The language of love

Some 20 years ago, Sascha Newport was arriving for work at an upscale cocktail bar in Edinburgh, Scotland, when the new Spanish doorman – whose swarthy good looks had already caused excited commentary among the female staff – swung into action.

“Beautiful eyes, beautiful,” he murmured to the 21-year-old Australian waitress in his heavily accented English, gallantly holding the door as a blushing Sascha scurried inside.

Thrilled, Sasha told a workmate about the encounter.

“Oh the bouncer?” her friend scoffed. “He told me I had beautiful eyes too!”

That bouncer was Miguel Maestre who, at 20 years old, had recently arrived in the city without a lick of English to his name. His roommate had given him pointers to communicate in a rudimentary fashion with the staff and clientele of the bar, which he hoped would lead to a job in the kitchen.

“It was a really cool place, like the Ivy in London, really exclusive,” he tells The Weekly today. “When I first met Sascha I couldn’t speak one word of English but we clicked.”

At the time, Sasha had hit pause on a round-the-world trip in order to work and save money for the last leg. Miguel, meanwhile, had just arrived from his hometown of Murcia, Spain, to chase