Back to Spanish Class

26 Jun 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

“Change your language and you change your thoughts.”
Karl Albrecht

            Last week I enrolled in a month long intensive Spanish course.  Although I have officially moved here nearly six months ago, I have put this off.  While in Paris last year, I took three months of French, and it made me cringe.  I hated starting from scratch, pronouncing everything all wrong, and be corrected constantly.  I didn’t think I would need Spanish here, but I have recognized and accepted that my Spanish was more of a tourist Spanish.   Additionally, Andalucians seem to sometimes speak a different language, with shortening the words or have nicknames for things that did not make sense.  Who knew that mala leche (which is translated to bad milk) equates with having a day where you are pissed off and angry?  If I wanted to improve, it required an intensive.  To commit to this was to commit to a part time job, twenty hours a week, Monday through Friday for four weeks.  But now I could do it.

            And I was pleasantly surprised. 

            It was actually somewhat enjoyable.  I had taken Spanish class in high school, college, and did an immersion in graduate school.  As we went around the room, verbalizing our background with Espanol, I realized it has been over twenty years since I had taken Spanish (Duolingo doesn’t count).  I could have compassion for myself with forgetting some things along the way. 

In the classroom, sat next to me a 14 year old Bosnian girl, living in Sweden. She showed me texts from her boyfriend and teacher, gossiping about her life as if we knew each other for years.  She guessed me to be in my 20s, when I shared I was in 40s, she was stunned. And I was flattered.  The class size generally stayed around 8 people, from other countries such as Morocco, Netherlands, England, and Italy.  Although we were collectively learning Spanish, we were learning about each other.  Our conversational skills were put to the test as we shared our background information, occupation, likes, dislikes, hobbies, and family dynamics.  “Me llamo Tricia.  Me gusta caminar con mi amigo.  Soy americana, pero ahora vivo en Malaga por seis meses…”  This was repeated throughout the week, because with four hour long sessions, the teachers rotated in and out.  We could practice hearing different accents, dialects, and experience various teaching styles. 

            But all were pleasant.  Yes we were corrected at times, but it was with encouragement.  For some reason, my experience with learning the French language is it was tiresome and draining, it probably didn’t help that we wore masks for most of the sessions.  I recall practicing my Spanish with a local here several months ago, who was training to be a language teacher.  He laughed when I pronounced various words, and therefore it shut me down.  Why open oneself to ridicule in the hopes of improving?  A warm encouraging environment is so necessary to offer padding to those learning something new.  If you fall, it’s not so bad.  You are then willing to try again, criticism didn’t knock you down.  At least for me, this is my preferred learning style.  

            And so I am ready to enter week 2 of classes, with more energy, less cringe, and curiosity of what will be revealed next.   As I write this, I am full of appreciation for the teachers out there who have the kind patience in working with their students, and for all students out their who have self-compassion as they learn something new.

Our Beach Personalities

18 Mar 2023 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , ,

“At the beach, life is different. Time doesn’t move hour to hour but mood to moment. We live by the currents, plan by the tides and follow the sun. “ – Sandy Gingras

I am lucky enough to currently live walking distance to the port and beach.  Bella and I go nearly everyday.  And one thing I love to do is watch people as they engage with the sun and beach.  The area I am in is the Costa del Sol, entitled this after an excessive amount of days of sun per year.  Due to the fact that the average is around 325 days of sun, there are many tourists, retirees, and transplants from colder countries during the winter months.  

I witness people first walk onto the port, seeing the Mediterranean and the sun on a winter day. They seem stunned by the beauty.  Selfies are taken.  People sit at the first restaurant at the port to take in the local musicians, and drink a sangria or cana.  Their shoulders relax.  People then continue their stroll down the port, and eventually head to the beach.

It’s here I observe the moment they have been waiting for.  Although the sea is too cold to swim in at the moment, some still do.  It’s normal to see children get excited when arriving at the beach, because this is what children do.  But oftentimes, the adults become childlike as well.  I noticed a woman who seemed so happy being here on a weekday, that she started to slow dance with the ocean.  I saw another woman playing tag with the ocean waves that came to shore, she was in jeans and tried to run away as they came close to her.  Of course the ocean won that round, as they generally win the majority of rounds.  But the other day I saw something that will be etched in my memory.

The weather was warm, it was in the 80s (or 25 plus celsius), therefore more people were in the water.  It was the first weekend, I was in a bikini.  This is how warm it is.   There was a man who looked like a local with his son, he seemed to have just gotten out of the water.  His son laid on a towel in the sand.  This man rolled in the sand like he was a sushi roll being wrapped.  He did it with joy.  With his arms up and showed his child how great he was feeling.  Generally the sand is something everyone I know avoids, but he embraced it.  He left it on for at least ten minutes, maybe it served as an exfoliator as one does in the Dead Sea or in the spas.  Eventually he took another dip in the Mediterranean and appeared refreshed.  This was actually a joy to witness. 

I’m sharing this on the blog because it made me smile.  It served as a reminder that I need to be present to find pleasure and appreciation in another’s joy.  I wouldn’t have witnessed it if I was on my phone, and no I wasn’t quick enough to capture it on camera.  But it’s etched in my mind.  I want to encourage you to be present each time you are outside, not only to be with all of nature, people, and animals that are around you, but to observe the little things in strangers around you.  Happiness is all around.

The End is Our Beginning

04 Sep 2022 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

            We had arrived in Santiago de Compostella, which is the endpoint for many people who choose to do the pilgrimage of Camino de Santiago.  The film The Way popularized this bucket list journey.  The most traditional path is to take the Camino Frances route, which begins in St-Jean-Pied-de-Port France, and then transitions into Spain through the Pyrenes mountains and traverses for 500 miles.  Generally, one needs to do at least 100 kilometers to receive a certificate of completion.  Regardless of how many miles one walks, generally the destination was our starting point.  

            It was our initial day in Spain, and we were beginning our journey at everyone’s end.  On our first night, we went into the Cathedral, that houses the remains of the apostle St. James.  For hundreds of years people have walked to this location for this specific purpose, to see where St. James lies.  It seemed taboo.  Had we earned the right to visit without yet putting on our walking shoes?  Our walking journey was to begin the next day, but we could take in the evening’s festivities of this celebrated town. 

            I am not new to the Spanish culture.  This was my 21st trip to Spain, and my second time embarking on this pilgrimage in Santiago.  Yet this time our route was to end in Finistere, also known as the end of the world.  It’s been said that this Celtic path predates the Catholic pilgrimage.  We were hopeful the exploration of the city that evening would massage out the kinks that occurred at the airport hours before.  We were lucky it did.  

            After securing a walking stick, a delicious meal of tapas and patatas bravas, a tasty pastry, and rations for the next day’s journey, we strolled the streets to see what the night would reveal.  The tourist shops had now closed, and it was solely bars that were open at this hour.  Then we stumbled onto an archway by the church.  It served more as a portal.  Generally during the day, a musician plays his bagpipe, demonstrating the Celtic traditions that still exude in this land of Galicia.  But at this hour, the bagpipes were packed away, and were replaced with an opera singer.  

I love most street performers.  They move an audience to stop the busy-ness of their lives and slow down, and simply take in the gift of music they are sharing.  The opera singer sang several popular opera songs, the crowd slowly started to build.  Then the tunes changed, and he began singing “My Way,” which generally isn’t my favorite song, as it reminds me of an American middle aged drunk man’s go to karaoke song, as a bar closes.  But there were other people in the audience that seemed to enjoy it.  A tiny group of three older people who looked as if they were tourists and friends had their arms around each other.  They swayed and sang.   The opera singer appreciated their immersive experience.  When it was time for the chorus, the opera singer pointed to the trio and allowed them to take the stage.  “I did it my way.”  People had stopped to sit on the steps, and observe this magical moment.  For a brief passing period of time, we were all connected.  I couldn’t help but cry witnessing this beautiful example of collective gratitude and mindfulness.  These were not tears of sadness or worry for my future.  These were tears of joy I was able to experience this moment of collective bliss.  

            Perhaps starting at the end wasn’t a bad decision.  It was how this journey was to begin.  We could harvest the beauty and love shared from the evening onto the next day’s 23 kilometer trek.  I couldn’t wait to see what was next in store.