Learning the "Language"

Growing up, both my mother's mother and my father's mother were an integral part of our family life, and they both spoke primarily Spanish. Both my parents were born in Cuba, so Spanish was their first language as well. I grew up attending (or with my family hosting) "Cuban" parties, by which all I mean is that, when we gathered for Thanksgiving or the Kentucky Derby in and around Louisville, KY, that these were attended by a majority of people for whom Spanish had been their native or first language. Cuban parties happen in Spanish and they're often both very cordial and very loud. My mother's mother's flan and my father's mother's panetela were signature desserts at these gatherings.

I'm not fluent in Spanish, and while I've attended my fair share of Cuban parties and can generally understand a lot of what's happening around me, there's more to learning a language than learning the words. For starters, communication also involves the manner of speaking (how the words are said), body language, and a general understanding of what is culturally polite and impolite.

I'd like to quip that insulting people on accident takes all the fun out of insulting them on purpose, but I take no joy in insulting people, particularly when we've come to Zaragoza to learn the "language," and when so much of our day-to-day success depends on the general hospitality of the people. But if our entire journey were rainbows and unicorns, then we wouldn't call that an adventure, would we? 

The three of us met with our first stereotypical "rude waiter" about a week after arriving. We had been to the same restaurant before, and he had even helped us find a seat inside (it was the hot time of day) where another waiter took over from there. So we returned, expecting the gracious service we had received the first time - except that this time it was evening, and there was more noise echoing through the plaza, and it was harder to understand what he was asking or telling or insinuating in the moment. We all settled on an absurd Spanglish, but then the scene played out with a warm glass for the beer, an incorrect order that wasn't corrected, questionable pricing, and our (modest) change not being returned, presumably being taken as the tip. Did this guy have a "rude waiter" checklist?

For me it was altogether more disappointing than insulting. Of course I've thought it through a million times and all the different ways I could have (or should have) played my part, but the truth is I just don't understand what happened. How can I fix the problem if I don't know what the problem is? Did I offend him, or was he just having a bad day? In the end, I can't feel particularly bad about it because I'm oblivious, insulated by my ignorance. It has all the makings of an international incident, right there in front of the Basilica del Pilar..., without the stakes. I would have liked to have shielded my family from suffering that with me, but here we are, all in this together.

Looking at this in perspective: The hotel staff was helpful, the tourist office representative in the train station was exceptionally kind, the government office employees (plural) assisting us with our rounds of paperwork have been patient, informative, and friendly. The real estate office has gone the extra mile for us, and the bank representative - I've run out of kind words to say. People keep telling me, "No te preocupes" which translates to "Don't worry" or "Don't fret about it." I'm nervous, I'm bumbling - and they're telling me to relax.

Yesterday I had another great haircut at a different establishment (now that we're renting in a different neighborhood). I declined the beer I was offered (on a Saturday morning), but I enjoyed talking about Zaragoza with this gentleman who had come from Venezuela less than two years ago. And though I'm not fluent, we were able to find a way to relate in Spanish.

You don't learn how to play music without hitting a few wrong notes, and there's never an opportune time to hit a wrong note. The show must go on. We're here to learn. This whole adventure is a growth opportunity, and we have a ways to go.

We live in a city, and as goes my experience with most cities, people are generally indifferent. When we go to the pharmacy, the real estate office, or the Spanish (castellano) language school and I'm teased that Currie's castellano is better than mine - I smile. If people are teasing me, it means they feel comfortable enough to joke with me - with us. It's not new that my Spanish needs work; my parents have been correcting my Spanish for years (and years). That's why I'm here. Growth opportunity. When the cashiers at the grocery store are surprised that I brought a bag and that I've managed to give them exact change promptly with all the correct, funky coins, I take it as a win.

And because of the general hospitality of this city and of its people, coupled with some persistence on our part - As of Friday, the three of us have been officially registered as citizens of Zaragoza. We've started to get some real footing. Maybe I haven't started to relax just yet, but I'm settling in.