6th February, 2004
From the Mailbag:

Avid reader Myrtle Knudsegurden of Racine, Wisconsin, writes:

"Dear TwiT: (that's "Travels with Tim"-but I know what you were thinking)
Why haven't you written in a while? I would like to know more about this immersion language nonsense. It all seems like a lot of hocus pocus to me. Can you tell me more about it?"

Well, Myrtle, I'd be happy to.

Basically, for four or five hours a day I sit in front of a very patient and understanding native Spanish speaker, who sits and listens to me murder their fine language and occasionally interjects corrections. Then he takes his turn talking slowly to me using only small words, much like the way you would talk to a second grade child. Eventually it becomes more and more claro.

It is a bit magical really.

But then there's the grammar. Not too many second grade children can conjugate in 15 tenses, and come to think of it, neither can I, in any language really. But I've got about 10 of them down pretty well and manage to use them properly at least some of the time. I haven't yet leapt into that dreaded subjunctive, and I haven't read the rules for it either- there are 4 pages of them in my verbs book. That way I don't know what I'm missing, and I don't feel left out.

For my part, the murder is getting less bloody with each passing day. After just about 4 weeks of study I can follow most conversations as long as I know the general context of what's being said-so the news and radio are still a bit out of reach. My speaking isn't too bad. My friend pointed out the other night that it's a lot better when I'm drunk 1 and don't spend too much thinking about how I say things. That was an important epiphany, because it made me realize that in fact I know more than I think, I need to just relax and say it.

I think that I'm right on the cusp of really getting it. The problem now is that I know most of the rules but only a few of the words. My goals this week: no more grammar, 20 hours of semi-structured conversation, and 500 new words. That may seem like a lot, but think how many different words you use in a day. There's a lot to learn.

And there's a lot to think about. We don't think about how we tend to reuse the same words in a lot of different ways. It might be funny to discover that the Spanish use the same verb for hit, slap, kick, attach and glue, but do you know how many different things we use the word 'get' for? Get here, get sick, get a letter, get the chance, get out. Arrive, become, receive, have, go. It's all very confusing. Kind of like learning how to 'smurf' something.

As for your first request Myrtle, I'll try a bit harder from now on.

Lago Atitlan at sunset. If you look carefully, you can just make
out Volcan San Pedro. This week I live at its base.
I decided that I needed to get out of Xela for a while. It is a nice city, but a city nonetheless, with has all the pollution and noise that go along with that. I have escaped to the shores of Lake Atitlan, a large, very deep lake formed in the caldera of a long- extinct volcano. I'm living in San Pedro, which is known for two things: cheap accommodation and 25 varieties of ganja. My little cabana costs US$10 for the week including access to the kitchen; I don't know how much the weed costs, but I do know it's not hard to find. My hammock looks out over the lake, which as I write has a peaceful calm about it. Clouds have gathered this afternoon and I can't see across anymore. I think that it might rain, even though it's not the season for that.

This afternoon I ran into someone that I met much earlier on this trip. You may recall from chapter one that I almost left Belize City with a Canadian woman, but changed my mind at the last second and took off in a different direction. That was six weeks ago. Last night I found out she was here, and today after lunch I bumped into her. Small world.

I like it here very much. I like having dirty feet from walking down to the beach barefoot and wandering the trails-not roads-around town in my Tevas. But I also like it for a lot of reasons that make it decidedly un-Guatemalan. The streets and air are clean, and the showers are warmer here, but it's only because of all the foreign money. I could easily eat in a different restaurant every night, order all my food in English, and pay with American currency-maybe even Euros, but who can afford those right now? (Again, Brits, to yourselves please.)

People have a problem leaving this place. They come here from all over and fall in love with it and stay, so it's a bit bohemian and a lot out of place from the surrounding area. The bar by the docks is decidedly North American: all the staff speak English-and Dutch, Norwegian, and whatever that language is they speak in New Zealand. I could just as easily learn German or French here as I can Spanish. (At the hotel the other night I had my German neighbors teaching me their curse words-and I'll tell you what, they really have the market cornered. Their words sound at the same time much meaner and much funnier than ours. How could you not laugh whilst calling someone a geschulstefeis? I just made this up, so it's probably not an actual curse word. But it sounds like one, ja?)

I don't think I'll be staying very long.

Tuesdays in Xela

As things would turn out, I didn't stay very long. After a week of study and relaxation there, I decided that I needed to do some more real studying in Xela. So I'm back living in the guesthouse (I moved out from the family before I left for the lake). Naturally, the very day I got back, I got a bit sick again.

Tuesdays and Fridays are important days in Xela, as they are the only days Bake Shop, the Mennonite-operated bakery in zona 3, is open. Bake Shop is the place to go for good cookies and donuts (galletas and donas in Spanish), as well as yogurt and real cheddar cheese-a semi-precious commodity here. I doubt I had been in town even a full day before I had heard the legend of the place.

So early this morning (you know, 11 o'clock) I made the pilgrimage, along with probably 90% of the extranjeros here. It's only about a 15 minute walk, but I can never remember exactly where it is and always spend a good half-hour looking for it. My Spanish is plenty good enough for getting around, so I could just ask someone where it is. I don't for two reasons: First, I'm male, and genetically programmed not to do that. Second, it's pointless-no one knows where anything is anyway. I asked a hot dog vendor if he knew of it, he just pointed at a policeman standing nearby and told me to ask him. Even more pointless. If there is anyone that absolutely does not know where anything is, it is a Guatemalan policeman. You would think that of all people a policeman would know where to find a donut shop. You would be wrong.

Eventually I found another gringo with a Bake Shop bag and walked in the direction she came from. Today I was lucky enough to make it before they sold out of donuts. Three weeks ago I was not so fortunate and was nearly on suicide watch for the three days until it was open again. My lucky day.

The afternoon was my usual four hours of murdering Spanish, although this week Jose is my teacher. I came back to Xela so I could study with Jose, because, as he puts it, "people don't get bored" with him. He teaches me useful things like that stupid subjunctive and swear words and how to start a fight, and we do less fun things like review past tenses and uses of the infinitive. But I don't get bored. Hopefully they will let me have him again next week.

After dinner I gave a little tutoring to the boy that looks after the house in the evening. I noticed he was struggling with some homework and asked what he was studying. I didn't understand exactly what he said, but saw that he had a handwritten Turbo Pascal program in front of him. We looked at that for a bit and corrected a few mistakes, then turned to his algebra. I taught him the some of the finer points of factoring; in the morning I'm studying math words so I can help him more.

Had another good learning experience tonight. After I got stood up for drinks this evening-it's not just me anymore like at home, this seems to be an even finer tradition here-I ran into some other people and joined them. One was a Guatemalan guy that's staying at the house for a few days, the other two were Swiss, and Spanish was the only common language. The bar was noisy but I still managed to follow about as well as I would have followed in English I think.

We have rats in the house. They said hi to me as I passed through the kitchen on the way to brush my teeth just now. We've never been formally introduced but I feel as though we have a bit of a bond. It's sort of a partnership-the humans find better ways to keep food from them, and the rats show us that we could do a little better. It keeps us humble, way up here on top of the food chain. So long as they stay away from my chocolate and don't bring any plague home, I could care less if they live under the stove.

And now it's late, and I'm lying in bed writing to you. A pretty typical day here I suppose.

Notes

1. She says I was drunk. I was not. I was merely buzzing really well; she was too drunk to know the difference. By the way, did you know that here you can buy a « litre of semi-decent rum, 2 cokes, a plate of limes and a bucket of ice for a mere 50 quetzals--about US$6.25, Cdn$7.70, or--Brits keep your damn snickering to yourself--œ3.50.

Back to the index