Learning a foreign language at age 55 is no joke! The famous holistic health doctor, Andrew Weil, has said that the three best ways to keep one’s mind agile are: 1) learn a new computer operating system; 2) learn a new language, and 3) …well, I can’t remember the third. I am only 55, and my goal is more about learning to communicate with the increasing number of Spanish speakers in the US than staving off dementia. Still, if I ever do really “get” the reflexive verbs in Spanish, it will probably scare off Alzheimer’s for awhile longer.
I have been in Panama for one year, minus a few trips back home. When we arrived, I had been studying Spanish in the U.S. for only a few months, on my own, using tapes and textbooks. Hardly an all-out effort, as I was also working full time and wrapping up my life in preparation for this two-year hiatus. When we arrived in August 2008 I had only one full week with my Spanish-speaking husband along to translate and handle transactions, after which he started work. I was on my own and I was terrified.
My task was straightforward: set up an entire household from scratch; from buying and installing appliances and furniture to assembling a barbecue from 300 little pieces, using directions in Spanish. I carried a little electronic dictionary with me at all times, and wore it out in 6 months. At that point I discovered the on-line translators and began to read books and newspapers with the computer at my elbow.
Since I didn’t know anyone at first, my experience with live speech was limited to what I could overhear while doing errands, or struggle through in direct transactions. I did a lot of eavesdropping, taking walks while listening to my downloaded Pimsleur lessons, and watching TV while ironing. TV was frustrating, as much of the Spanish was too fast and too colloquial for me to follow. It was a major victory to even identify the main topic of the newscaster’s breathless story. The “telenovelas” (Spanish soap operas) were too ridiculous to bear, even for the sake of learning.
After the first few months, I began twice weekly lessons with Angela Curtis, my wonderful Spanish teacher. I have described those in an earlier blog posting. Angela saved me from complete isolation and frustration! I worked hard to prepare for each hour we spent together, coming up with a full typed page of questions in Spanish and written descriptions of my daily experiences. As time went on, we spoke more and more Spanish, with less reversion to English for explanations.
When I ran low on taped Spanish drills, it occurred to me that I could try to find some Panamanian radio stations to listen to. I fished out my ancient portable cassette player/radio, found some earphones, and set out on a walk. Twirling the dial, I hit the motherlode! The first station I came upon was a call-in show, and I even recognized the topic – treating illnesses with natural substances! Much of the conversation was a blur, but I could catch just enough words to keep me listening. Moving the dial further, I came upon a show about show business and the lives of the stars (even in a Spanish accent, I could catch “Angelina Jolie and Bradd Pitt”!) Further up the FM dial was a religious station, recognizable by its chanted Hail Marys. Advertising jingles for products were interspersed with the signature tunes for each of the political candidates for the May 2009 elections. I was hooked.
From then on, I have listened to talk radio for at least 3 hours per day, whenever I take walks and while doing chores around the house. I have come to know the talk show hosts, their attitudes and personalities, and the topics they like to discuss. I have learned a great deal about Panamanian politics, culture, cuisine, and the beliefs of everyday Panamanians. It’s kind of like eavesdropping on a national conversation; this little country of 3+ million is full of hope and ambition and good intentions, which helps offset some of the inevitable frustrations I have felt with Panamanian bureaucracy and inefficiency. I am touched by the civic-mindedness of the callers, and the massive response that is mobilized whenever neighbors are in trouble.
Last week I wrote an email to my favorite 4 talk-show hosts, thanking them for all I have learned from their shows, and for easing my inevitable loneliness as a foreigner. The host whose show is called “Contact with the Community”, Gisela Vergara, sent me a very nice email in return, and read my letter on the air.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Is ESOL really my calling?
8/25/09
I have no idea what just happened! I got up a bit earlier than usual, straightened the house, and took Rich to school. Then, as agreed, I drove to Body Flow, the local gym owned by Juanita. She had invited me when we met last Wednesday with an imperative tone that Panamanian women of a certain age use, and which doesn’t brook refusal. It was clear that she wanted to exchange something in return for the English practice I agreed to provide.
Now I don’t really like gyms. I prefer natural exercise, walking and working on the house, and I always feel foolish running or gyrating in place on a machine. Still, gotta be polite. We had agreed that I would come at 7 am, exercise for an hour, take her pilates class, and then we would go to my house to talk. I was mildly anxious about the state of our house (never completely clean) and had baked some oatmeal bars so we could snack when we got back. I also made some iced tea, although I have never seen a Panamanian drink it.
I approached the front door of Body Flow and was buzzed in by the receptionist. I said (in Spanish) that I had been invited by Juanita (la Senora). She nodded as if she had been told of my visit and buzzed me in the next set of doors. Inside, several men and women exercised on treadmills and elliptical trainers. I sat down on a bench at the entrance and busied myself changing into my tennis shoes. After about 10 minutes, a bleached blond, buff, athletic young man came to get me, leading me to the elliptical trainers. He motioned for me to get on, gave me some instructions which I mostly did not catch, and started the machine. Great. He had set it on a low setting, but my legs ached within five minutes. Only fifteen more to go! Of course, it got easier, so I finished the set and went to the water fountain for a drink. After a few minutes, he looked at me and said, “Ya?” which meant, “Ready?” I then followed him to a treadmill, on which I walked for another 20 minutes. After the cooldown, I stepped off and got another drink. No sign of Juanita. My “trainer” said something about “10 minutes” and motioned for me to go upstairs to the classroom. I spent the next 20 minutes up there alone, stretching on a mat. Finally, he came up, and said something about “not today. Can you tomorrow?” Was he talking about Juanita? I said not tomorrow, but Thursday, in order to stick with our tentative plan. After a little while he left me, and I figured it was time to leave. I walked downstairs, got my bag, and said to the receptionist, “Please tell the Senora she can call me, if she wants to.”
No idea what just happened… Was Juanita sidetracked by traffic? Family? Or was she nervous about coming to my house or about speaking English? QUE PASO??? I was ridiculously relieved to get home, take a shower, and do some chores. It’s just totally AMAZING how much emotional “juice” I have to summon for these encounters!
Now to prepare for my little 8 year old neighbor’s English lesson this afternoon!
I have no idea what just happened! I got up a bit earlier than usual, straightened the house, and took Rich to school. Then, as agreed, I drove to Body Flow, the local gym owned by Juanita. She had invited me when we met last Wednesday with an imperative tone that Panamanian women of a certain age use, and which doesn’t brook refusal. It was clear that she wanted to exchange something in return for the English practice I agreed to provide.
Now I don’t really like gyms. I prefer natural exercise, walking and working on the house, and I always feel foolish running or gyrating in place on a machine. Still, gotta be polite. We had agreed that I would come at 7 am, exercise for an hour, take her pilates class, and then we would go to my house to talk. I was mildly anxious about the state of our house (never completely clean) and had baked some oatmeal bars so we could snack when we got back. I also made some iced tea, although I have never seen a Panamanian drink it.
I approached the front door of Body Flow and was buzzed in by the receptionist. I said (in Spanish) that I had been invited by Juanita (la Senora). She nodded as if she had been told of my visit and buzzed me in the next set of doors. Inside, several men and women exercised on treadmills and elliptical trainers. I sat down on a bench at the entrance and busied myself changing into my tennis shoes. After about 10 minutes, a bleached blond, buff, athletic young man came to get me, leading me to the elliptical trainers. He motioned for me to get on, gave me some instructions which I mostly did not catch, and started the machine. Great. He had set it on a low setting, but my legs ached within five minutes. Only fifteen more to go! Of course, it got easier, so I finished the set and went to the water fountain for a drink. After a few minutes, he looked at me and said, “Ya?” which meant, “Ready?” I then followed him to a treadmill, on which I walked for another 20 minutes. After the cooldown, I stepped off and got another drink. No sign of Juanita. My “trainer” said something about “10 minutes” and motioned for me to go upstairs to the classroom. I spent the next 20 minutes up there alone, stretching on a mat. Finally, he came up, and said something about “not today. Can you tomorrow?” Was he talking about Juanita? I said not tomorrow, but Thursday, in order to stick with our tentative plan. After a little while he left me, and I figured it was time to leave. I walked downstairs, got my bag, and said to the receptionist, “Please tell the Senora she can call me, if she wants to.”
No idea what just happened… Was Juanita sidetracked by traffic? Family? Or was she nervous about coming to my house or about speaking English? QUE PASO??? I was ridiculously relieved to get home, take a shower, and do some chores. It’s just totally AMAZING how much emotional “juice” I have to summon for these encounters!
Now to prepare for my little 8 year old neighbor’s English lesson this afternoon!
About Birds - Year 2
8/6/09
The day dawned delightfully cool. Seventy eight degrees! I was so pleased. Then, a bird crashed into my head.
After dropping Rich off at school, I headed for an unknown part of our neighborhood to take in some new sights on my morning walk. I parked opposite a shuttered elementary school building, took my umbrella and water bottle, and set out through a quiet residential part of Cerro Viento, then turned onto a main drag. Dry cleaners and corner stores with makeshift parking in front made the walk an obstacle course. Suddenly, THWAP!! Something hit my right ear, grazing my head with sharp scratches. I spun around, thinking someone was attacking me from behind, but…no one. A few seconds later, another WHOOSH by my head, and I saw the bird, alighting on a nearby rooftop. I yelled and waved my hands around my head as I walked on, cinching the suspicion of Panamanian passers-by that Americans are loco.
Another bird here in Panama has more pleasant associations. Soon after we moved in we were chatting with our French neighbors in their yard and noticed a large buzzard, hopping around in their yard. It clearly felt at home there as it pecked at bugs in the soil. Suddenly a car motor started, alarming the bird, but it gave a huge leap without ascending into flight. Jacques explained that the bird had a damaged wing or leg and could not fly. They had become fond of the poor gimpy bird and regularly fed it and talked to it. In time, we did, too.
A few weeks later, we heard our Panamanian next door neighbor arguing loudly in the street with our French neighbor. Juan had a rock in his hand and for a moment we thought he was going to throw it at Jacques! “No, no! Please, don’t hurt it” Jacques was saying. Juan said, “He’s a nuisance. He gets into our garbage – let me kill him.” “No, please.” “OK, but if he gets into my garbage again, that’s it.” The gimpy buzzard had long since quit the scene… hopping maniacally over the crest of the hill.
So here we are… North Americans (Panama canal builders) living between the French (failed Panama canal builders) and the Panamanians (current Panama canal owners) facing off in a diplomatic incident.
The day dawned delightfully cool. Seventy eight degrees! I was so pleased. Then, a bird crashed into my head.
After dropping Rich off at school, I headed for an unknown part of our neighborhood to take in some new sights on my morning walk. I parked opposite a shuttered elementary school building, took my umbrella and water bottle, and set out through a quiet residential part of Cerro Viento, then turned onto a main drag. Dry cleaners and corner stores with makeshift parking in front made the walk an obstacle course. Suddenly, THWAP!! Something hit my right ear, grazing my head with sharp scratches. I spun around, thinking someone was attacking me from behind, but…no one. A few seconds later, another WHOOSH by my head, and I saw the bird, alighting on a nearby rooftop. I yelled and waved my hands around my head as I walked on, cinching the suspicion of Panamanian passers-by that Americans are loco.
Another bird here in Panama has more pleasant associations. Soon after we moved in we were chatting with our French neighbors in their yard and noticed a large buzzard, hopping around in their yard. It clearly felt at home there as it pecked at bugs in the soil. Suddenly a car motor started, alarming the bird, but it gave a huge leap without ascending into flight. Jacques explained that the bird had a damaged wing or leg and could not fly. They had become fond of the poor gimpy bird and regularly fed it and talked to it. In time, we did, too.
A few weeks later, we heard our Panamanian next door neighbor arguing loudly in the street with our French neighbor. Juan had a rock in his hand and for a moment we thought he was going to throw it at Jacques! “No, no! Please, don’t hurt it” Jacques was saying. Juan said, “He’s a nuisance. He gets into our garbage – let me kill him.” “No, please.” “OK, but if he gets into my garbage again, that’s it.” The gimpy buzzard had long since quit the scene… hopping maniacally over the crest of the hill.
So here we are… North Americans (Panama canal builders) living between the French (failed Panama canal builders) and the Panamanians (current Panama canal owners) facing off in a diplomatic incident.
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