A Tall Adult Boy Learning Spanish
Prints of Buenos Aires: a city map, a postcard of the famed Palermo area known for boutiques and patios, as well as a print of the bohemian San Telmo neighbourhood.
Tuesday, 5pm. Time to walk to Spanish class.
My body is stiff after a day sitting in a solid wood armchair in the apartment I now inhabit in Buenos Aires, a furnished home from a stranger’s previous life. The fourth-floor apartment is one of eight within the early twentieth-century building, whose open-air cage elevator feels like it could be from a museum. Our Buenos Aires apartment, furnished in antique style to match the architecture, feels like another time, not simply a new place.
The apartment is not too far of a walk from the city’s historic centre, but I prepare myself to walk in the opposite direction to get to Spanish class.
My brain has spent the day in Canada, working online in the present day, thinking in English. And so, as I prepare to walk to Spanish class, my mind must reset its location and language at the same time that my body must get out of that wooden chair and get moving for its 30-minute walk to Spanish class.
I don’t want to be late (again).
The walk starts near the Facultad de Medicina and continues to the edge of Palermo Soho. With each street crossing, the transition continues, from Canada to Argentina, from English to Spanish, one street, one calle at a time.
Each street name offers a combination of sounds for my mouth to form. I often speak them out loud with a child-like enthusiasm, much to my husband’s annoyance. My mouth has a child’s ability to make sounds in this new tongue.
When we moved into this neighbourhood, it felt unkind to have to pronounce Avenida Pueyrredón. We were so early into our Spanish-language skill development for such a difficult name. But frequent avenida crossings make for frequent practice. By the time I read up on Juan Martín de Pueyrredón’s role in Argentina’s independence, I had both a historical moment to associate with this difficult double R word and a passable pronunciation of Juan Martín’s avenida.
Many names I still do not understand but work through my mouth all the same. Calle Lavalleja helps me practice the double Ls that distinguish the Spanish spoken here in the Rio de la Plata, a subtropical mosquito-filed estuary between Uruguay and Argentina where the “river of silver” meets the Atlantic, the edge on which the grand city of Buenos Aires sits.
A main street in the historic centre, empty on election day.
November 2023.
Meet your New Spanish Teacher
Sounds and accents are a common topic in Spanish classes, which we began in group form during our first two months in Buenos Aires. We met an array of foreigners, a mix of curious humans whose circumstances have brought them to Argentina. Those group classes helped us find our legs in a new city.
But once we got serious about staying, we enrolled in private classes. And so, on month three, we were introduced to our new Spanish teacher. Her name is Pilar.
When I first met her, I could tell she was smart and kind. She spoke softly and quickly. I spoke with bravado but I understood little. I smiled at her as I started to understand the size of the learning ahead. Me talk pretty some day in el futuro, right Pilar?
When I introduced myself to Pilar in Spanish, I existed only in the present tense. Pilar wanted to help me live beyond the present as soon as possible. Pilar helped me learn the past tense and then the simple future. Once she did that, I was able to introduce the Matthew who existed before Buenos Aires, and I was able to share dreams for the future.
I was able to tell her about Matthew’s Canadian childhood on a farm in the prairies as well as about my recent past in Toronto. I told her that where I am from seems kind of like the agricultural provinces of Argentina. I found words to tell her about some of the grains grown on my family’s farm that that we raised pigs, in contrast to the beef for which Argentina is famous.
I barely knew the simple past tense, so I used half-conjugated verbs along with hand gestures to communicate the timeline for when my husband and I met in Macedonia. And I was able to tell these stories intermingled with stories from present tense day-to-day in Buenos Aires until one day I realized that I had basically talked over my husband and had a one-hour conversation with Pilar in Spanish!
And that’s when I learned how to avoid doing worksheets in Spanish class.
For four hours per week, we speak with Pilar. For two hours per night, each Tuesday and Thursday evening, we tell Pilar about ourselves and ask questions about our new home.
We compare and contrast Canada, Macedonia, and Argentina. We try new words to discuss our countries’ economics, politics, and literatures. We explore vocabularies of the mountains, lakes, rivers, and cities of our homelands. We discuss streety safety and our favourite sweets. We compare and contrast how peanut butter is different in each of our homelands. I praise the exceptional fruit and vegetables so readily available in Buenos Aires. We talk about how the words for those fruits and vegetables vary across the Spanishes of Latin America. I tell her how I fell in love with the word “frutilla” during Argentina’s strawberry season in November and haven’t uttered the word “fresa” ever since.
When we began talking about Pilar to friends, we knew that the title “Spanish teacher” didn’t help them really understand our learning experience. We first joked that Pilar is more like our talk therapist, which has a sort of sense in this city. Buenos Aires is a city where Freud is big and where psychologists are highly valued. We learned that the first neighbourhood we lived in is jokingly referred to as “Plaza Freud” for the number of psychologists who work in the area.
So no, “Spanish teacher” doesn’t quite describe the way Pilar has helped us grow over the past seven months. And so, on one of our long walks through this exceptionally walkable city, my husband referred to Pilar as our “cultural parent.” The phrase has been stuck in my head ever since.
A parent is someone who patiently responds to a child’s endless questions.
A parent is someone who patiently listens as a young speaker struggles to get those questions out of their mouth.
A parent understands that that a young speaker is smarter than he sounds and that he may have fresh observations on this new world.
If he could only get the words out of his mouth and into sentences.
Like a child, I recently brought a new book to class. I wanted to do show-and-tell with Pilar. I had gifted myself a beautifully illustrated children’s book about counting. Counting neighbhoorhoods, counting streets. Counting the dogs and psychologists within those neighbourhoods, those beautifully walkable streets described in children’s poetry. I had read the book at home—all by myself!—barely even using Google Translate.
On another Tuesday, I had brought the book to Spanish class, to share the beautiful words and illustrations of this enchanting city with my cultural parent. My “cultural padre?” No, mi madrina cultural. I did not read the poetic sentences aloud to Pilar, but we did have a great conversation about this city where we are each figuring out how to make a home, just as we speak each week about how we each make our way in this world.
Buenos Aires has a frutería y verdulería on almost every street.
November 2023.
Tactics for Building Community
In a society that we are trying to investigate, to find a way into, Pilar helps us navigate new social contexts. She told us, for example, that it is completely acceptable to cancel on friends on the day you have plans. A legitimate reason is that you simply no longer feel like it today. On the day she informed us of this cultural view, for once I shut my mouth and stopped talking as I lifted my jaw off the floor.
Our cultural parent is helping us understand the social dynamics of Buenos Aires through the group fitness classes we attend. Before moving to Buenos Aires, we selected our neighbourhood based in part on the nearby functional training group class options. The CrossFit-style approach to exercise has benefitted our physical health, and we know that the group classes are good for social health too.
Group fitness classes have been one tactic for building a sense of community in a new place. We had tested the theory on pre-Argentina work trips and a six-week trip back to my husband’s home country Macedonia. Sweating and struggling is a surprisingly good way to let your guard down among strangers and get comfortable with them. Some people use religion to help themselves find a new social home when they move to a new city or country. Others do it through pottery classes or musical groups. I have always said that college or university is the easiest way to build a sense of community in a new place.
In Buenos Aires, we’re giving gym classes a try.
The group classes make for great stories during Spanish class. We’ve definitely told Pilar a few stories about Jamil. We don’t actually know much about him. How could we? Class after class, he was the only person who refused to say hello or make eye contact with us, month after month. In our experience, group classes encourage social interaction. Instead, Jamil focuses on himself and his fitness. He has one friend he speaks to, but no one else.
I once walked in on him taking a shirtless selfie in the bathroom. How could I not tell that story to Pilar?
Pilar then introduced us to the word “banana.” Yes, like the fruit, but no, not exactly the fruit. When Pilar kisses her bicep and imitates a man showing off his body, I start I understand.
Another day, we share the story of Anita. Our voices soften and our shoulders relax when we talk about beautiful Anita; we glow when we share how she came out of her way to say hello and to make us feel welcome at a new gym. Anita introduced the phrase “todo bien” to our daily vocabulary as part of our brief introductory greetings every morning. The world needs more Anitas who go out of their way to make newcomers feel welcome.
We did not stay at the gym with Anita, though. It was better than the previous gym, and we gave it almost five months. But it just didn’t quite feel like home.
But we’re excited to share how well gym number four is coming along so far. Perhaps it’s simply that we finally have vocabulary for weightlifting small talk in Spanish. After class, others like to hang out together, stretching and chatting, and cheering each other on in even more sporty things than I can stay for before going back to work.
But I am happy to show up for that one-hour gym class and give it my all, physically and socially.
I am committed to gym number four. I even go to gym class on days my husband can’t go with me. On one such day, gym class included a partner workout. I was touched when Félix asked me to be his partner. That childhood anxiety of getting picked last in gym class never leaves, it seems.
And, thanks to Félix’s kindness, another day I had the confidence to approach a familiar-looking gym class stranger and ask him to be my partner for the workout. That day I met Deyveyson (“como ‘Harley Davidson,’” he explained). Deveyson is one of many Brazilians studying medicine in Buenos Aires. He has an exceptional number of exams to prepare for in the near future, and he made me feel good about the development of my Spanish-language abilities. We chatted as best we could about the challenges and joys of adapting to life in a new language and country.
Another day, I partnered with a girl from Pinamar, a seaside town that is a highly desirable vacation destination during the hot and sweaty summer months. The girl from Pinamar is studying artificial intelligence, which I find very ambitious, and I tell her so. We get to know each other bit by bit as we select our weights for the multi-exercise partner workout. We organize kettlebells and barbells. I offer to share my skipping rope. I had to buy one after realizing that most gyms here don’t have ropes long enough for my height.
Once the workout starts, we build a good rhythm, encouraging each other to push past our fatigue. By round three, she surprises me: she wants to give up on the goblet squats. Instead of 10, she’s going to stop at 7. I insist that she is capable of finishing them, even if she needs to break them up into smaller more manageable sets. I could see how strong she was, so I used the best Spanish I have to cheer her to the finish line. I wanted to make sure she remembered how strong she is too.
Individuals can do many things, but they are strengthened by their community. A community is the foundation on which an individual can thrive. Before moving to Buenos Aires, we understood the tactical importance of building a sense of community in a new home.
Gym number four is going really well so far.
A newspaper the day after Javier Milei won the presidency with 56% of the vote in the second runoff, ushering in a dramatically new political era in Argentina.
November 2022.
The Spanishes of Taxis and TikTok
On days when we don’t have Spanish class, we apply our learning on the streets of Buenos Aires. Whether in our favourite local café where we love to chat with Walter and Noelia, or with the vegetable vendor down the street who kindly explains how best to cook his pre-cut mixed trays that include calabaza squash and acelga chard. One new vegetable word and task at a time, I try to make small talk during life’s interactions using the best language abilities I have, figuring out how to live day to day life when everything is so similar yet ever-so-slightly different.
Confidence is key. You have to stand up and brush yourself off even when you feel discouraged. Even when someone in gym class says they can’t understand a word you’re saying. Three times in a row just to make sure it’s clear how terrible your Spanish-language skills are and how she does not want to make space for you to do wall balls beside her. Confidence is key. You just have to pick it up off the ground and stand back on your feet. A burpee is just practice getting up off the ground, after all.
Thankfully, such moments are rare. Porteños—as the people of Buenos Aires are known—have been exceptionally patient and kind as they interact with this strange foreigner who looks like an adult but speaks like a child.
A childlike enthusiasm mixes well with confidence. I eagerly spark conversation with every taxista—and let me tell you how much the taxistas of Buenos Aires are happy to have a conversation! One taxista even told me that now I am of Buenos Aires, and I can be a porteño too. With many a taxista, I ask for personal views on Argentine politics and economics. I listen. I learn. Taxistas are famous for obliging such conversations, especially given significant changes occurring since Javier Milei became president the very month of our arrival.
My policy is to share no opinions on politics.
I read. I ask questions. I listen.
I feel too ignorant to have a properly formed opinion on a country so new to me. I keep my mouth shut.
But I do occasionally permit myself an opinion that I will explore in conversation with Pilar. And, upon insistence, I once shared some political thoughts with my barber. He really did insist. In all cases, I take time and do my best to acknowledge some of the biases shaping my viewpoint.
And as I try to get the words out of my mouth, my cultural parent patiently helps me speak and think through this new world. She helps this child see a new world for the first time as he tries to make sense of it all.
She helps me understand Javier Milei and what he means as part of this country’s massive and difficult pursuit of positive change. We puzzle through it together with the words and contexts and reference points we have from Canada and Macedonia—and, more and more, of Latin America.
But amidst all the talking, do not let it be said that Pilar only helps us with our speaking and listening skills. Our exceptional teacher also helps us read. She has brought us texts about Peronism, after our analysis of a short story by Julio Cortázar prompted questions of historical context from the 1940s and 50s.
Pilar also encourages us to bring in our own texts. I occasionally pick out articles from daily newspapers that I must buy in the morning, because most of the news vendors in street kiosks close by the time I walk to Spanish class at 5:00pm. I bring questions from the English-language textbook I’m reading to understand Argentina’s last 500 years. She answers questions patiently and researches with us when she doesn’t have an answer. She helps us understand Argentina’s past tenses, versions of speaking in the present, and the conditional tense of Argentina.
Texts are not all written. We co-examine videos of Argentine TikTok figures (with subtitles!). I think we laughed until we cried on our first Spanish TikTok day.
We open our Instagram accounts, too. We show her photos of other Porteño “bananas.” If there’s anything my literary education gave me, it’s a clear understanding that there are many forms of “texts” worthy of analysis. I already have an essay title ready: “Cis-Gay Porteños & Instagram Self-Fashioning.” I learn more new things when I study Spanish and Gen Z through TikTok, but I can also read symbols more skillfully in a familiar community.
I see some of these people at the gym, but I also want a rich life with more complexity and people who will teach me new things and help me see life in new ways. I have started considering pottery classes. Pilar suggested that I start a bilingual book club. Or maybe a “short text” group, where we read manageable texts for reading and discussion in both English and Spanish.
Pilar said she will be the first to sign up once I get it started.
I haven’t organized the reading group yet, but she is cheering me on to try. She knows how strong and capable I am. She cheers to make sure that I know too.
