I learned
my Spanish first at some evenings lessons in Finland and then working as a
volunteer for seven months in Nicaragua and Honduras. I know that in my last
months in Honduras, I gave one-on-one remedial lessons in reading and maths
after school to some boys at a street children's home, which would have to mean
that my level was relatively good. But that was almost nine years ago.
This past
year, I have on a few occasions tried to say something in Spanish. Close to
nothing came out. I could introduce myself and ask people how they were, but
already forming the question "how old are you" caused problems. I would
struggle with words such as "always", "go" or
"home". I soon gave up and started to do simple exercises on
Duolingo. But when I then tried to speak again, the result was mostly the same.
I could not understand how I had once been able to have real conversations and
where all that knowledge had gone.
Then I
bought the flights, and suddenly it was just two weeks left before the trip. I
seriously wondered what I would do when I'd get to Peru.
Then, three
days before departure, a miracle happened. I was lying in bed at night, trying
to think up some simple sentences in Spanish that I would need when I'd arrive
in Lima. Suddenly, the words started coming. The more sentences I came up with,
the more new words I found. It was as if someone had finally opened the gate to
a locked-up house, and in the house I could open more and more doors and find
more and more forgotten words. I was stunned and triumphant. It was all still
there, I just had not known how to get it out!
On my three
long flights, I read the airlines magazines, listened to the safety
announcements and watched Ice Age, all in Spanish. I didn't understand much at
all, but I kept picking up more forgotten words: Cantar. Peligroso. Hija.
And when
the taxi driver came to pick me up at midnight at the Airport in Lima, I was
able to do something that I would have never believed still a week ago: have my
first Spanish conversation in nine years.
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