After a couple of weeks my conversational Spanish was decent. My grammar, on the other hand, was nonexistent. Though I strongly believe immersion is the best way to learn to speak a language, sitting in a classroom and learning the rules should follow, so you can write as well.
So while Ian ducked over to South America for a conference, I went to Seville to give my Spanish some structure. I couldn’t really be bothered doing research on what school would suit me best (there are lots to choose from in Seville), so when a woman from CLIC posted a comment on this blog I decided her school would do nicely. I paid for a week’s intensive Spanish, staying with a host family. My mind harked back to sharing a room in a tiny apartment on the umpteenth floor in a northern Italian metropolis, then being cast out into Italian suburbia where public transport was long and sporadic, when I went on exchange as a teenager.
I found myself again in a tiny apartment (this is Europe, after all), but with my own room, with not so much a family as a host grandmother, a sprightly 80 year old woman who made great paella and scolded me for walking around in bare feet when I had a sore throat, like all respectable old-fashioned Spanish mothers would. I had two host sisters, one American and one Japanese, who were studying Spanish as well. This meant I got to my school easily on the first day, accompanied. It also meant I got lost every time I tried to get there myself afterwards, as if not navigating myself the first time rendered me incapable of memorising my route thereafter, like some lobotomised rat.
When I did finally make it to school in the morning I was in a class with half a dozen other students. I was pleased that my conversational Spanish efforts meant I started at the level above beginner (elementary, dear Watson), but this means that, like in French, I will probably never be much good at counting to one hundred or reading the alphabet.
Then after a quick lunch (which is not at all Spanish) I had another class in the afternoon, with two other students and a hilarious teacher called Adrian who was newly married, as we all knew because he proceeded every one of his corny Spanish-guy-jokes with ‘but don’t tell my wife’.
The school had a packed cultural programme that ensured I didn’t pine for Ian the evenings, including a flamenco show featuring both a female and male dancer, and a guided tour of the Gibralta tower
At the end of the week we were all quite disconcerted to discover we had to do an exam. A 60 year old guy studying on vacation with his wife said “this is the first test I’ve done since I was at university 40 years ago”. Despite the shock I kept my act together and managed to ace my first Spanish exam! Mostly A’s, with a B for writing, because as with my French tests, I accidentally wrote 15% in Italian (first second languages die hard).
But I passed with flying colours! I can now say with some authority that I speak (elementary) Spanish!
I like to stroll through old cities without aim, allowing the flow of the day to dictate what I see. As Ian and I were drifting towards the cathedral I saw some grand gates opening onto a garden.We wandered in, to find ourselves in the University of Granada’s botanic gardens. The fountains and greenery were a relief from the heat, and the descriptive signs were a good way to practice our Spanish.
After wandering for some minutes we returned to the gate, to find it padlocked shut. Ian was concerned, but as a resident of Cambridge I’m used to having the right to wander through universities at my leisure. So we went into the building, to find more wealth of Spanish architecture.
It’s a shame that in Australia so many universities have been boiled down to educational factories. Some, like the University of Adelaide’s main campus, retain the charm and detail that inspire deep thinking and wanderlust. But newer campuses, like University of South Australia’s brutal City West campus, are lifeless and anti-inspirational.
I’m used to Cambridge, but had considered it a kind of special anomaly. (Many within Cambridge encourage this perception.)
Discovering the University of Granada made me realise this is how universities are supposed to be.
