A couple of years ago, one of Philadelphia's best-known cheesesteak joints caused a big flap when its owner posted signs telling customers, "This Is AMERICA: WHEN ORDERING `SPEAK ENGLISH.'" I'm lucky that businesses here in San Miguel don't have a comparable policy.
I'm not saying I would starve to death if restaurants and markets adoped a Spanish-only ordering policy. I'm just saying that due to my lack of fluency, my diet would become terribly mundane and repetitive. Tacos, anyone?
I'm not alone, of course. There are lots of American and Canandian expats who muddle through each day with just a few words of Spanish. Some seem quite pleased with themselves. I met one guy last week who prides himself on the fact that he speaks no Spanish at all--and he's lived here for 20 years!
Conversely, I'm surprised that so many Mexicans here speak English. Whenever I happen to meet one--you know, a local shopkeeper or notary public or security guard or young kid walking his dog in the park who knows my language a whole lot better than I know his--I usually ask: "Where did you learn to speak English so well?"
The person's answer invariably follows one of two forms: It's either "I learned it in school here in San Miguel." Or, "I just got back after working 20 years in the States." Either response renders me practically speechless. I'm barely able to stammer my amazement. "Man, you speak English really well," I say (in English, of course). "I mean, a lot better than I speak...you know, Espanol." Indeed.
At this point, the English-speaking Mexican will typically smile, with a just a hint of personal pride, while modestly denying any real proficiency in English. Humility is a nice quality.
And me, well, I'm left feeling humbled. And so I rush home to practice my Berlitz tutorial for a couple of hours.
But I'm confident my day will come. Very soon I'll be ready to step up to the counter at the local cheesesteak joint and confidently shout out my order: "Bistec con queso, por favor."
Can't wait.
© 2014 Tony DeCrosta
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com
The person's answer invariably follows one of two forms: It's either "I learned it in school here in San Miguel." Or, "I just got back after working 20 years in the States." Either response renders me practically speechless. I'm barely able to stammer my amazement. "Man, you speak English really well," I say (in English, of course). "I mean, a lot better than I speak...you know, Espanol." Indeed.
At this point, the English-speaking Mexican will typically smile, with a just a hint of personal pride, while modestly denying any real proficiency in English. Humility is a nice quality.
And me, well, I'm left feeling humbled. And so I rush home to practice my Berlitz tutorial for a couple of hours.
But I'm confident my day will come. Very soon I'll be ready to step up to the counter at the local cheesesteak joint and confidently shout out my order: "Bistec con queso, por favor."
Can't wait.
© 2014 Tony DeCrosta
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com
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