We
had high hopes. High in the sky apple pie hopes. Just before leaving
Key West, we’d searched the net and found a Spanish language school, Amistad Instutitue,
that uses the immersion technique to teach Spanish, along with a
thousand other techniques. There are at least one million of these
schools in Costa Rica. The one we chose came highly recommended by our
Costa Rica landlord as well as a fellow tenant on the finca,
and is right in our village. So close, in fact, we could have walked
there. We did not walk there because walking anywhere in Costa Rica
involves walking straight uphill. That’s why all the women have nice
butts. I’d like to have a nice butt, but walking uphill makes me short
of breath. My butt is fine.
So
we land in Costa Rica on Saturday 28 January. Marcus, the director of
the school, who we had never met, only talked to on the phone, MET US AT
THE AIRPORT. We were so surprised by this generosity. And, as U.S.
citizens, naturally suspicious. The director of the school was meeting
us at the airport? On a Saturday? And all we were doing was spending two
weeks in a class? But meet us he did. Negotiated a taxi van for us and
our 16 bags for a reasonable sum. Drove to our house, helped us unpack.
And told us he’d meet us at our house on the following Monday to show us
the way to class. Now that’s service. What a nice man!
On Sunday 29 January we unpack and buy a coffeemaker. You know, take care of the critical issues before us.
Monday 30 January, Marcus shows up at 8am (on time, not tico time which would have been 15 minutes late). We follow him and seconds later, we arrive at our class. We meet Esther, our profesora [pro-fess-SORE-ah,
female professor]. Let me say this about Esther: WE LOVE ESTHER. She is
beautiful, funny, gets our dumb Gringo jokes without her being able to
speak a word of English. She is patient, persistent and has a nice butt.
Unfortunately, despite everyone’s best efforts, we did not learn to
speak Spanish. We were in that class 8a-noon Monday through Friday
speaking only Spanish and, although we learned essential basics, we
cannot "speak" Spanish by ANY stretch of the imagination. Perhaps our
goals were a little unrealistic.
YOU THINK?
This
is not Esther’s fault nor the fault of the school. We love them at the
school (and they love us). But I don’t see how learning Spanish via the
immersion method could work unless you IMMERSE. TOTALLY. Learning
another language is más difícil [mahss dee-FEE-sill,
very difficult]. For immersion to work, you have to break down the old
way of thinking, kill it, execute it, wipe the slate clean, become
language-less… THEN start inputting. I’m not sure how you would do this
without totally immersing: living with people who ONLY speak the other
language, being forced to learn to communicate. Werner Erhard
could probably think of a quick efficient way. But you can’t just force
the new over the old. Especially if you are old. Like Hal.
The
four of us learn in entirely different ways. For instance, I mimic and
am bold to experiment. Trial and error is my forte. Why waste time
studying?
Hal
wants to know the Latin derivative, the past, present, future gerund,
explicative, expletive, blah blah blah – the man can pick apart a word.
Ryan
does exactly what the instructor tells him to do (unless the instructor
is me). He is anxious to please, to master the task at hand, and he
went after it.
Mo…
Mo somehow manages to pass out sitting up with his eyes open. It’s the
most amazing thing. I’m sure this is a gift. I’m not sure how he will
use it…. He can order at McDonald’s in Spanish and he can now, after 30
days, answer "Como está, Morgan?" [KOE-moe s-TAH, how are you] There is hope. As long as there is a God.
The day after the immersion school ended, Hal bought a course online called Rocket Spanish to continue his basic learning. This
offers a system for learning a language and he is quite pleased with
it. This is right up Hal’s alley. He spends 30 minutes a day repeating
words, phrases. He walks around with a stack of cards, getting the rest
of us to quiz him on today’s lesson. He will master this, there is no
doubt. This is a man who, about five years ago, arrived home with a
$2,000 piano and a book and taught himself to play.
The boys are in a wonderful private school
run by a woman who I swear is the clone of Miss Jean Brody. She has a
very definite opinion of how children should be taught and what they
should be taught: "The jobs our children will have don’t even exist
today." We like her, even though we suspect she is a little to the left
of us politically, (so will likely stuff our children full of political
correctness which we will have to undo). But we like her attitude.
If
they graduate from the European School, they will earn an I.B., an
International Baccalaureate, and be certified native speakers of English
and Spanish. Mo better come out of his coma. Almost all their
classmates are Costa Rican and speak English. Fortunately for us, they
speak Spanish almost exclusively outside of class so the boys are
getting a dose. They have Spanish class twice a week and we were
promised a Spanish tutor in place of French class.
The
schools in Costa Rica have an interesting class schedule. They don’t
have math everyday, just twice a week. They have all their subjects
twice a week, except English (Miss Brody is big on the humanities) which
they have thrice weekly. They have drama (oh yes) and a two hour art
class which Ryan is not wild about. He is not artistically inclined or
interested so that is 2 hours of hell for him… although he did enjoy
making the wire sculptures!
They
ride the bus to school – let’s not talk about how fast the buses might
go over those skinny mountainous roads with sheer drop offs into 3′
ditches… Hey, I can’t protect them from everything. The Costa Ricans
adore their children, revere their children. If they are going to be
cautious about anything, it will be with their children on these wicked
roads. As my precious boys are lurching around the hairpin curves, they
are learning Spanish from their compadres [comb-PA-drace, pals] en el autobus [L ow-toe-BOOSS, the bus].
If
you want to learn a foreign language, you might want to forget the
immersion method unless you are going to IMMERSE by living with a local
family, called a "homestay." These are also set up by the Amistad Institute. Homestays include Spanish
classes for a couple of hours everyday, then working as a volunteer in
some capacity the rest of the day. Not only is this kind of immersion
extremely effective, it would be interesting
and very productive.
You
must be 100% committed to living through the period of adjustment and
culture shock. If you can trick your brain into thinking you are in
immediate danger and MUST learn to speak Spanish NOW, that would be
helpful.
So
far, I’ve been able to avoid all danger with the waving-my-arms,
pointing, smiling and putting-together-the-few-Spanish-phrases-I-know
method. I just need to know how to to say "Hola! Yo quiero los zapatos rojos en la ventana, por favor." [Hi! I want those red shoes in the window.] And I’m set.
As
in much of life, our hindsight is 20/20. One of the things we’ve done
right the first time around, besides get married and gleefully receive
Mo and Ryan from the arms of the universe, is move to Costa Rica for a
year. So far so good. Mas pronto. Hasta la vista, mis amigos!
Love, Saratica
