the language of love ...

You know how it is: you learn a language at school (or at uni, in my case), you rarely visit the country and then one fine day you find yourself in a bar in Seville asking for two toilets (servicios) instead of two beers (cervezas).

Now whilst I enjoy making good-looking young barmen laugh, I actually prefer to have them laughing with me rather than at me. In that moment, I made a mental note to investigate refresher courses in Spanish to avoid further humiliation should I bump into, say, Gael Garcia Bernal. This goal would go on the same list as writing a novel and climbing Macchu Picchu (accompanied by llamas).

Exactly a year later, following a last-minute panic holiday decision, I am in a classroom in Barcelona with six other hopefuls: French gardener Yasmina, 28; French artist Florence, 25; Swedish students Stefan, 20, and Sandra, 21; the impossibly tall and blonde German tennis ace, Louisa, 19; and fellow Brit, Guy, 44, who has just moved to the Catalan capital with his family.

Whilst we all have different motives for doing so (Yasmina – to find a boyfriend, Florence – to work in a Spanish design company, Stefan – to travel around South America, Sandra – to find a job in a hotel, Louisa – to add another string to her multi-talented bow, Guy – to communicate with the locals, and me – to impress compact-but-attractive Mexican actors), we all have one thing in common: we all want to improve our Spanish and we’re prepared to pay for it. With sweat (cue theme tune from ‘Fame’).

The last time I was in this situation I was 14 years younger and about the same amount of pounds lighter not to mention more interested in going out every night than studying. I spent three years learning Spanish (as a subsidiary subject to French) at Leeds University, including a term in Granada, and then …. nada. What would it be like this time around?

My first pleasant surprise was that after taking an ability test on the first morning along with the other new students (multiple choice questions and a ‘conversation’ with one of the teachers), I was put in the intermediate class. I’d modestly graded myself on the application form as ‘elementary’ – one up from knowing nothing. I must have done some work in between chupitos (flavoured shots) in the bars on Granada’s c/Pedro Antonio, after all.

But I was seriously lacking in vocabulary and had pretty much forgotten most verb forms. Would the two-week intensive make me socially acceptable, paving my way for entry onto the Iberian A-list, instead of a bumbling pariah, forever destined to wistfully watch re-runs of The Motorcycle Diaries?

The woman on whose shoulders this mammoth task rested was our teacher, Carmen. Each weekday morning, in our four-hour lesson, we ploughed our way through the exercises in the coursebook she’d co-written, Aula, which included pair work and word games. Mercifully, it all started to come back: gerunds, subjunctives, pluperfects and past imperfects. Ah, happy days. I was rapidly becoming el repelente niño Vicente (class swot), eager to be first to answer.

Afternoons were spent discovering the city: the school organised free guided tours to the Picasso Museum, which houses his early work; the Barri Gòtic, Barcelona’s medieval old town; the 19th-century Modernista buildings such as wavy La Pedrera and dragon-like Casa Batlló; and, my personal favourite, the Chocolate Museum. This would be followed by a couple of hours in the Café del Born in Plaza Comercial or Dolso at c/Valencia 227, whose desserts were highly conducive to doing homework. I even managed two afternoons on the beach – in October.

Wishing to immerse myself in the language as much as possible, I’d opted to stay with a ‘family’. Matilde, my host, lived alone, worked nights in the hospital and spent her days either sleeping, doing housework or watching TV.

Undeterred, there were other means of learning: the regional media. When I first arrived, I spent about ten minutes reading a newspaper and the same amount watching the news before realising that I was actually seeing/listening to Catalan. A bilingual city, the language is everywhere – especially on restaurant menus – but there was no trouble communicating in castellano. I got plenty of practise asking waiters to translate the Catalan into Spanish.

One of the most interesting things about learning another language in the motherland is that you also learn a lot about other cultures.

One night I watched a football match (Barça, naturally) with fellow student Swiss Nora, 18, who chain-smoked for Zurich and sported a fetching necklace of lovebites. She explained: “If Swiss people watch a game that doesn’t involve our national team then no one is allowed to cheer because we must remain neutral.”

Who said Switzerland was boring? And how long has it had a national football team?

In class, I discovered that Stefan and Sandra, both reed-thin, head to the all-you-can-eat-for-8€ buffet restaurants on c/Laietana because Swedish people consume much more for lunch than Spanish people. “Food is a lot cheaper in Sweden and salaries are much higher,” said Sandra.

I made a mental note that should the Gael thing not work out I would consider moving to Stockholm to indulge in comfort eating.

By the second week, after plenty of conversation in class and around the city (which strangely only seemed to involve asking for directions and ordering food), I was finally getting into the swing of things and wished that I was staying for longer.

I might not currently be able to have a fluent conversation about the lack of affordable housing for young people in Spain (I really must do more study on my verb endings) but I know enough to buy a flight to Mexico City where I’ll never starve or dehydrate while I’m waiting to bump into Gael. And I’ll certainly have no trouble if I ever get caught short!

ENDS

INFORMATION BOX

I studied at International House, c/Trafalgar 14, 08010 Barcelona. Tel: +34 93 268 4511. www.ihes.com/bcn/spanish. The school also offers ‘virtual courses’ at www.netlanguages.com.

For other schools accredited by the Instituto Cervantes, Spain’s official organisation to promote the teaching of Spanish, see

http://centrosasociados.cervantes.es/CAcreditados2.asp.