Estupendo, including other such extravagant words as marvailloso, fantástico and magnífico. Few Americans and no Englishmen have ever mastered these peculiarly Spanish expressions, for we have reserved them for things like Cecil B. De Mille movies and the circus. But observe my experience in Madrid. I had rented a car and like others found much difficulty in parking it, but at a restaurant nearby I became acquainted with a doorman who seemed to have psychic powers in determining where empty parking spaces would be. For this service I tipped him rather generously, I thought, about a quarter in American money, which he accepted grudgingly. Against my better judgement I raised the tip to thirth-five cents, with no appreciable modification of his manners, and then to forty cents, which brought only the same surly acknowledgement. However, one day I went to this restaurant with Victor Olmos, the ebullient Reader's Digest editor for Spain, who wheeled into the parking area, slammed on his brakes, leaped from the car and left it. When we returned, the attendant hurried for the car (he dawdled disgracefully when getting mine) and cried, Señor, I found you a place.' 'Estupendo!' Olmos said as he gave the man a six-cent tip. The attendant's face was wreathed in smiles. 'Fantástico!' Olmos added. 'Simply maravilloso," The attendant nodded and I could see that he felt good all over. When I next parked there I gave him a twenty-cent tip and cried 'Estupendo!' and he beamed. Later on it was fantástico and extraordinario, and I had built myself a secure place in his attentions. My car came promptly now, for like a good Spaniard he needed words as much as he needed money, and the words he wanted had to be the most expansive and inflated available. In Spain words form a kind of currency wihich must be spent freely, and to do this is not easy for an American, yet not to di it in Spain is to miss the spirit of human relationships. For this purpose I prefer estupendo. Its four syllables, properly pronounced, ripple off the tounge, and if one drags out the pen for four or five seconds, the effect can be seductive. For the American it can also be corrupting. For example, when I showed Robert Vavra, whose photographs illustrate this book, the first completed chapter, he cried, 'Don Jaime! Estupendo!' For a moment I was delighted that my work had found favor in his expert eye, but before I had a chance to make an ass of myself I realized that he had been living in Spain for a long time. What he meant was that the material was not wholly offensive. Estupendo, properly used, means 'It might get by'.


James A. Michener, Iberia. 1968. Random House. 73-74