Spanish Time

Like many of the capital cities in Central America, San Jose is best off avoided. It is ugly and has zero obvious signs of culture. Most tourists spend nothing more than a night there on their way to the beaches or jungle. I stayed for three weeks.

Costa Rica is like an example to the rest of Latin America. It’s relatively rich, partly a consequence of a well-managed tourism industry and partly because, in contrast to neighbours Panama and Nicaragua, it has been a stable democracy for 60 years.

How they achieved this seems to be a story of great leaders. First some guy in the forties came to power in a military coup and decided to disband the army. Even if there had been a civil war like in Nicaragua, the people would have had only bananas with which to fight. Then, when Reagan did his best to drag the Costa Rican’s into helping the Contra-revolutionaries in Nicaragua the country voted to ignore him.

In a way that makes it a bland destination for backpackers: lots of North Americans on holiday, relatively high prices and a less welcoming atmosphere. The people have tired of surfers acting like twats, and I worked hard to distance myself from this image so that they liked me. Of course, it would have been sufficient to watch me attempt to surf, but we were inland and up a mountain so I resorted to being polite.

Why, then, did I stay for 3 weeks? Well I was doing a preparation course for an internationally recognised language exam and San Jose seemed like the best place to do it of the available choices. I arranged this before I arrived.

Most of the city was built in the sixties, and it is uuuuuuugly. Pavements were never built at all, so any pedestrians share the edge of the road with terribly driven cars and buses. It rains heavily from 12 till dark every day without exception, often with thunder and lightning. The puddles in the street mean that, even if you don’t get run-over, you almost certainly get a good soaking.

I scoured the city listings looking for an apartment with local students, knowing that the most important thing to practice was the spoken language. I had a good mastery of the grammar and my written Spanish had reached a good level, but with only a few months in touristy locations to practice oral communication I was far behind my classmates: one had a Cuban husband and had been living in Costa Rica for 10 years and the other had spent a year living in San Jose with her local boyfriend.

Of course, as always, the only short-term options were popular with foreigners. In the end I moved in with a Costa Rican girl, two Dutch girls and American bloke and a Norwegian, placing all of my hopes on the native speaker. Unfortunately she wasn’t around much, and when we spoke in Spanish the others gave us funny looks. One again, conversing in the official language of the country I was in had become an unrealisable dream.

Because of this, despite doing well in the grammar and written tests in the exam, I didn’t practice what I needed to most, something that you can’t do in the classroom. Although I could speak clearly and accurately in Spanish it was just too much of a novelty for me, not quite instinctive enough, to happen naturally and fluently under the pressure of the exam. And failing one part means failing it all, so I await the results, due in a few months, with little confidence.

After the exam, and a night of drowning my sorrows, I got on a bus to the coast. For the first time in my trip I had given up on Spanish – if you want to learn a language get a job, some friends and stay in the same place – and planned to get drunk and impress American girls with my English accent and the Oxford thing. And then, unexpectedly and very ironically, something happened and I found exactly what I had been looking for.

In the bus station, on my own and back in that often necessary, superficial, hostel bar friends-meeting mode for the first time in a few weeks, I noticed two Spanish girls. Despite wanting to, I didn’t have the guts to speak to them (obviously), but it turned out we were on the same bus, and I was sitting next to one of them, with the other a few rows back. From here even I couldn't fail to get chatting and we spent the next 5 hours talking continuously.

A Chilean guy joined us and, as a four, we had a fantastic 7 days on Panamanian islands and the Costa Rican coast. The week was spent laughing, joking, mucking around and getting drunk. I didn’t speak a word of English, and it all came out without thinking, as if my mind had finally adapted like I had wanted.

There were two details that meant the conversations had a very different dynamic from speaking to taxi drivers or fishermen: a) we had more to talk about than football b) they spoke Spanish correctly. A cynic might add c) I was trying to get in their pants. I refuse to comment, except to confirm that this certainly wasn't this case with most taxi drivers.

During this time, if anyone in the street spoke to me in English I ignored it – it didn’t even register. If it was important I spoke back in Spanish. I had the confidence to shout them down if necessary, and in fact it was easier than having to think in English again.

On the last night for fun and as practice we spoke a little in English. It wasn’t that their English was bad; it was just like my Spanish had been four months ago. And in that moment I realised, despite the exam, what I had achieved. Because although they were speaking perfectly they had no personality; it was like they had changed, become one dimensional, even boring, which they certainly weren’t.

And I knew that, despite speaking perfectly well, I would have seemed like that myself in Spanish a few months back, and it must have been a huge barrier to getting on with local people. And I realised that I could never have got to know them so well - got to understand what they were really like as people - speaking in English.

At the girls’ behest, we soon resorted back to Spanish and the joking and banter started again. Spanish Felix isn’t quite the same as English Felix, but he’s no worse, no more boring. In fact, I think he might even be better; he thinks just a split-second longer before opening his mouth.