I had class with Martín the other night. <sigh> Yes, I am this ridiculous. Can’t help it. It’s his excellent voice, but also that he has a way of joking with me that’s just a little bit flirty, and it’s amusing to try to do that in Spanish … especially since I’m not terribly good at it in English.
Martín did most of the talking, which isn’t exactly how our classes are supposed to go, but I didn’t mind. I’m still getting over my annoying, start-the-school-year-right cold, so it was easier to listen than to talk. And, too, listening is good practice, and I can understand him almost perfectly … and he’s far less cheesy than Heridas de Amor.
I told him I’d started watching the novelas and why. He was impressed, thought I’d chosen a great way to practice … then he started in on how unbelievably bad the Mexican novelas are. Martín, if you recall, is in Guatemala, and he is a big fan of most things Guatemalan. In the case of novelas, however, he recommends the ones from Colombia and even the dubbed Brazilian ones over the Mexican variety. So I have surely lost some points in his esteem for admitting to watching anything as low-brow as Heridas, but at least I didn’t tell him how much I’m enjoying it!
I told him the melodrama was helpful. He agreed, and said the shows would also introduce me to a lot of idioms. I hadn’t thought of that. Would I even recognize them? Maybe one day.
Martín says my Spanish is getting a lot better. “I still remember that first lesson we had,” he says. Well, I should hope so, since it was only a couple of months ago! But I know what he means. That first lesson was pretty amazingly painful. I’ve definitely made progress since then. Last week someone told me that I speak with a Mexican accent, which is funny, but really pleased me, too.
I’m glad Martín can hear a difference, but I still feel as if I’m losing ability with every day further out from Mexico … which feeling is directly connected to the arrival in my gmail inbox of an offer for a week in Cozumel for only $200 at the sister hotel of the place I stayed in Puerto Morelos. And don’t I just need a week on the sunny Riviera Maya right now, sipping fruitilicious rum or tequila drinks and taking one-on-one lessons from a tutor? “Need” doesn’t adequately describe the feeling … more like “crave.”
But I’m not going anywhere. At least not at this moment. I have a lesson with Gustavo on tap for tomorrow night, and that will have to do for now.