Pluperfect, present progressive, and indicative conditional. Oh my!
Where was I during High School English? Five years ago, retiring at 59, I knew I required three serious hobbies, or I’d be on the couch entrenched in Gunsmoke reruns. I knew one hobby should involve my forty-eight-year rapture with motorcycles, now including Latin American riding. The second has something to do with racetracks and sportscars. (Darn that post-post mid-life crisis.) The third I thought should have some affiliation with the first - I know, I’ll just pick up Spanish! Cómo está, dónde está el baño. No problem, right!? Um…? No.
Guessing meaningful scientific/philosophical discussion in Spanish could happen faster than a (fill in your favorite metaphor), quickly turned into something resembling the military pun regarding performance evaluations: “Colonel/Captain/Sergeant Shmukatelli sets his goals low and fails to achieve them.” Uh oh, I can see this becoming: “I set my goals high and crumpled.” Nevertheless, don’t those magic language apps advertise I’ll be speaking Mandarin in only three weeks? Um… nope.
After two years full throttle, including 11 weeks at locations from Ensenada to Tierra del Fuego, 95 percent of my “skills” have come from a combination of online resources and textbooks, one-on-one video classes, and shared-language video conversations with Latin American English learners. Online resources are endless: grammar drills, to a learning Spanish mini-series. Oh, but don’t forget weekly sessions at the pancake house with my long-suffering amigo Jose. “Sigh… Joe that sentence is backwards again.”
I also have visited the formal Spanish school Baden-Powell in Morelia, Mexico (two thumbs up), and yes, I use one of those “you too can speak Navajo in only three weeks” apps. Don’t misunderstand, these apps do have their place in the voyage, and are worthwhile. But as part of a buffet, not an “if you eat this whole cow in one sitting it’s free” meal plan.
Make no mistake. Unless you spend extensive time south of the border (avoiding ex-pat hangouts) and have the flexible neurons of a five- to 25-year-old, this journey involves allegiance to glaring computers and obligatory conversational embarrassments. (My neurons being stubbornly inflexible.)
My current master plan involves, four-five days a week, two-five hours a day. (Including Mrs. Long-Suffering Pursed Lips, wishing he’d put down those books, cease the indiscernible mumbling, and take me out.) After two years, I think I’d score a three out of ten. Level one being: “Alejandra eats an apple.” Level ten being sophisticated discourse with Latin American polymaths on String Theory and Classical Liberalism. (OK, maybe level two ½?)
This puts me in the range of what I’d style simple-conversational. (During which Señor Brain manically navigates conjugation tables.) As long locals don’t speak at Mach 2, I can chit-chat, discuss grammar, and make attempts at joking at an Argentinian bar. That’s kinda/sorta my level at this point.
Considering sallying forth? Permit two suggestions: don’t minimize the importance of grammar and don’t fear jumping into the deep end. No baby steps. I’ve found that in countries I’ve lived, worked, and traveled, just spouting a well-rehearsed phrase (baby steps) requesting the location of an ATM is usually followed by a machine-gun-speed-response containing heavy use of “syntactical idioms”. “Expressions” in normal-people speak. Yikes!
But truly it has been a gratifying voyage including mandatory speed bumps. It’s not for all “sixty-plus-somethings”. But if the idea piques your interest jump in, the water’s fine. It’s hard to describe the elation felt when I had that first semblance of a conversation. (Alejandra eats many and varied apples!)
The future perfect and conditional progressive. Now Joe, don’t forget your indirect pronouns. Oh my!
Joe Siegal lives on Fox Island.
This story was originally published November 20, 2019 at 12:00 AM.