Imaginary Conversations

When your Spanish isn’t perfect you listen for key words – hints at what the speaker is saying. From that you extrapolate the meaning of a sentence, a phrase, a question, or a statement. This can be dangerous and everyone has a moment when they nod and smile but really they were supposed to answer in sentence form:

Question: “How long are you in Peru?”

Answer: Nod. Smile.

This is clearly wrong. In this case the other person tries again slowly (which sometimes works), looks for someone else to translate (best case scenario), or looks for someone else with whom to converse (a little painful, but understandable).

Over the course of the last week and a half my Spanish has improved immensely, but mostly I think my ability to figure out what someone is trying to say – or at least to nod at the right times – has gotten better. It also helps that Limenos like to talk, so if you’re quiet that’s fine. More room for them.

Last night a guitarist named Felix drove me to my host family’s house in Surco, a beautiful, slightly upscale residential area of the city. It’s a little off the beaten track, so I appreciated the ride. The whole way there he told me about music in the city, the soul of a Limenan, the health of Lima, sleeping late, composing, and every Limenan’s favourtie subject: traffic.

At least that’s what I think he talked about. I’m pretty sure there was a mention of “soul” in there and something passionate in his voice about the city while he said it. I think he talked about the pollution and walking around. He definitely talked about traffic. That one was obvious when someone cut him off and clearly wanted to swear but politely stopped himself since I was a guest in his car. Instead I got an explanation of impatience. “Impacienza,” I’m pretty sure.

He was pretty convinced I knew what he was saying because when he asked for the piece of paper with the directions to my house on it I unconsciously and immediately gave it to him. I actually watched in awe as my left hand moved instinctively to his. He hadn’t even reached for the paper yet. So maybe I’m doing okay.

I also spoke French/English/Spanish in one clump yesterday with some Limenan ex-pats living in France and an Argentinian here for the festival who’s learning French herself. And I was also surpised by the feeling of relief I had when they said they spoke French. I spend my time in Montreal enjoying speaking French but being relieved when I can slip back into the safety of English and here I am in Lima feeling incredible joy and relief at being able to express myself in French. Comfort in a language is all relative it seems.

So there’s usually a way to get by. Though I’ll admit that “si,” “no,” and “donde es/está,” (where is) are my favourite words. Most people think the foreigner trying to speak Spanish is cute, fortunately. Still, all these imaginary conversations could be completely wrong. I’m probably making up stories, misunderstanding people’s intentions (and invitation to someone’s house late at night, for example…) and I could be understanding nothing. But it keeps me sane. I have a lot more respect for people who don’t speak English or French in Montreal.

And I’ll admit I’ve done a little bit of English swearing, just because I could, and nobody would say anything. It’s a personal game that’s a little fun. But it just reminds me that the need to be understood is stronger than I knew. And language is superficial; it’s only one small part of who we are. So Lima makes me ask how much of our lives we spend simply trying to be understood?