I really wish I were three-years-old again. This has nothing to do with afternoon naps, sand castles or eating crayons, though of course these are all lovely pastimes. Rather it is because a three-year-old tends to pick up languages quicker than a runny nose. Why has this now become an issue to me? Because recently I celebrated my one year anniversary of having lived in Barcelona and the breezy fluency I had presumed for myself by this stage is far from a reality.

On arriving in Barcelona I immediately enrolled in a language school encouragingly named "Speakeasy". I arrived an absolute beginner with little more than the occasional wonderfully executed "por favor" to guide me. As the weeks tore by I soon found myself propelled from nivel infantile to the dizzying heights of low intermediate. Oh the confidence, the pride, the pluscuamperfecto. In those first weeks one is surrounded by a safe bubble of stupidity. A few expressions are picked up but when employed in an every day context, a bar or restaurant for example, the rot which emerges from the low intermediate speaker is so appallingly off the mark that the concerned camarero is forced to dash for the nearest English menu. This is actually quite an agreeable state of affairs. The speaker feels smug for mixing it with the Spanish in their language, and the Spanish can justify their two-tier menu system. However as the weeks progress and the vowels fall into place the odd slow-witted camarero tends to mistake one for someone flirting with fluency. And as anyone who has given it a bit of a crack will tell you, learning a language is a two-folded beast. There is the speaking part, which tends to come reasonably freely, and the understanding part, which comes as willingly as trunk control to a very small elephant. Often a very closed ended sentence on the part of the extranjero, for instance "donde esta la playa" is greeted with a mountain of jumble delivered at breakneck speed. The only sensible response to this is to assume the facial expression of one who understands something perfectly, like Darwin perhaps sitting through a class entitled "why we are a bit like monkeys," and bellow in a large and clear voice "Vale Vale!"

Speaking Spanish with other extranjeros is one of my favourite pastimes. They are usually as hopeless as I am, tend to speak slowly and, if they happen to be from the same school, will generally be restricted to the same few topics of conversation. I recall fondly an 'emersion' dinner which I enjoyed with a French Chica and Hungarian Chico from my class. For nigh on two hours we sat in a café on the edge of Plaza Universidad babbling in broken Spanish, none of us able to properly convey any personal histories to any significant extent because we hadn't yet mastered the past tense. After two or so deranged hours and several cervesas, the whole thing deteriorated into chaotic babble with much pointing and gesticulation. I suppose we could have defaulted to English but we were all enjoying speaking Spanish in Barcelona far too much.

Beyond the simple difficulties of understanding Spanish, I am endlessly disappointed by my inability to reflect any real dynamism, humour or sarcasm with a second voice. I think it was Byron who said "to learn another language is to discover a second soul", or something mildly more eloquent than this. The point is, even if I have discovered a second soul, he is a dullard! The kind of Soul whom you sneak away from when he is not looking. Later when you get home, the kind of Soul of whom you say, "Thanks a lot for leaving me alone next to that Soul at the party, he was really hard work. He kept telling me about how many brothers and sisters he has and what he likes and doesn't like!" In the past I have written off many a foreign, English-as-a-second-language-type as a dunce not worth his or her shoes because of their repeated references to the weather, their favourite foods and what they like to do at the weekend with their friends. Had I known this was simply a full exposé of their English to date, I would not have judged so quickly. I might have searched deeper for the comedian or genius within rather that impolitely excusing myself never to return.

As a New Zealander, from an Island approximately a billion miles from Europe, with the majority of people unlikely to taste an authentic croissant until their mid twenties, there is little need for a European language. Knowing the ins and outs of the Spanish pluscuamperfecto in my country is about as beneficial as a pair of suede shoes to a hippopotamus. Sure, there are some studious types who are given a shove early on for the help it may provide later in life, but by and large people tend to get by reasonably well without. Because of this, it would seem natural to assume that friends, upon hearing that you have spent some time in a foreign land, might mutter something along the lines of "wow that must be tough, I could never imaging doing something so brave . you really are impressive, I guess by know you probably only know how to tell people how many brothers and sisters you have and what you like and dislike!" Not a drop of it. Rather, due to their total lack of exposure to the trials, tribulations and misery of rote learning new words when the brain has set fast, they tend to look disappointed when you break the news that after close to a year you are not yet fluent. "What do you mean you're not fluent, you've been living in Barcelona for close to a year!" As a result I have recently taken to grand embellishment. "Sure," I say, "I'm completely fluent" and start waffling away, "me gusta" this, "no me gusta" that. They are generally very impressed by this and both parties are left happy.

In conclusion my advice to anyone eager to take up Spanish would be as follows. First, start as early as you can. Within the womb if at all possible. If you fail in this respect, at least be European. For some reason this should give you some form of advantage over the rest of mankind. Finally, if you are unfortunate enough to be like me, from lands afar where European languages are the stuff of fiction, and this very fact hasn't proved sufficient reason to put you off immediately, know that for the coming years you will have an uncontrollably wobbly trunk. However know too, that should you ever find yourself in an absolute pickle, which will tend to occur on a daily, if not hourly basis, a well executed "Vale Vale"(Ba-lay Ba-lay) accompanies by a slow jog in the opposite direction should see you safely home.