I almost didn’t come. I almost pollo’d out. But now I’m here, in this vibrant city with its unexpected climate, friendly people, intriguing history and city streets full of glorious contrast. I’ve just extended my stay for a week and kind of wish I could lengthen it even more. It’s mostly because of bachata and salsa class, but the art museums, tacos, and infinite cafes are surely contributing factors.
What I love most about being in a foreign city, a new environment, is that it reminds us of our humanity. It’s frightening and intoxicating to navigate a new culture, to speak a different language, to have to figure out how to do mundane tasks that are on autopilot in our hometowns, such as taking out the trash, buying vegetables, and even crossing the street. Yes, even that took me a minute.
It pulls you out of your comfort zone, increases the likelihood that you’ll do and say some stupid things, and gives you the chance to master the art of embarrassment.
I’ve only fallen down the stairs once so that’s good.
There was the time when I first arrived, when I spent about ten minutes trying to get out of the front door of the complex. My airbnb host very briefly explained how to open the weird gate that requires you to pull while flicking a minuscule switch to the left. The ordeal requires patience and dexterity – things I don’t naturally possess. As I stood there, struggling to make something, anything, happen, I noticed that across the street, the cafe workers could clearly see me, the girl inside the building, struggling to get out.
After ten minutes of zero progress, and 30 seconds of just standing there, staring out at the world I couldn’t get to, I started pressing buttons. It was a last resort. Suddenly, behind me, I heard footsteps and turned around to see one of the tenants, smiling but somehow looking angry.
“Que haces?” he said through a smile that was partially clenched teeth.
I explained that I wasn’t good with the door and at the detection of my poor Spanish, he took pity on me, showing me how to get out. Two weeks later on my way to a cafe, I heard footsteps behind me so I held the door. It was him. Smiling, genuinely this time, he said: I see you figured out how to leave.
Shortly after, there was the tostada incident, which was equal parts traumatizing and hilarious. After they shattered all over the sidewalk, I picked up the pieces and carried on. It’s all you can do sometimes when things slip through your fingers.
Gradually, my Spanish and my behavior started to improve. I started watching a series in Spanish, reading in Spanish, sauteing vegetables while I conjugated verbs in Spanish. Pretty soon, I was making friends with my Uber drivers, using the car ride as a chance to ask questions about said Spanish. When does buenas tardes become buenas noches? What does it mean to madrugar?
Then, I started taking salsa and bachata classes and feeling like a budding Shakira. It’s only fitting that my first dance competition solo was to Hips Don’t Lie. I was eleven then. I’m thinking now, it may be slightly more appropriate to shake it.
After my first lesson in the beginner bachata class, the teacher came over and said he wanted me in intermediate next time. Glowing from the compliment, I couldn’t believe it when immediately after, my partner told me he liked the way I danced. Two victories in a matter of minutes! Muchas gracias! I said, blushing. This seemed to confuse him. I backpedaled.
Wait, what did you say?
I asked at what level you dance the salsa.
Doh.
After a few lessons, one of the guys from my class invited me to go to a dance social with the group. I was so nervous, but I really wanted to go and knew it would be good for me. I was right. I spent the night dancing above my level, letting strangers lead me around the floor, practicing my Spanish with locals, and eating tacos at 3 in the morning. It was one of those perfect nights that makes spending your money on travel worth every last cent.
Except for the twirl gone awry.
I was drinking a Corona. Well, I was trying to. Every time I returned to the table to try to take a sip, someone pulled me back out to dance. Finally, one of the guys from my dance class, started to tease me.
I don’t think you’re ever gonna finish that beer.
So I took a nice long swig. And then, of course, he pulled me out to dance.
This was towards the end of the night, mind you. I had been doing fine, thus far, but for some reason, this time when he twirled me, I let go of his hand, lost all control and went careening towards an innocent man sitting next to the dance floor. Somehow, right before I fell onto his lap, I miraculously caught myself.
I looked back at my partner, who’s eyes were just as wide as mine, and we both completely lost it, cackling at my total twirl failure as the song ended. I apologized to the man, but he was laughing too. Really laughing. Phew.
Embarrassment is good for you. Especially if you get a big belly laugh or a story out of it. And if you have the right attitude, you always do.
When it comes to language learning and fitting in in another place, things take time. Getting outside of your comfort zone is a great way to build up your risk-taking muscle, it might even open unexpected doors for you – even if you can’t get out of some of them. Don’t be so hard on yourself, laugh at your mistakes, and keep on putting yourself out there anyway.
You’ll get better. Just walk, don’t run. Or better yet? Salsa.
