Bidi Bidi Bom Bom

It was a summer night in the early 90s, and none of the neighborhood kids were playing outside.  I guess it was too sticky, and they were all taking refuge inside their air-conditioned homes.  I wanted to play at Ellen Hillwood's house down the block because she had the Barbie mansion and the Barbie convertible in her basement, and that was just totally boss.  I asked my mother to call her mother and set up the play date, except this time was different.  My mother had just taken off her numerous sparkly rings, placed them on the counter, and begun squishing ground beef, eggs, ketchup, mustard, and breadcrumbs together, into what would eventually become a loaf that would be baked in the oven.  "Her number is in my book.  Just pick up the phone and call."

I lifted the phone from it's cradle and let it dangle for a minute, watching the receiver spin until all of the kinks worked themselves out of the curly phone cord that had been frequently stretched to far lengths and pressed in door jams to achieve privacy.  I began to dial and missed a number.  I slammed the phone back on it's cradle, then lifted it and tried again.  My heart pounded.  Busy signal.  A temporary sigh of relief.

A few minutes later, I made another attempt.  This time, I heard the repetitive whirring sound that signaled ringing on the other end.  Ellen's mom answered.  "Hi, ummmm, Mrs. Hillwood.  Can, uhhhhh, Ellen come over and play?"  "Of course, I'll get her on the line."  Phew, I had made contact with an adult over the phone, and I survived it through without needing to be hospitalized.

Phone conversations have always been stressful for me, but why?  For one, it can be a bit intimidating to call a land line with an unknown recipient at the other end.  How will your call be received?  Since there is no physical or visual contact, the listener is focusing on your voice and your ability to communicate clearly and directly.  Your mistakes, as well as dead air, will surely be noted.  The spotlight is on you. 

Foreign language learning requires many skills.  The basic skills are usually broken down into receptive and productive.  Receptive skills involve the absorption of information, such as in listening or reading.  Productive skills, on the other hand,  require one to combine known vocabulary words into coherent (or oftentimes incoherent, depending on who you're speaking with) phrases to express ideas, thoughts, and knowledge.  This includes both speaking and writing.  All four skills produce obvious challenges.  Writing requires a special knowledge of punctuation and style.  When reading, one will be faced with unknown vocabulary and must infer meaning through context and guesswork.  Listening involves a trained ear and very focused attention.  Speaking is a rapid creative process, relying on word recall and on-the-spot grammatical decisions.

When I first began learning to speak Spanish, I felt that producing speech was much more simple than understanding the words of a native speaker.  Perhaps this is because listening skills are the most neglected in foreign language education.  Whatever the reason, so many foreign language beginners struggle to understand spoken language.  Speech may be a bit scary, as well, but it is something that you can control for yourself.  If you are creative enough, you can find a way to explain yourself, but you can not really teach yourself how to listen from a textbook.  The only way to learn is to make an attempt, and it is nerve-racking.

This brings me to the present.  I put on my headset and click the green "Call Mobile" button on my skype account.  The Guatemalan flag and the corresponding 502 country code show beside the number that I just dialed.  The anxiety sets in, and I begin to take long deep breaths, anticipating the unfamiliar voice that will soon confront me.  A woman on the other line answers "Buenas tardes, depósito dental" as the audio cuts out for a few seconds and crackles.  Phone lines in Central America aren't always so sharp.  "Alo, ¿cómo estás?  Quiero hablar con Señor Bruno.  ¿Está disponible?"  "No, no se encuentra."  "OK, entonces, llamo de nuevo mañana."  He's not available.  I guess that buys me some time.  Each time that I make a call to Latin America, my receptive listening skills improve significantly.  Without the aide of facial expressions or body language, one must focus intently on each syllable, separating each word, and recognizing each sentence.  My productive speaking skills could still use some work, but I can get my point across, which is really the objective.

Despite building my confidence and abilities in these skills, there is still something stressful about a phone call.  This feeling is not exclusive to phone calls in Spanish, but a foreign language sure adds a bit of complexity and presents an additional challenge.  I recently had to give up coffee for health reasons, but I've  discovered that phone tag in a foreign language is a pretty comparable substitute.  It sure gets my heart rate going in the morning.

(That's Selena singing about the sound of her heart beating when she sees the man she loves.  It's not really quite the same kind of palpitation, but I thought it might make this post more exciting.  Enjoy!)

Tico Times

In November of 2004, shortly after graduating from college, I decided to go to Costa Rica to learn Spanish.  I was kind of lost, looking for some adventure, and although I didn't really develop my plan so well, I went anyway.  I originally planned to get a job there, but after realizing that I could rent a beachside apartment with utilities included for $280 per month, I decided to just ride out my savings for my 90 day tourist visa.  I was a bit afraid of traveling to a foreign land without a plan, but Costa Rica seemed like a beautiful, friendly place.  After all, their motto is "pura vida," and they live a pretty pure life, indeed.

Costa Rica was a stepping stone into the world of Spanish, but I returned home that February feeling a bit disappointed in what I had actually learned.  I chalked it up to the fact that I was toting along a super gringo with minimal Spanish vocabulary and his furry friend, who made travel just a tad difficult.  Although Puff, a black lab and golden retriever mix, was an inconvenience at times, he did leave me with some great memories that I would not trade.  I'll never forget how he would sit on the beach, keeping a watchful eye on us as we swam.  If we were swept under by a powerful Costa Rican wave, Puff would come to our rescue, releasing an emergency howl and diving into the salty breakers after us.  He was a good boy, although not really the right companion for an adventure learning trip.

Seven years (and miles of travel) later, I returned to Costa Rica on vacation.  This time, I could speak Spanish rather well; I had no fears of uncertainty, and I did not bring a pet along for the ride.  I traveled with my brother and his family in an extended length mini-van with an English-speaking driver.  We began in Heredia, a suburb of San Jose, then visited the Monte Verde cloud forest, as well as Playa Hermosa de Guanacaste.

I think that I have gotten rather confident with my Spanish skills.  I might forget some vocabulary from time to time, but I always remember the key words, and I have long ago stopped caring what anyone thinks.  Despite making a valient attempt to speak my acquired tongue, I was met with strong opposition in Costa Rica.  I returned to the U.S. feeling disappointed again, and I tried my hardest to convince myself that my Spanish is not terrible.  It's just that ticos (as Costa Ricans are affectionately named) are truly speaking the English and speaking it well.

I am reminded why I did not return to this gorgeous paradise to further my language learning.  I'm not sure what I had expected from a nation with a 96% literacy rate, where the military was abolished and the spare funds were invested in education.  Ticos are smart people, and they realize that they are sitting on a gold mine.  Costa Rica has beautiful weather, a plethora of tropical wildlife, and an exciting topography.  The one thing that might prevent Americans from arriving in droves and wall-papering the jungle with dollar bills is the language barrier, so ticos are doing their best to take down any roadblocks (at least metaphorically speaking... literally speaking, the place is a continuous traffic jam). 

More Americans live in Costa Rica per capita than any other country in the world (with the exception of the United States).  During this visit, I noticed that Walmarts and McDonalds are more prominent than ever.  Some of the highways even have digital warning signs, which would have seemed like a pipe dream when I first visited.  The nation is developing, and it is no coincidence that American institutions are popping up as more gringos are settling in this land.  English is important for Costa Rica and for the rest of the world, for that matter.  Speaking English isn't just a hobby to most people.  It's a necessity.  My mother tongue always seems to prevail in the language duel.  I used to feel sorry about this, but I can no longer lament my good fortune.  There is no shame in speaking English.

I enjoy learning foreign languages, and I think language learners understand the world a little more deeply.  You realize the limitations and complexities of your own language, and you discover cultural intricacies that would otherwise remain hidden.  Although I wish I could speak in tongues, I surely can not learn every language.  Thus, I am grateful for the many ambitious English speakers on the globe.  Maybe I won't understand every culture as deeply as I would like, but their efforts to learn English just further global communication.  The more we share ideas, the better. 

Costa Rica may not be the best place to learn Spanish, but I think their English skills and welcoming spirit have opened the minds of some Americans who might otherwise fear a zone with a reputation for wars and drugs.  I just hope that my compatriots don't forget that they are the guests.  I hope that they ask their new neighbors if they want a new Walmart in their town before they build it.  I hope that they make an effort to learn Spanish, and I hope they wash their gallo pinto and plantains down with an agua pipa.  I hope they realize their responsibility to preserve and protect this "rich coast."  This is my only concern about Costa Rica's progress, and somehow, I just don't have faith in my fellow countrymen.

Una crisis de identidad

Diccionario Espasa Concise © 2000 Espasa Calpe:
American [ə'merɪkən] adjetivo & nombre americano,-a (de EE.UU.) norteamericano,-a, estadounidense

Siempre he tenido una crisis de identidad en América Latina. ¿Quién soy yo? ¿Americana? ¿Norteamericana? ¿Estadounidense? Ni me hagas hablar de la palabra "gringa."

Pués, le pregunté a un mexicano. Me dijo que los mexicanos también son estadounidenses, porque México, de hecho, se llama los estados unidos mexicanos. Además, tampoco soy solamente norteamericana, porque éso incluye los canadienses, así como también los mexicanos y centroamericanos. Es nombre de continente, no sólo de ningún país. Entonces, me dijo el mexicano, "Es mejor dicho que eres americana. Eres de los estados unidos de América. Si los demás quieren ser americanos, hay que poner América en el nombre de su país."

Por consiguiente, soy americana, norteamericana y estadounidense.  Ninguna de las palabras son equivocadas. Cada una significa algo diferente y verdad.  No soy solamente de los estados unidos de América, así como también de las Américas, Norteamérica específicamente.  Todos somos vecinos.  Así que, cuando digo que soy americana, no digo que los demás no son también americanos.  Estamos conectados por la tierra.  Somos compadres y comadres interconectados.  Por eso, les digo, nunca es mi intención dejar de incluir a nadie.  Son palabras para expresar quien somos, no más. Sólo quiero describirme.  No me juzguen por tener un país con nombre muy general.  Así es la vida.

America: The Land of Opportunism

I was helping my office intern with her paper on Latin American identity in the U.S., and I told her she should title it "America: The Land of Opportunism" based on the following conclusions:

• We want drugs, but not Latin American drug cartels.
• We want cheap food and services, but not cheap illegal labor.
• We think everyone should speak English here, although the U.S. does not have an official language, nor do most Americans attempt to speak the native language when traveling abroad.
• We are all descendants of immigrants, but we restrict immigration and only accept those who are skilled, well-educated, or sensational athletes.
• We guarantee civil rights, except in Arizona.

And apparently, we're also self-loathing.

It's time to make the donuts!

Time is a human concept, thus, it makes sense that it is a cultural norm.  Human beings are social animals, wanting to belong to a group.  We learn behaviors from our elders and pass them along to our youth.  We are who we are because we learned it from someone.  Our mother, father, aunt, uncle, cousin, neighbor, or friend did something a certain way, and we liked it.  Thus, we followed their habits, and we became a unified culture. 

I consider Americans to be rather punctual people, valuing appointments, schedules, and arriving on time.  However, I do think that most Americans accept a 5-10 minute window of error; a few minutes to allow for traffic, weather, or spilling coffee on your suit as you're walking out the door.  On a social level, as long as there isn't a dinner reservation pending, most Americans will arrive to a gathering at their leisure (within reason).  If I schedule a party at 8, I expect most guests to show up by 9.  We call it, "fashionably late."

In Chile, they had a system called "tiempo chileno."  Although this did not apply to working situations, it was very common in social settings.  Someone will invite you to a party, and if you show up on time, you might catch them in their robe and slippers, sporting sponge curlers in their hair.  When they scheduled the party for 8, they had absolutely no expectation of guests arriving before 9, and all of the guests understood these intentions, as well.  Except, perhaps, the goofy gringo who arrived on time, trying to make a good impression.

Koreans, on the other hand, are the most punctual people I've met in my life.  On-time in Korean means 10 minutes early.  It is very difficult for a "oi-gook-in" like myself to comply with this social norm.  I prefer to enjoy the nightlife and sleep in.  I guess, when you can't beat 'em, join 'em... or rather, when in Korea, do as the Koreans do.  I might not be in Korea, but it sure feels like it sometimes when I am within the walls of this little suburban business complex.

I learned many things while I was abroad, but one of the most astounding realizations to me was that I had a culture.  I always thought that Americans were void of culture.  We are a melting pot, after all, comprised of people from all over the world, with the freedom to be and do whatever we want.  But that's just it.  That is our culture.  We are a culture of individualism.  We want our own car so we can drive wherever we want.  We want to live alone and do things our own way.  It's not uncommon for someone to have lunch by themselves or have a drink alone at the bar.  We're independent, and sometimes we're late, because we don't think about the community as a whole.  We think about me, myself, and I.

And since we're talking about making the donuts, I'd like to mention that I find it rather humorous how quickly foreign cultures adapt to the fast food culture of America.  Korean America runs on Dunkin', as well as Mickey D's and Five Guys Burgers and Fries.  I guess culture is alive and changing, as well.  It evolves just like we do, although I think it's a fat chance they'll ever be late when it's time to make the donuts!

A bilingual American

Ever since I learned that the Earth was round, I have been fascinated by languages, cultures, and the way people live and communicate around the world.  I remember enjoying Sesame Street, not only for Oscar the Grouch's trashy tunes, but for the Spanish word of the day.  I can still remember the sound of the voice saying "Salida... SAH-LEE-DAH" as two stick figures found their way to the door.  Thanks to Plaza Sésamo, if I ever found myself ablaze in a Tijuana cantina at the age of 5, I could find the emergency exit and shout for "agua"...

Aside from my extreme language immersion experience with Sesame Street, I grew up in a pretty white, middle-class neighborhood, went to Catholic school with other white Irish and Italian American kids, and played manhunt with my three brothers in the backyard.  It was a pretty peaceful life, but I had little exposure to foreign culture aside from occasional trips to visit my Aunt Cyndy in Baltimore, where we would order the pu-pu platter at her favorite Chinese restaurant and see the NutCracker ballet.  Despite my sheltered upbringing, or perhaps because of it, I always had a yearning to discover more about the world and its peoples.

I'm not really sure how it happened, but at some point in the following years, I just started speaking Spanish.  Not only could I find the exit and ask for a drink of water, but I could ask you for your views on same-sex marriage and gun control.  It just clicked into place one day and started making sense.  Language is always a work in progress, and I am still learning something new every day.  It's a very difficult dilemma for a perfectionist like myself, because it is an ongoing process that will never be complete or perfect.  Learning a second language has taught me to accept imperfection and to understand that I won't always understand everything.

I feel like a very rare breed of American.  In fact, as I was traveling through the Atacama Desert in northern Chile, a Frenchman heard me speaking Spanish (beautifully, I might add) to another traveler, and commented, "A bilingual American?  Isn't that a surprise!" as if it were an impossible concept to grasp.  Maybe he wasn't too far off the mark.  I think many Americans would love to learn a second language, but it's not easy.  We are privileged to speak the so-called modern day lingua franca, but we thus suffer in our opportunities to learn a second language and truly understand another culture.  Learning Spanish was a struggle.  Mexico isn't so close to Pennsylvania.  I had to spend a lot of money and time taking intensive language classes.  Then I spent even more money traveling to Latin America several times, eventually landing in a rural Chilean village, a place deep enough into the mountains that no one spoke English.  The difficulties associated with that experience were numerous.  There were cold showers, dirt roads, and intestines on my dinner plate.

I was inspired to write this blog after taking a job working with immigrants.  I'm not talking about migrant workers or bus boys.  My colleagues are mostly Korean immigrants plus one Brazilian and one Colombian, and they are all courageously learning my mother language.  I know how hard it is to learn a second language, and I know that many Americans can be unforgiving to those who are trying.  I admire my co-workers for their bravery, and I would like to use this space to talk about my own experience with language, travel, and culture, as well as my thoughts and observations of my brave comrades and anyone else who dares to "speak the English."