The Spanish for syrup, jarabe, comes from the same root as the English: the Persian/Arabic sharab, which means “a drink, or wine”.
The drastically different (at least superficially) words are explained by the sh- and related (such as, sy- ) sounds changing to the Arabic-sounding j- sound in Spanish — but not English.
Thus, the j-r-b of jarabe maps to the sy-r-p of syrup.
Limpio (Spanish for “clean”) comes from the Latin limpid (“clear”). The transition is easy to see: cleaning something is, broadly, making it look clear again, right?
From that same Latin root, we also get the English lymph — as in the lymph nodes we studied in high school biology. What is a lymph? The clear liquid circulating in the body. Oh, there it is again: it’s clear.
The l-m-p root is clear in all!
Sueldo (Spanish for “salary”) comes from the Latin solidus for “gold coins” — that which you pay the salary in.
From the same root solidus we also get… soldier. Yes, a soldier is defined by the money he makes: a soldier is just someone who is in an arm for the pay.
The s-l-d root is clearly visible in both!
The Spanish plegar, meaning “to fold” comes from the Latin root plicare, meaning the same.
From plicare, we also get the English applicant. The connection makes sense if we think about both words in the sense of “attach”: when you apply, you want to attach yourself to an organization; and think of fold in the same metaphorical sense, “to bring into the fold.”
We can see the mapping clearly in the p-l-g of plegar and the p-l-c of applicant. The -c- was lost when it was shortened to just apply over time.
From the same root we also get the English ply, as in plywood – but that is a lot less common!
Pluma, Spanish for “feather”, sounds nothing like the English feather.
But it is a cousin to the English fleece.
Both come from the same Indo-European root *pleus-, which meant “feather” or to “pluck.”
But they sound so different! That is because the Indo-European p- sound stayed the same in Latin and then Spanish but changed into a f- in the Germanic branch (including English).
Thus the p-l of pluma maps to the f-l of fleece.
Flamante, Spanish for “great-looking” or “splendid” — perhaps, a more modern version of which would be, “awesome!” — comes from the Latin flamma, meaning, “flame.”
From that same root, we get the English, flame. Completely unsurprisingly.
If you’re wondering how we get from “fire” to “sexy”, then all we need to do is remember one word…. flaming.
The fl-m root is clearly visible in both.
The common Spanish tarde, “late”, is a close cousin of the English retard.
Retard is literally the re- prefix (which just adds emphasis) and the Latin tardare, which means, “slow, stupid.”
From tardare we also get the Spanish tarde. So, the ones that are the stupidest do things slowest — literally!
Of course, we also get the English tardy from the same root as well.
The Spanish for “cow” vaca, comes from the Latin vacca, meaning the same. From that same root, we get the English…. vaccine/em.
Huh? How?
Interestingly, the first, umm, vaccine, was to give the cow-pox virus to people with small-pox! Thus, the word for cow turned into the word for vaccine!
We can see the v-c root clearly in both.
In some of the Spanish words, they say maleta to mean “suitcase.” But in other parts, such as Argentina, they say valija.
Valija, although it sounds different from any English word, actually is quite similar to the almost-forgotten–my grandparents still use it!– English word, that also means “suitcase” , of valise.
Although they sound different, the connection becomes clear if we remember the pattern of the sh- to j- conversion: Latin words that had a sh- sound tended to turn into the j- sound in Spanish. Think of sherry/jerez.
In this case, the French valise entered English unchanged but when the French word entered into Spanish, it was Spanish-ified with the s- sound turning into a j- sound. Thus, the v-l-s maps to the v-l-j.
Docente, Spanish for “teacher,” comes from the Latin docere, meaning, “to teach”. From the same root, we get the English… education. The parallel becomes clear when we observe the d-c root in all of the variations.
The Latin root, Docere, however, is first cousins with ducere, meaning… “to lead.”
To teach is thus to lead — literally. Even more specifically, education is the ducere root, but beginning with the prefix ex-, meaning, “out of”: To teach is to lead out of (the darkness of ignorance)!
But it gets better: from the same root is to lead in a different direction… to seduce: sub- (Latin for, “away from”) plus ducere. To seduce is thus to lead away from where you should be!
Nerds love to pattern-match, to find commonalities among everything. Our approach to learning languages revolves (the same -volve- that is in “volver”, to “return”) around connecting the Spanish words to the related English words via their common etymologies – to find the linguistic patterns, because these patterns become easy triggers to remember what words mean. Want to know more? Email us and ask:
morgan@westegg.com
Here at ForNerds, we love meeting and talking to other people who love learning Spanish, etymologies, and any other topic in nerdy ways. Drop us a note and say hi!
morgan@westegg.com
