I haven’t written much over the past three months. Some, but not as much as I expected to given I had a three-month period with precious few things needing productive attention and which were largely months that were mine to use as I chose. I can’t point to my lack of output to a busy schedule, or identify others as making too many demands of me, or even claim I was the victim of a damnable unexpected obstruction life sometimes throws across our paths without warning. Instead, I think I’ll blame it on Spain. After all, this is where those three months were spent.

Spain, or to be more specific, Andalusia, the autonomous southern region of the country where this time was almost exclusively passed, is a total distraction for an introverted, goal-oriented, New England-bred old man with an imagination deficit. I’m used to getting things done concretely in an environment where cultural and meteorological conditions are conducive to setting aside scheduled time dedicated to accomplishing large and small tasks every day. Especially during winter, with its sharp and biting edges, urging us poor souls to find warm shelter where we’re forced to occupy our time with meaningful indoor pursuits that keep us grounded and somewhat sane.

But winter in Andalusia generates no such exigency. Nearly every day exhibits traits seemingly designed to prevent an over-indulgence of objective-achieving activities. Plans to work on something can be easily thwarted. One’s normal laser-like focus can become refracted illuminating options for your day you didn’t earlier consider. Days can slip through your fingers with velvety abandon. Another night makes its presence and you are again surprised how smoothly the retreating day slid by like a passing skater effortlessly flowing down the paseo maritimo.

This part of Spain sends a message that living matters and we should be here on this earth to enjoy it. Rather quickly upon settling into these surroundings the senses begin influencing the brain to divert dusty patterned and sequestered thoughts and feelings outwardly toward possibilities only revealed by an abundance of sunshine filled skies and the big blue sea. The charm of Spanish culture ushers American sensibilities to a seat at any one of many cafes or bars where attentive and unhurried service awaits. Sipping this existence slowly can relax jumpy minds, reverse impatience, and if allowed, excite. Andalusia has a distinctive style shaped from a rich and turbulent history to share with those who go there willing to look, listen, and learn. It is a place confoundingly compelling and engaging and enticing. And that is why I haven’t written much in the past three months.

 

Arriving in Spain at the beginning of December for a pre-planned stay that involved living in a rented casa along the Mediterranean’s Costa del Sol for as long as the European Union visa laws allowed (three months) meant we were here for a relatively long haul. On the docket was a desire to visit other parts of Andalusia in addition to venturing out of Spain briefly. What eventually transpired was a two-week trip to southern Germany and Austria in late January. Other than this out-of-country trip, our time was encircled in Andalusia, including greater Malaga and the cities of Granada, Sevilla, Cordaba, and Cadiz. Also of note, this was not our first trip to Spain or to Andalusia. We rented a casa in the same locale for two months during the winter of 2015. So, we had a pretty good idea of what we were likely to face. Nevertheless, this fresh encounter with Spain expanded my appreciation of its more salient and positive traits.

High on my list of observed positive Spanish attributes, and one counter-intuitive to my own manner of being, is the Andaluz passion for life. The people strike me as very social and outgoing, especially among each other. Much time is devoted to long visits and energetic conversations, particularly over food and drink. Meals can go on for hours consuming entire afternoons or stretching late into the night. Family and community are revered. Time is gratefully committed to growing relationships. As has been observed by others assessing the Spanish psyche, the Spanish don’t live to work, they work to live.

This is not to say Spain is an unproductive country. On the contrary, it appears to function quite well. Municipal and private services abound. One observes things getting done, although patience is sometimes necessary. The manaña syndrome, or tendency to get around to task completion when one is good and ready, does make a not infrequent presence, or so I’m told. Urgency may not match northern European or American levels, but by adjusting to the Iberian pace quality of life need not suffer a decline, rather it can possibly be improved.

Another appealing feature is the weather. My, but the sun shines a lot there. Costa del sol is an apt description. Real estate agents, backed up by the country’s national meteorological agency, claim there are 320 days of sunshine per year. A harsh winter day is a cool, cloudy day with some rain and temperatures in the mid-fifties Fahrenheit. Coming from New Hampshire, this is a joy to take. Most days over the three months in Andalusia were sunny and in the sixties. Perfect winter weather!

Over recent years, I’ve noticed that I really like sunny days. Sunshine lifts my spirits, improves how I feel, and assists me in having a more positive outlook on life. These consequences appear to be having a greater impact as I age. It’s said sunshine boosts the brain’s delivery of the hormone serotonin, resulting in enhanced mood, calmness, and focus. Given my need for help in all of these areas I was very grateful for the daily solar exposure.

My daily walks were a pleasure. Energetic romps through the streets of town and especially along the paseo which followed the shoreline of the Mediterranean gave me not only exercise and time to think, but contact with the aforementioned sun. I often explored the streets where tourists did not venture, but instead where generations of local residents made their homes. Sure, they sniffed me out as someone not from there, but I was never made to feel uncomfortable. Whenever I travel I love wandering and observing people and places different from own experience. I am not so naive to know this is impracticable and unsafe to do in many locations around the world, but so far my excursions in many far flung spots has been rewarding.

To imply my stay in Spain was all comfort and leisure free of any mental exertion, leading to my dearth of writing is not completely accurate. There was another reason. I seriously tried to take my understanding of the Spanish language to the next level. This was really hard and pushed my brain to what felt at times like its limit.

Let me back up to make a disclosure. The learning of another language has been an unfulfilled lifelong desire. I studied my mother’s native tongue, German, for all four years of high school and one year of college. But as most of us know, this encounter rarely produces a proficient speaker, listener, reader, and writer of another language. Life went on and I never was able to comprehend and express myself in German beyond a rudimentary degree. Then, after our 2015 stay in Spain, I developed an enthusiasm for their language. Given its widespread use across the western world, including its growing presence in the US, I thought I could and should handle this one. I still think someday I will.

Learning a new language in one’s sixties is considered tough to pull off. I recently heard a linguist contend the older one gets the more difficult it is to learn a new language. Agreed. He went on to disclose, perhaps in an attempt to make people like me feel better, it was only necessary to learn about 500 keywords to become functional in a language. However, he didn’t say which 500 they were. Nevertheless, I persisted. And I made progress I’m happy to report.

As a base from which to build more Spanish language aptitude I had a year and a half of occasional lessons with a teacher in Mexico conducted via Skype over 2017 and 2018. This helpful introduction in combination with some more recent online grammar work, or should I say dabbling, provided me with a little background from which to extend my learning.

The approach I began with during this three-month language intensive largely consisted of trying to master those words and phrases most needed to conduct business in stores, restaurants, and other commercial contexts. From there I ventured into conversational attempts with locals. I relied heavily on two aids in tandem to accomplish this. One, the Google Translate app on my phone and two, my memory. I can’t applaud Google Translate enough. I would anticipate what I wanted to say prior to an engagement, look it up on the app, and then try to memorize as much of the text as possible. This exercised my visual memory in ways I haven’t done in years. Over time, this approach increased my learned vocabulary and communicative functionality immensely, not to mention giving my memory a well deserved workout. Before long I had a serviceable list of words and phrases I could speak in a natural manner without relying as much on the app. This was satisfying, indeed.

My most demanding situations were social ones, during which I tried conversing with native speakers who knew little to no English. Granted, these discussions didn’t get into great depth, but I found that when pressed I could conjure a large enough number of words to make myself mostly, or ahhh, should I say somewhat understood. To be honest, these sessions were mentally exhausting. Nevertheless, it was exciting to see myself begin to learn a new skill. As we age we typically rely on engaging in activities with which we already have some familiarity. It’s part of our chosen need to remain in our comfort zones. Trying to expand my ability to speak Spanish was a deliberate attempt to step out of that zone.

Of course, every glass is at least half empty, right? Being more a visual rather than an auditory learner in general I anticipated difficulty in comprehending the Spanish spoken word. Was I ever right. I left Spain knowing I never made as much progress in listening to people speak and understanding what was said as I wanted to. If the language is in print, it is much easier for me to process. Coming at me as verbal speech and I’m often lost. The one shred of progress I can claim in this auditory area is that spoken Spanish doesn’t sound as rapid fire as it used to. For most of my life I always thought Spanish speakers talked really fast. Now that isn’t necessarily the case. The speech now strikes me as slower, but unfortunately so is my ability to understand it sonically.

 

So, I have left Spain physically behind for now, but have taken a piece of it with me. I will continue to practice the language with the hope of one day being able to say and demonstrate that I can speak, read, write, and LISTEN to Spanish fluently. Also the pace of life revealed to me in Spain is one I hope to incorporate into my retired life. If not now, when as they say? And though I can’t take the Spanish sun with me wherever I go I can always carry the memory picture. I look forward to returning.

And now no more excuses. Back to writing!