I don't have a lot to say about these few days, not because Santiago is not a hugely vibrant and interesting city but because we have immersed ourselves, true to the name of our 'Immersion' Spanish course - in the intricacies of the Spanish language. We attempt to speak solely in Spanish, though this lasts longest on the first day we try it and we have exhausted our vocabulary by the end. Still, we speak 'Spanglish' as much as possible and read the labels in supermarkets, adverts on billboards, notices in the street, anything we can lay our hands on. In Spanish.
I become quite confident and smug. Until one day I go out while M has his individual class, to attempt to post a letter. This involves speaking Spanish to the hostal receptionist, the man at the computer cafe where I have to print the documents I need to send, and the lady in the list office. Not a single one of them understand my Spanish. The receptionist switches immediately to rather amused English (though she is my favourite receptionist who I rather like having a chat to anyway so this is quite fun). The man at the print shop uses gestures and follows enough of an obvious script for me to at least vaguely follow his meaning. The lady at the post office exchanges half amused, half frustrated glances with her companion in such a way that I know they will talk about the annoying lack if Spanish spoken by English tourists when I leave, and the entire, rather complicated exchange is achieved essentially by playing pictionary. Neither one of us understands a single word of the other's Spanish.
"It is because in Chile we don't speak Spanish properly," says my favourite receptionist reassuringly when I return, a little dejected. "We skip words and take off letters and use slang all the time. You are speaking proper Spanish. That is why they don't understand."
I want to marry this girl.
But Spanish learning does involve a lot of emotional bouncing about between being hugely confident and hugely deflated. Reading, working out verb conjugations and writing are so much easier than speaking or understanding. We take a test ready to 'graduate' from the school and I get an astounding 75%, passing with the most flying of colours. M of course, gets 95% and then asks what he did wrong on the other 5.
Speaking takes guts and a self belief I don't have. Understanding takes the ability to think quickly and I am a methodical, ponderous thinker, not a sudden, bright spark.
When M understands much more than me as we interact with Spanish speakers I become correspondingly discouraged, even as I am proud of his brilliance.
Later, in San Pedro, I seek out help in the firm of 'Destinos', a ridiculously cheesy, shoulder pad strewn soap opera designed to help you learn Spanish. It's all about understanding spoken Spanish and it starts so basic I am able to feel smug and advanced as I watch it. I can become enormously proud of the fact I don't need to use the subtitles, either in Spanish or English and it will get harder as I watch so I can progress at my pace. Which is slow. M is not joining me for the Destinos watching so I can't be distracted by his snorts of derision.
What I want, assuming a miracle is not on offer, is a massive confidence boost. Frequently I am struck dumb in conversations with native speakers, realising later that I knew every single word and the grammatical conjugations for what I wanted to say to them, and more. I just couldn't summon it up through the hesitance. How much, I wonder, of speaking a language, is about blagging, contriving an arrogance you don't feel, and cultivating self belief?
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