I looked for monkeys in the hot jungle, careful not to touch trees or vines that looked like snakes. A ranger pointed to a tree. A sloth chewed on leaves and moved in slow motion over the branches; her face like a teddy bear but plastic. The guide said to my friends and I, “Sometimes they sit in one place so long, the moss grows right over them.”

We met another group of hikers – perky blond Americans in their twenties that looked like they had stepped out of an LL Bean catalog. I looked like I had stepped out of a discount store at the height of a blue-light special.

The woman in the group overheard about the sloth. Her blond pony tail swung like a yarn of silk as she turned her head toward the ranger. She pulled her brown sunglasses to the tip of her nose and said, “Se fue?” without missing a beat.

Her Nike hiking boots trekked over the path to the tree; the two handsome males from her group followed. My group of sunburnt, flabby friends and I turned our sweaty bodies toward the exit. “Se fue!” What does that mean?

So she knew Spanish, I thought at least the educational system in the United States didn’t fail everyone.

Returning from my hiking trip, I faced an empty refrigerator, so I headed to the grocery store. The grocery store was intimidating because not only did I struggle with Spanish, but I had no idea what several of the canned fish products were or many of varieties of fruits and vegetables.

English in the Midwest of the United States is polite. The vowels and consonants are clear and well-shaped and the larger the word is spoken, the better. The language of Spanish sounds more like a song, and the more I mumbled the more I was understood.

I heard two people talking by the canned fish products. The conversation was probably about the pros and cons of oil or water packed tuna, but it sounded like seduction to me.

I saw Parmesan cheese – the hard Italian kind I hadn’t had in months. The young man with the paper hat asked me something (probably if I needed help). I froze and pointed (and probably grunted). As I was about to start dancing, he shook his head as to say he understood and cut my quarter. I pushed my cart down the isle and headed straight for the vegetables. Cucumbers, celery, and lettuce were next on my list.

As an adult learner, I am torn between two brains. The left side assigns homework while the right side wants to have milk and cookies and watch T.V. I practiced rolling my tongue in new ways around my mouth (sometimes it tickled). This was exciting. Maybe I was loosening up. Free my inhibitions – that´s what I needed.

I had taken French in high school. I had loosened up then (I even threw Jello at the window shades one day during French Friday Féte). I retained about 15 words of French after two years of study.

“Living in a foreign country – why you’ll be speaking like a native in three months!” I was told. Yet I still depended on charades, pointing, flailing my arms and visual aides to get my point across. So after three months, I decided to give academics another try.

In the checkout lane, I cocked my head towards the sing-song phrases the clerk was asking me and concentrated. Numbers were hard for me. I recognized a word, and I got excited. By the time I focused back in on the conversation, hundreds of new words had flown by, and I was lost. I read the total on the computerized cash register and handed the cashier my credit card.

Words can have several meanings. “Si” means “yes” and “si” means “if”. Meanings switch too. “Que” is “what” – “que bueno” means “what good”. “What” is “how”. However “what” is also “that” – “this” and “that” have ten meanings depending on what “this” or “that” is all about. “How” is also “like” – “like this” is “like that”.

Moreover, Spanish is a romance language and has sexual preferences. Nouns and adjectives are male or female. There are basic rules that guide which words are masculine and which are feminine. I understand why a flower is feminine and a car is masculine, but I get confused trying to remember words like dress “vestido” which is masculine and that a beard “barba” is feminine.

Classes and living in a Spanish speaking country help open the little trap door in my head that slammed shut after the French Jello incident. Watching television soap operas is encouraged (even by my professor). Learning a language is like that moment 30 seconds after the alarm goes off – I get the drift, but I can’t remember the details.

I am sure I have insulted a few with my improperly placed participle phrases or incomplete thoughts. (Once, I think I suggested something awful to an old woman with a broomstick). But no matter how awkward I felt, the people of Costa Rica are kind and patient. I have learned that there is more than one way to say something – a new approach to old words, and I have also learned how little I understand of the English language.

When I stay calm, I remember parts of the dream – fragments of the language – and I take another risk and speak. In these few seconds I see the world with simplicity and amazement. Although I did not receive the gift of a second language as a child, I am grateful for the opportunity to feel the world as a child – at least for this moment.

Written by Susan Lutz who is a film maker and writer living in Costa Rica. Her documentary film, The Coffee Dance available for sale an Amazon.com, follows a group of women in the depths of poverty as they strive for empowerment. She teaches film and lectures in Costa Rica.

She’s produced radio documentaries and is currently finishing her first travel book on Costa Rica. She writes an internationally recognized blog on life in Costa Rica, Motherjungle.com and is the editor of the Organic Living Page on Allthingshealing.com

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