You've probably heard about the popular pilgrimage in Spain called the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. I needed an excuse not to do it.
Dave was determined to walk the path, 25 kilometres a day with his belongings in a heavy backpack. I decided studying Spanish for a few weeks would be a lot easier and was more my cup of tea, and I'd still get a trip to Spain.
My friend Bonnie G. recommended Salamanca, a picturesque city near Madrid. It has the oldest university in Spain, the very place where a guy named Cristóbal Colón pitched his ideas about sailing the ocean blue in 1492.
Here's my (longish) story based on the photos I took in 2015.
I enrolled online at the Don Quijote Language School and then worried I would probably be the oldest person in the school. Or the classes would be too difficult and the accent would be incomprehensible. Or I wouldn't like my host family.
None of which happened of course.
In my first class there were two young Asians who had excellent knowledge of written Spanish but were nearly incapable of speaking a sentence. They knew no English and were shy, so needless to say, I didn't get to know them. The teacher José was excellent. This was the smallest group, most of my classes had eight people.
The other student in this photo was an aristocratic-looking woman with impeccable make-up who really was an aristocrat. She was a friend of the Shah of Iran for goodness sake! When he escaped into exile in 1979 to the States, she fled to Australia. That's what she told us anyway and we believed her. The rumour at school was she had a private hairdresser travelling with her because her hairdo was never less than perfect. She told me her first-class ticket included a bed on the long flight from Australia to Madrid so she was a woman used to luxury.
My personal style didn't quite match hers but our ability in Spanish was roughly the same. I liked her and was sorry not to learn more about her past. She invited me to an elegant pastry shop after our final exam and that was the last I heard from her.
These ordinary-looking women were my pals (there were male students but they were outnumbered). From left to right, they were from the US, England, Switzerland (that's my main friend Lisbeth in the white shirt who we visited in Lucerne a few years later), France, Ireland, and the Czech Republic.
We were at different levels in Spanish, some were beginners starting at A1. According to the placement test my level was C1 which was as challenging as I could handle. I had the grammar under control, it was the oral work that sometimes pushed me past my comfort zone but I still enjoyed every class.
In the afternoons we explored the city and ate tapas in sunny sidewalk cafes. Such drudgery going back to school. It was a holiday more than work for sure.
The school arranged home stays which is a bonus for language practise and more interesting than staying in a hotel or a dorm. No one in my host family spoke a word of English which was fine with me. They rented out two bedrooms in their apartment to earn a little extra cash; the economy in Spain has been terrible for years and their adult son was unemployed.
They were friendly people, listening to my mistakes in Spanish at mealtime and correcting me patiently. They were respectful of my privacy, my room was clean and cute, and the meals were good. No complaints there.
The Asian boy in the picture was a university student who called himself Carlos because his Chinese name was unpronounceable. He didn't speak English but his Spanish was better than mine. He seemed homesick and we sometimes went bike riding together. His family went into debt to send him to Spain so he could learn a foreign language and get a good job in an export business, so he was under pressure to do well.
I learned to put my bread on the table, never on my plate, that's how it was done here.
All was just fine with my accommodation except for one fairly major inconvenience... there was only one bathroom in the apartment.
I could have moved to another home, but I decided to stick it out because I liked the family. It was only for two weeks. The morning walk to school on narrow streets was a pleasure, and I loved my routine. So I took my toothbrush to the school washroom every morning and made the best of it.
There were gorgeous buildings at ever turn in the city. My favourite was this 16th-century library covered with over 300 carvings of scallop shells, which are the symbol of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage path that Dave was walking. He was enjoying his adventure as much as I was loving my city experience.
Cada uno a su gusto. Chacun à son goût. Each to his own. We were each doing what made us happy.
Did I become fluent? No, two weeks isn't much time, but I got my money's worth and I progressed a few more steps along the bumpy road of language-learning. The accent was different from the Spanish of Mexico but didn't really cause me problems. I was soon saying gracias in the regional way with a lisping "th" sound. Some vocabulary was different. For example I kept forgetting that:
- homework was deberes instead of tarea
- a small glass of beer was a caña, not a cerveza
- glasses were gafas, not anteojos
- coger was the troublesome one, in Spain it's a common word that means grab or catch, as in grab a sandwich or catch a bus, but in Mexico it's a vulgar term meaning to have sex.
- "vale" is the most important word I learned which Spaniards use all the time, meaning good, right, sure, ok. I've never heard it in Latin America.
Basically standard Spanish is the same language with the same grammar system on either side of the Atlantic.
It's satisfying to have a mission in a foreign country. Going to school gives structure to your day and a change from the usual job of sightseeing. And doing a little homework in a sidewalk cafe is not a bad way to spend an hour.
There's a whole lot of Spanish to learn and I could easily have stayed a month or longer, which many students did. If the idea appeals to you at all, I'd highly recommend it. I'd love to go back to Salamanca and next time will make sure that my accommodation includes a private bathroom.
My translation: I had taken off my watch to say to Time that it can no longer decide how to occupy my days.
