Hola! Me llamo Spain!

A family holiday to Spain paired with absolutely no knowledge of the Spanish language beyond what Dora and Boots skilfully taught us about fifteen years ago. This sheer lack of linguistic ability lead my brother and I to whimsically joke between ourselves, "Me llamo Spain."

What idiots.

After two weeks and four lessons spent baffled beyond belief at the ambitious task of learning Spanish, I am now fully aware that "Me llamo not Spain." As well as this little, but significant, discovery, there are a few more things I have realised:

1. Spanish people speak really, really fast.
2. I should have learnt a little bit before I arrived. 
3. Stage fright doesn't only happen on stage. 

It's crazy enough to hear people in public; walking to the shop, sitting in the pub, stepping into the lift, people always seem to be on fast-forward. It's a lot to take in early in the morning. There are times that I have wished (despite the view) I lived on a lower floor... or had the will to walk up and down seven flights of stairs every day. 

Just so you can understand my pain, here's some science.

Apparently, Spanish is spoken with an average of 7.82 syllables per second. Trailing behind, English has an average of 6.19 per second... I don't do numbers, but Google told me these three times so it must be true.  All I can conclude from these statistics is that I was born to be slow and I've proved that in every Spanish lesson I've had so far. 

If there is one phrase that I have perfected in the two months that I've been here, it is "Despacio, por favour." I utter this phrase more than I care to admit on a daily basis - even to my classes of six year olds. 

I let myself off slightly as far as my Spanish is concerned: I only had a week to prepare and move myself overseas, so learning the lingo wasn't quite top of my priority list. Looking back now, it would have been a good idea. It wasn't until after I arrived that I realised where I had actually moved to. I am in Galicia... this is not the Spain that is thought of when you think of Spain. It rains, a jumper is a necessity and nobody. Knows. English. I feel that I'm closer to mastering sign language than I am Spanish because I have to play a game of charades with everyone I encounter.

Oh well, as long as I can order myself a glass of wine and a snack, does it really matter how I get it?

Even when I know the words and how to form the correct response to a simple question without having to wave manically in front of the speaker for five minutes, I can't. Even when asked the simplest question "Hola, qué tal?" I find myself smiling like a crazed lunatic and giving a foolishly cheerful thumbs-up instead of the painfully simple response of "Bien!"

All of the words that could tumble from my mouth - and it's very rare there is a moment that words aren't spouting out of me - and all I can manage is a thumbs-up? It pains me on a spiritual level that I am forced to live a life in silence due to the fact that I find it impossible to speak a foreign language without having twenty minutes to prepare myself first.

It really is tragic.

But, I have until this June or the next to get to the point of babbling on about nothing in Spanish... One helluva task.