Use it or lose it. I passed a month speaking zero Spanish and was anxious to get the tongue rolling again. With each passing year I forget a few words, and find myself saying ‘Como?’ in conversation too often. The more time away, the more time my brain needs to limber up and regain fluency.
I Came to Los Angeles a few days ago. LA – what better place to let the Espanol fly. Sunday I found myself on Melrose where my son runs the bar of a popular new restaurant. I had brunch there and met Felipe, cook at the taqueria next door. Born and raised in LA, he greeted me warmly in English and invited me next door for a drink.
As brunch was ending, I went to the taqueria and joined Felipe and three of his amigos, two men from Mexico, and an attractive Cal-Mex woman who greeted me in English. I joined them for a drink and told them I lived in Costa Rica. One of the guys was quite drunk, and smiled and said, “Yo, Meh-co”. I had to say “Como?” twice before I realized he was telling me he was from Mexico.
The other guy was coherent, so we struck up a conversation. One of the first people he mentioned was Maribel Guardia. My knowledge of Tiquicia is good enough that I knew of Maribel, a Tica by birth who was once Miss Costa Rica, and has achieved decades of fame in Mexico as a multi-faceted entertainer. She has acted in movies and tv, modeled, gained recording contracts, and in her later career hosted a popular tv program.
When we finished saying cosas bonitas about Maribel, I brought up Keylor Navas. He is finishing his brilliant career as captain and goalie for Pumas of the Mexican first division. My new amigo liked Navas, but felt that Ochoa, the long-time mexican goalie was igual. We debated this. I enjoyed the convo.
I spoke slowly, rolling every R, emphasizing the correct syllable on the longer words. I don’t remember what else we discussed. In the festive taqueria I heard English, Spanish, Chinese and what may have been Armenian. After a while Felipe joined us and we spoke in English until it was time for me to leave.
The next morning I hiked around the hills of the Silver Lake neighborhood, streets as long and steep as those I walk in San Isidro del General. The workers I passed here and there, renovating a house or doing landscaping, all spoke Spanish. Passing one group, I heard someone say “Pura vida’ in conversation. I almost stopped.
They were working and the chance to interrupt them to make some slim connection and babble a few seconds in their language seemed stupid. So I walked on. There are only about 3,000 Ticos in Los Angeles, or one-thousandth (0.1%) of the population, so they likely were not Costa Ricans. Besides, the expression “Pura Vida’ was first coined in the 1956 Mexican movie titled, you guessed it, “Pura Vida!”
Wherever that anonymous worker was from, Pura Vida to him. It is good to know that I am where I can hear and speak enough Spanish until I return to keep me in practice. Think I’ll head down to the taqueria right now.
