LEARNING SPANISH
Or
Mucho Verbosity
During which we found themselves slowly sinking in a sea of Spanish verbs
The book 500 Spanish Verbs is, I am told, indispensable to the student of Spanish. Granted, 500 may not sound like a lot of verbs, but consider the following. The English conjugation of to speak is: I speak, you speak, he speaks, we speak, you (pl.) speak, they speak. Speak, speaks, just two simple words. En espanol, the conjugation of hablar (to speak) is: yo hablo, tu hablas, el habla, nosotros hablamos, vosotros hablais, ellos hablan. Six words. So already we have 3,000 verbs and we’re only in the present tense.
I know what you’re saying, that I chose an easy English word for comparison. Believe me when I tell you that I chose an easy Spanish one as well, hablar being a regular verb. There are many, far too many, irregular verbs, the conjugation of which often defies explanation. The conjugation of Ir, to go, is voy, vas, va, vamos, vais and van. Commit that to your memory bank.
When you add the rest of the tenses ? the Indicative Mood, the past, imperfect, future and conditional; the Subjunctive Mood, present and imperfect tenses; the Compound Tenses, perfect, progressive, present participle and past participle; Reflexive Verbs and the Imperative Mood – the result is more verbs than there are grains of sand in a bull ring.
Still not convinced? Allow me to introduce Ser and Estar, both meaning To Be. Yes, friends, the Spanish have two ways to say To Be. To simplify an extremely complex differentiation, Estar expresses location, state or condition, while Ser describes essential characteristics, origin and tells time and dates. For those still standing, here’s the knockout blow. Ser is conjugated thusly: yo soy, tu eres, el es, nosotros somos, vosotros sois, ellos son. Mastering Ser and Estar makes running with the bulls a walk in the park!
Kay and I began an “intensive” course of Spanish on January 26. The foundation where we took our classes describes intensive as 10 hours a week. There are also eight- and six-hour programs offered. What we discovered was that a two-hour class requires two to three additional hours a day of study. We also discovered that studying two to three hours a day, plus two hours a day on weekends, was not enough. We were dog paddling like crazy and the big waves, the compound tenses, were still to come.
The problem was basically this: there was so much material we simply didn’t have time to review it all while adding new vocabulary and concepts every class. It was like being one of those tea or coffeepots whose spout is lower than the rim; when you try to fill it to the top, the water comes out the spout. As reflexive verbs, the use of hay, gustar and aguno were poured in top, ordinals, diphthongs and the difference between determinate and indeterminate articles were pouring out the spout. It was time to slow the pouring.
So, after four weeks of Spanish classes, Kay and I bid Anna, our lovely, flamenco-dancing teacher, a fond adios and launched ourselves into the calmer seas of “home schooling.” We feel we have a pretty solid foundation upon which to build, and Anna was impressed with the course book we purchased. The book is English, not American, so we’ll probably come upon a lorry parked outside a chemist’s shop, but we feel confident that by spending the hour or so a day that the course requires, we’ll learn Spanish. We’ll learn a little slower, but we’ll get there without drowning.
After all, our goals are modest. We want to understand and be understood as we shop, dine and travel. We’d like to exchange a few pleasantries with our neighbors and the merchants with whom we deal with regularly. We need to be able to navigate bureaucratic and legal mazes, like next fall’s visa renewal and, if we decide to move, a new lease. We also need to communicate medical needs if necessary. Seems reasonable enough, doesn’t it?
The Archives
The early blog entries can now be found in The Archives. There they lie (at least in my imagination) bound in twine, covered with dust and cobwebs, high on a shelf in the subbasement of a very large, stone building, perhaps in Philadelphia.
The entrance to The Archives can be reached by scrolling down to the bottom of the current entries. These old entries are “boxed” in the months in which they appeared. A description of Our Street, for example, can be found in the October 2003, box. The Road to Morocco, parts one and two, are located in November.
If you decide to visit, remember to wear gloves and old clothes. I understand that the place is rarely cleaned.
GIVING IN TO THE DAY
Today, February third, we completed the second day of the second week of our Spanish lessons. Last week’s lessons were from noon till two, after which we did a short internet session, then went home for a light lunch, a bit of study, then siesta. This week the classes have been changed from ten to noon.
We left our flat for the short walk to class at ten minutes till ten. According to our thermometer, it was 10 C, or 50 F. There was a light, cool breeze. I wore a T-shirt, flannel shirt, sweater vest and light jacket. Kay was dressed similarly and wore a scarf. The sky was a cloudless, deep blue.
A little after twelve we were back outside. The day had warmed considerably and we were soon carrying our jackets. We rejected eating lunch at home or inside; the day was far too nice. We walked a few blocks, purchased some film, then some flowers, then decided to eat at a café we knew up on the Albayzin. It is always sunny there.
We dropped our books and the flowers off at the flat, then headed up the hill. Halfway up the hill we shed the jackets we’d kept on just in case it cooled off.
We reached the café before one. Only two tables were occupied. The Spanish generally don’t have lunch until two. We took a table at the line between the sun and shade and ordered two beers. Our tapas were two slices of Spanish tortilla (an egg and potato pie) plus a handful of olives and pickled vegetables. I removed my vest and moved to the other side of the table to avoid the glare of the bright sun.
After we finished the beers and tapas, we ordered lunch. We’d eaten here before and knew what we liked. Kay had fried calamari and I had fried anchovies. Stop. I know that sounds awful, but it’s not what you think. These anchovies have never seen a tin. They are very small, fresh fish that have been breaded and deep-fried. They are so delicate that you simply take the whole fish in a bite. Delicious. Both meals came with a pile of French fries, a large salad and basket of fresh bread, all for only ¤6 each. Of course, we had a second beer.
The sun grew stronger and we shed another layer. The café was filling up. A guitar player sang nearby. Neither of us had been able to finish our lunch. We knew that studying Spanish before siesta was out of the question. And we had the newspaper with us. We sighed and gave in to the day. We ordered another beer (the small glasses hold only about 9 ounces). Our table was cleared. We read The International Tribune in warm sun. We watched the waiters put out more tables. In Spain, as in most of Europe, you are not rushed from your table when you finish; it is yours as long as you wish.
At two-thirty we finished our beers, then made our way slowly down the hill. I was asleep by three. I awoke a little before four and wrote this. It was too good not to share.
