Spanish News

Years ago, in Mexico, I was talking with someone about how it was becoming popular to learn Spanish in the US.  He told me that he was aware of the popularity of his native language, and that, in fact, it was now so popular that there was even a country in Europe where that was pretty much all they spoke.  Well, now I find myself living in that country and I find myself struggling with whatever it is that they speak here.  Like Zoë, I do not always "vale."

But first I have to take you back to this weekend.  Zoë and I are clearly going through some adjustment involving the dim realization that we are not tourists here.  Naturally, this has involved moments of utter, irrational panic.  Zoë, for example, was working on our finances when she came to the conclusion that we could not really afford to live here, and that we had to choose between paying rent and eating.  After some discussion, we realized that we were OK, but we had to stop eating out as if we were tourists ready to charge things and be damned.  My turn came when I became convinced that we were never going to make Spanish friends, and that the primary stumbling block was Zoë's limitations with the language.  I suggested that she needed to work harder on her Spanish, do all sorts of things that she wasn't doing.  As you can imagine, this suggestion went over extremely well.  Like most spouses, Zoë is always very appreciative when perceived shortcomings are brought to her attention, and very happy to receive unsolicited advice about how she can work harder in order to improve herself.     

We decided we would watch the news, since this would give Zoë an opportunity to practice her Spanish, and it would give both of us an opportunity to figure out what was going on in the world.  Not only have we been eating out as if we were tourists, we've also disconnected from the larger world as if we were on vacation.  This morning, I decided I would get a head start on this plan by listening to the news on the radio as I cleaned up the breakfast things.  I do this every morning – clean up, that is - while Zoë walks the Kid to school.

Now, I often describe myself as having "news announcer Spanish," because I don't really have a recognizable accent.  I speak the sort of flat, standard Spanish that one associates with news announcers on Univisión.  What I lack is the speed.  I had forgotten that news announcers, despite the clarity of their pronunciation, can be very hard to understand.  They tend to talk rapidly, with a minimum of affect, and they assume that you are aware of the context of what they're saying.  For example, it's assumed that you know that there is an election going on, and that you will recognize the names of the major candidates.

Here in Madrid, the news on the radio is delivered in the fastest Spanish I have ever heard.  No, correction.  The announcers speak Spanish as quickly as is humanly possible.  I tried to imitate the pace, and couldn't come anywhere near close.  Never mind actually trying to understand the news.  I had little context, and I even have trouble with the newscasters on Univisión!

The station I was listening to had two announcers, a man and a woman.  At first I thought it was like dueling banjos.  One would recite his/her segment as quickly as possible, and then the other would try to outdo the first, reciting even more quickly.  In this way, they would egg each other on until they were speaking so quickly that their tongues might catch fire.

Then I realized the awful truth.  They weren't egging each other on: the were spelling each other.  Because certainly no human tongue can be so agile, so nimble, and so strong as to keep that pace up for very long.  I pictured the two of them, at their microphones, sweating under the pressure of speaking at such alarming speeds.  One would spit his/her segment into the microphone fast as hell, without taking a breath, and then the other would spell him/her, while the first caught his/her breath and took a drink of water.  They must surely get paid on a word-per-minute basis. Worse yet, they had sent their kids to college in the US, and needed to make money for tuition.

Of course, the inevitable awaits them.  Nothing can save them.  Not the workouts.  Certainly not the steroids or cocaine. Rumor has it that in a dusty corner of the city, in some dilapidated Franco-era building, disabled news announcers sit around playing dominos in silence.  Their broken jaws fall slack, while their inert tongues droop uselessly out of the sides of their mouths.

When Zoë came back, I told her that I didn't think listening to the news was going to help her.