression in bold inside the parenthesis.

Today I’ll tell you the pego (a lesser story) that my buddy Rafaé, a pejiguera (annoying) and a bit fartusco (foolish) nota (dude, person), experienced. He went out for a bureo (a walk) in the city market to bichear (to see) and chusnear (explore and mingle at the same time) for a bit.

Right before that he had endiñao (drunk) three vargas (red wine with soda) and two fitifiti (fifty-fifty, a drink that consist of 50% white wine and 50% sweet whine) and was way past piripi (tipsy). He was walking en tengerenge (he was weaving) across the bulla (the crowd), achuchando (pushing) the old clientele that had to do virguerías (juggles and do the impossible) not to bump into him.

He reached the vegetables stall –God knows how– bought a kilo of habicholillas (green beans) and among the jaramagos (herbs and weeds) he chose a mijita (a small quantity) of oregano and a handful of parsley, also a small bag of salaillos (white lupines) and sais (six) fresh prickly pears.

Then, when he passed by the old nut stall, he suddenly craved for some hazelnuts, so he went on to guindar (to see) the goods with the intention of pillar (gathering, buying) some avíos (stuff). Asín (so) quitting the cháchara (conversation) the storekeeper was having with a gachí (a young woman) wearing big silver zarcillos (earings), he said:

-Cucha (Hey, listen)! Get me half a pound of avellanas (in Córdoba hazelnut is the popular term for peanut) and half a pound of avellanas cordobesas (Córdoba hazelnut refers to the common hazelnut).

-Hold up! -said the nota (dude, person) who was original from Castilla and to whom that request sounded odd- What is that paparrucha (nonsense)! Hazelnuts have no country nor they have an identity card.

-You, sir, have no pajolera (it has no exact meaning although it is used here as damn) idea! The round ones are known as Córdoba hazelnuts and the apepinás (long oval shape) ones are just hazelnuts.

The storekeeper, who was at the edge of the patatús (at the edge of fainting), replied:

-What the heck are you saying! The apepinás, as you call them, are common peanuts and the round ones are just hazelnuts. Córdoba, Valencia, India hazelnuts… they are just hazelnuts!

Rafaé machacó (insisted):

-Quit the pegoletes (nonsense), the round one is the Córdoba hazelnut, everybody knows that. And the other one is the hazelnut… don’t you know that for it to be a peanut it must come with a shell!

Mi buddy, not only is he fartusco (a fool) but also plasta (exasperating), so he continued errequerre (stubbornly) up until the storekeeper, who was to the verge of avenate (imploding), ended the perorata (long and futile conversation), packed the goods in a chuchurría (wrongly done, ruined) bag and malajemente (with maliciousness) endiñó (in this case meaning: gave in a bad manner) it to my buddy.

So my buddy Rafaé walked away from there en tengerenge (weaving) direction kely (home) but, because he carries himself aturullao (confused and distracted) and a bit ennortao (slow-minded) most of the time, he stepped on a seruyo (shit, usually belonging to a dog) and hit the graílla (curb) in a terrible way, a true calamonazo del copón (awful hard huge hit) in the pelota (head). The borococo (bump) grew to humongous proportions, and the guarrazo (flamboyant hit) had caused him many matauras (flesh wounds) and broken his saquito (jersey). By the time he managed to recover from the fall, he realized the goods were esparramaos (scattered) on the street. Doves had already zampao (feasted) with the hazelnuts, both of them.

Hey listen!, said Rafaé to a dude that was just passing by, can you alárgarme (bring me) that bag? Today me voy a jartar (I am going to feast) with habicholillas (green beans) olive oil and miajones (the center of the bread) de telera (a specific kind of bread original from Córdoba). I am going to ponerme púo (eat to the verge of bursting the stomach)!

Hey, come on!, agila (hurry up)! or the doves will eat them all!

Sanseacabó el pegolete (That is the end of this nonsense)!