Language Learning

Warsaw, Poland, 2000

I'm in my apartment on Ulica Białobrzeska, located in the western part of Ochota. It's a Soviet-era building that stands thirty floors high, and I'm up on the 22nd floor. I live here with another English teacher named James, though it's been days since I've last seen him.

I don’t really mind since the flat is quite small. The kitchen barely fits an oven, and the bathroom is just as cramped, no bigger than a sink. There’s no living room, only a narrow hallway where I occasionally chat with James if he's around.

My room does feature a balcony. When I mention "balcony," it's really just a tiny 2-by-3-foot concrete ledge extending from the building. The railings are sturdy and durable, yet I still get dizzy whenever I step out for a smoke. So, most of the time, I just leave the door open. This small act makes the apartment seem infinitely more spacious.

I light up a cigarette and glance at the book I've just begun. It's titled Take Off in Spanish: From Complete Beginner to Intermediate in 14 Easy-to-Digest Units.

My girlfriend gifted it to me right before I departed from England. Our plan was to reunite in Barcelona six months later, once my contract in Warsaw was over. Unfortunately, I never saw her again.

That midnight phone call. ‘Hi, it’s Sarah.’

You don’t have to get into the specifics, but I never actually made it to Barcelona. However, I was still set on learning Spanish. A lot of guys would have given up and tossed the book aside, saying forget about Spain, but I’m way too stubborn for that.

I might not be heading to Barcelona, but I still have plans to visit Spain. By the time I get there, based on what the book says, I should have reached an intermediate level.

Málaga, Spain, 2001

I arrive at Málaga airport along with 10,000 other Britons. The majority of them will be funneled towards the Costa del Sol resorts. There, they’ll sizzle on the beaches like beefburgers, slaking their thirst with litre bottles of San Miguel.

I scan the area for a bus or taxi, but the crowd outweighs the available transportation, prompting me to opt for walking instead. Without a map, I'm unsure of the distance, but carrying just a backpack, I'm not overly worried.

Two hours later, I find myself in the heart of the town. It's around seven in the evening and I am craving a beer, so I take a seat at a pizza café and notice a waiter heading my way. This is my first opportunity to speak Spanish, ever.

‘Hola, how can I help you today?’ the waiter says in perfect English.

I could respond in English, but my thoughts wander back to Chapter Two of "Take Off in Spanish: Ordering Food and Drink." I decide to order a beer and a mushroom pizza.

‘You speak Spanish,’ he says, almost shocked.

‘Un poquito,’ I mutter.

‘¡Bueno!’

My first chat in Spanish: I ordered a beer and a mushroom pizza. When he returns with my food, I inquire if there’s a pensión close by, and he gestures toward Pensión Alhambra just behind me.

For the next four evenings, I dine and drink at the local pizza café. I’m not quite sure why I chose that spot specifically; after all, I had plenty of other options in Málaga, which is quite a large city. However, I was eager to immerse myself in the language and culture right from the start.

Language isn't just about having a grasp of vocabulary and grammar; it's about having confidence. You might be flawless in written form, but when you're plunged into real-life situations, it's far more challenging than following a well-organized audio lesson.

I studied French in school for seven years. However, when I traveled to France for the first time at 18, I could hardly say a word.

I recall attempting to order a beer in a bar, struggling to get out the words *une bière*. It wasn't that I lacked the vocabulary — for goodness' sake, I had read Camus' *La Peste* in French! The issue was my nerves. Stepping into a bustling bar in a foreign country, with all eyes on you, can make even the most proficient speaker feel uneasy.

After I finish my pizza, I step away from the cozy terrace designed for tourists and head into the bar. This is where authentic life unfolds. This is the spot where locals gather to eat, drink, and most importantly, watch football.

When you're honing your language skills with strangers, you can't simply bombard them with questions like their age, where they reside, or how to get to the station. You need genuine topics for conversation. Although my Spanish was limited, I was well-versed in football.

I walk into the bar and am surprised by its compact size—it’s about the size of a living room. The bar itself is on the left, while the right-side wall hosts a TV. Scattered between them are various tables and chairs. Unsure of my next move since the place is jam-packed, I manage to find a spot on a barstool. The waiter promptly sets a beer down in front of me.

Real Madrid is up against Celta Vigo, and it's obvious that the crowd isn't fond of Madrid. I decide to act like I'm supporting Vigo as well. I strike up a conversation with the guy beside me, mentioning that I'm actually a Leeds United fan. I tell him we've faced Real Madrid just twice in our entire history, and both times ended in defeat for us. Somehow, he gets it, and I start to feel more at ease.

Celta Vigo ultimately falls short with a three-nil defeat, but the match itself is enjoyable. I manage to chat a bit in Spanish, and everyone's in good spirits. The second night, I find myself sharing a table with a few locals again, and another game is on. This time it's Barcelona playing (I can't recall who they're facing), but the locals seem to loathe them just as much as Madrid. The third night brings South American football, and by the fourth night, we're all watching a soap opera.

I choose to depart from Málaga the following day. It’s not due to the soap opera, even though that was quite tempting. There’s just something about Málaga that doesn’t sit well with me. Initially, I intended to settle in the city and seek out teaching opportunities. However, aside from the pizza café, I’m unable to connect with the place.

So in the morning, I gather my belongings and make my way to the station to catch a bus to Sevilla.

Only I don’t.

At the bus station, a mix-up happens. I mistakenly board the wrong bus and find myself in Granada two hours later.

Granada, Spain, 2001

In an earlier article for this magazine titled A Very Good Year Indeed, I described my time in Granada. Therefore, I won't reiterate any of that here.

What I can tell you, however, is that over that year, I mastered the language. It wasn't just because I sat through tedious Spanish lessons, though I did that as well. The real key was speaking Spanish constantly and, crucially, refusing to switch back to English.

Granada attracts visitors globally, many of whom head to this historic Andalusian city to study Spanish. Throughout my year there, I encountered numerous English speakers. Nevertheless, I consistently adhered to my principle of conversing in Spanish.

One of the biggest irritations for native English speakers learning a new language is when others assume it's acceptable to practice their English with them. Confidence makes up 90% of speaking a language. The worst thing you can experience is someone interrupting in English just as you're about to nail that perfect word or tense. It's extremely annoying and can really damage your self-assurance.

Most of the time, I ended up hanging out with Spanish people who didn't speak English, anyway. I got to know a Spanish girl, and she introduced me to her friends. We often made our way up to the old Arabic quarter, Albaicín, where we'd visit the numerous bars and clubs in the area. Many of these spots were simply rooms carved out of the limestone cliffs.

We had some unforgettable nights, most of which are now a bit hazy. But I consistently spoke Spanish, and by the end of my year, I could chat away all night in the language. It all started with those initial evenings at the pizza café in Málaga, watching the football with the locals.

Those four nights meant the world to me. They fueled my enthusiasm. Boosted my self-assurance. And from that point forward, it felt like there was no reason not to speak Spanish.

I currently reside in France and, unfortunately, I've lost much of my Spanish. Nevertheless, I know it's still within me. It's always there. The memories of those initial four nights in Málaga ensure I'll never forget it.