When I first arrived here in Spain, I understood about half of what my host mom said. Often I would sit and smile, laugh when she laughed, say thank you when she served us food, and ask her questions about Spain (knowing that she would likely embark on a twenty minute telling of the Alhambra, the Albaicín, etc). After a week and a half, I’ve worked myself up to seventy percent comprehension, which makes me both happy and relieved. Now, when my “madre” asks me to unplug the heater, she doesn’t have to demonstrate the action. Or when she tells me that the floor is wet, I will understand and not walk on it three seconds later.
Walking on the streets is a lot more fun, because I can overhear people’s conversations about novios (boyfriends), children, or the beautiful weather we’ve been having. In a way, I feel like I’ve cracked a code. Whenever I understand a passerby, I want to turn and say “Ha! Your language isn’t that hard! I know what you’re saying! I’ve been kept in the dark for nearly twenty-one years, but I finally understand all you Spanish-speakers.” (This would all be said in perfect Spanish, of course.)
However, I thought I’d share a story or two about some instances when I didn’t quite speak correctly, or understand correctly for that matter.
As some of you know, my bags were lost for a week and a half, so when I first arrived I had to wear the same smelly clothes (minus the few articles that I bought) for several days. One time, I was at a bar with my same smelly clothes, and the only purse I brought was a HUGE leather-like shoulder bag. The bartender came over and commented on my big purse, and I told him my luggage was lost so it was the only thing I had to carry around my stuff. (I brought a smaller purse, but it was in the lost baggage). He said he was sorry, and asked if I wanted a free Guiness shirt. Of course I said yes, because a) I would look kind of hard-core in a Guiness shirt (I hate Guiness, it’s too strong for me) and b) I was really getting tired of my airplane clothes. So, he gave me the shirt, I said thank you and that was that.
My host mom had been very worried about my bags and always asked if I’d heard anything from the airline. So, when I returned home from the bar, I attempted to tell my madre that “the nice shopkeeper at the bar gave me this free shirt”. I didn’t know how to say “bartender” so I figured she would understand if I said “shopkeeper”. Apparently I didn’t know that word either. The word for shopkeeper is “tendero”, but instead I said “tenedor”, which means “fork”. So my sentence came out like so: “A really nice fork at the bar gave me this shirt”. She laughed and patted my arm, saying “bueno mi hija”. I didn’t realize what I’d said until my roommate, Mary, began hysterically laughing next to me.
Last night, my host mom was talking about how mine and Mary’s Spanish is very good, and that she’s been doing this for over twelve years and some girls who come and stay with her don’t know a word of Español. We smiled, and thanked her for the compliments, as she continued to talk about our “nivel alta” (high level) of Spanish, and how it wasn’t very hard for us to understand her, or for her to understand us. We politely argued to the contrary, as she told us how our Spanish was just going to improve with time. Ironically, during her entire speech about our language skills, she kept using this one word over and over that neither Mary nor I understood completely, throwing off our comprehension of the conversation. Of course we understood most of what she was saying, we understood the sentiment, but that one word kept springing out of her mouth, and striking us in the face with an ironic confusion.