We are early days here in Buenos Aires. We landed in the middle of a long holiday weekend, so it has afforded us a more gentle acclimation period. We know that living somewhere when you are not fluent affords you daily doses of small humiliations. It’s all part of the learning process but it’s sometimes painful. Yesterday I girded my loins and after three false starts at different fruit vendors I mustered enough courage to attempt to buy vegetables. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t pretty. I fumbled and stuttered and butchered pronunciations and spaced out on the money conversions. But I brought home the items I intended to purchase, so I’m counting it as a win.

This morning, tired of the substandard coffee options in the apartment, I ventured forth to try my luck at getting us some morning caffeine. The doorman greeted me warmly with a smile and we managed to exchange pleasantries in Spanish. Que lindo dia! Si muy lindo. Pero yo necesito un cafe. He nodded knowingly. That gave me courage.

It was very quiet out on the streets, and I meandered with no particular destination in mind. I was just looking to see what might be open. As I turned a corner a few blocks from our place, I noticed a tiny cafe and bakery with pastries in the window and a sign board out front. The door was open and there were two men in line chatting with the older proprietor, while a young woman worked the espresso machine behind the counter. I saw in the window coffee cups to go in two sizes, so I made a guess that I would be able to order coffee to go.

I practiced over and over in my head, “dos cafes para llevar. dos cafes para llevar.” as I waited in line. The shop was tiny. Three tables with two chairs each was all that could fit. Mosquitos and bees were lazily exploring the space. I was listening to the conversations of the men while they waited for coffee. I could understand some and infer most. The older proprietor was in a jolly mood and seemed genuinely nice as he chatted with the two customers before me. He spoke to me asking what I would like. I ordered and he offered me to sit while I waited. I did. I kept listening as they spoke and waited. The art of proper coffee making is a slow one. Eventually the two men got their coffees and left. Now it was just me, the old man, and the young woman. He started chatting at me.

Deer in the headlights. Sweat starting to bead on my face. Lizard brain freezing up.

Haltingly I stuttered out: “Por favor, disculpame. Soy nueva aqui. Hablo y pienso lenta.” He laughed and smiled. He understood me!! He continued speaking with me in Spanish and I somehow managed to cobble together answers in Spanish and, holy shit! I’m having a conversation in Spanish with a stranger! He was delightful and oh so kind. When I told him I had only been in Buenos Aires for two days, he exclaimed disbelief, shouted to the girl that I had only been her two days and had great Spanish (over exaggeration and terribly kind), and then he told me he studied English for five years as a kid and could not speak a word. He was quick to laugh and smile and made me feel so comfortable and brave. He told me of his friend who is a pilot that speaks 10 languages and we both marveled at that ability. Increíble!

Before long my coffee was ready. I paid and profusely thanked them both. I headed back to the apartment with two coffees and a little more courage than I had before. The doorman gave me an approving nod upon my return. Que lindo!