Language and a Smile

Among the lesser-known perks of the Peace Corps Costa Rica experience, the ocean of books that comprises its office's library must be mentioned. All sorts of works are included; Harry Potter rubs shoulders with Aristotle, and dusty hardback classical texts writ by names I'll never remember snuggle among various editions of Chicken Soup for the You-Name-It Soul. If only for my lack of exposure to consistent English, having an opportunity to chew on some familiar words from time to time is a bigger blessing than I'd expected.

One of my recent written meals consisted of a short piece by Anthony Doerr entitled Four Seasons in Rome, a story of his family - his wife and their two newborn twins, Henry and Owen - and their life and times during a year of study in Italy's capital city. His writing style, while new to me, was and is a welcome breath of fresh air. Almost everything is in present tense, and his mastery of brevity is something to enjoy, to be sure. Among the heavy scenes and dazzling descriptors of the City of Seven Hills, Doerr takes a moment to describe his progress related to his own language ability:

"Toward the end of May, I walk into the little grocery store, Beti, after living in Rome for nine months and say good afternoon to the same exact woman from whom I once demanded grapefruit sauce and ask her in Italian for a loaf of bread, two hamburger rolls, an apple muffin, three-tenths of a kilogram of pizza bianca, and a can of tuna fish, and I don't screw up a single syllable.

What happens? I get my groceries. No streamers drop from the ceiling, no strobe lights start flashing. The grocer doesn't reach across the counter and take my face in her hands and kiss me on the forehead. 

You communicated. So what. Go pay at the register.

No, instead she asks me something in quick-fire Italian about Henry and Owen, something about their hair, but she speaks so quickly that I miss 80 percent of it and sheepishly, stepping down from my throne of fluency, have to ask, "I'm sorry, more slowly, please?"

Funnily enough, I can relate with this in so many ways. My own slippery grasp of the local language ebbs and flows by the minute. At times I feel my first language isn't even English, but that I picked it up during a recent visit to the United States. Other times, I feel as though I've just landed on a distant moon on the other side of Saturn with nothing but a watch and a smile to help find my way.

But then there's the people, and that's really the point of this short, Semana Santa post. Whether it's my innate comfort level with strangers over known entities or simply an acceptance of the fact that I will almost constantly need help, I find myself at a new height of willingness to speak with strangers here. It only requires a few seconds of bravery to strike up a conversation with a random, but, here in Costa Rica, I've come to find the general population beyond inclined to share in discourse.

Just this morning, I spoke at length while waiting at the bus stop with a cheery man in his mid-thirties about the change in the vitality of our city due to the advent of Semana Santa. With a smile as warm of the sun over his shoulder, he spoke with excitement and pride about the extent to which the locals enjoy the many processions and activities that accompany this most important holiday.

I'm grateful for this opportunity to communicate, in more ways than with just words, with a new culture. Who needs streamers and strobe lights? A sincere smile from a once-stranger is enough for me.