I was kicked out for not knowing Spanish

And a lesson learned in what happens when you agree to things you don't actually understand

I told you last week that I went back to school to learn Italian. My Mondays and Wednesdays are now made exhausting as I jot down grammar rules I don’t quite understand in my new bright green notebook.

As tiring and confusing as it can be, I’ve been loving it. I’m so proud of the progress I’ve been making and the situations I’m now able to handle with growing confidence in Italian. As anyone who has learned a language as an adult knows, it’s tough out there.

I got my first real taste of living in a world where I didn’t speak the language when I was 18 and was sent to Guatemala. I say “sent” because it was actually my parents idea and I begged not to go.

Like most people recently graduating from high school, my eyes were set on university and doing what most of my peers were doing, just swapping out the school name. I was excited about moving into a dorm, studying marine biology, and all the newfound freedom that next step in life would take me.

When my parents came home from a dinner party one night and let me know that instead of starting university in August I’d head off to Guatemala by myself instead, I panicked. I couldn’t equate the freedom of college with the freedom of a new country.

Young me had no idea how intoxicating that sensation would become.

A very 2008 picture from Guatemala

I finally, begrudgingly, gave in. I remember my mom handing me the encyclopedia for the letter “G” so I could look up a little about the country. I’m not so old we didn’t have the internet in those days so I still find it funny how little I searched online and just used the few paragraphs and the map in the book to tell me all I needed to know.

Now that I think about it, I still prefer to do as little research as possible before touching down somewhere new.

My parents assumed by A grade in high school Spanish was enough to cover the basics but bought me Rosetta Stones CDs to listen to while I packed my bags. I remember sitting in my room crying after I couldn’t repeat the phrases quickly enough before the automated voice moved on to the next sentence.

I got on the plane an absolute ball of nerves. I was doing my best to coax myself when I buckled in and the old man sitting next to me starting speaking to me in Spanish. I didn’t understand anything. Then the flight attendant came over the intercom, again in Spanish and again with me not catching a single word.

I unbuckled, stood up, and decided not to go through with it. That’s when the flight attendant plopped me back down and said, “You can’t stand up while we’re taking off.” Turns out I waited too long and whether I liked it or not, I was going to Guatemala.

I arrived, still shaking, and after countless circles around the airport, I found the driver holding my name card. At least I had that going for me.

Driving from Guatemala City to Antigua (my new home for the month) was life changing. I had only ever been to Italy and Turks and Caicos before and had never seen anything like Guatemala. I had my face plastered to the window the entire drive trying to soak it all in.

I was signed up at a school to learn Spanish and they had arranged a host family for me. The driver dropped me off at the door and my new host mom let me in.

Turns out, she didn’t speak a word of English. And as we all know by now, the Spanish I thought I knew didn’t exist.

She started talking and didn’t stop for 10 minutes. Walking me through the house and pointing things out, before arriving to my room. She wasn’t worried about the fact that I hadn’t said a word and probably assumed me to be a good listener. I was not.

At the end of her never ending monologue she stopped and looked at me expectantly. I did what my nervous teenage brain told me to do and just nodded my head and said, “si.”

Wildly enough, that was a sufficient response for her and she left me be after handing me a hand drawn map to the language school.

I assumed that meant, go to school, so I left, walking out the door without much more thought than to get a mental break. I realized too late that I didn’t actually understand how to read her map and took to asking people on the street for instructions.

If you haven’t caught on by now, I’ll spell it out: I didn’t understand a word anyone said.

After a few minutes of panic, realizing I could no longer get back to my house or to the school, I took to miming the first direction with anyone I came across. At the next corner I’d do the same.

It took me an hour to get to school, a walk I would later realize just takes 10 minutes.

Apparently the school was in a bit of a frenzy wondering how they already lost the new girl.

Being able to speak in English in that moment was just what I needed. I could get instructions I understood and release a big breath of air I didn’t realize I had been holding in.

From there, things got significantly better. I made fast friends with other students and for the first time got excited about this new adventure.

Meal times with the family continued to be uncomfortable as they realized I wasn’t actually fluent as I had pretended to be on the first day and could barely even tell them basic facts about myself.

I started staying out late and reveling in the freedom I was so eager to have.

Until a week later when I arrived from school ti a paper note tapped on the door saying that I needed to leave the house tomorrow.

Mmmm, what?

I took it off the door, walking back to school to show the secretary. She confirmed that I understood correctly and made a phone call to my host mom.

Turns out on Day 1 the host kindly explained all the house rules to me and I agreed to all of them with my, “si.” Much to her disapproval I then proceeded to break every single rule she laid out, most notably my 10pm curfew that admittedly I never made.

Luckily the school was able to find me a replacement home quickly, one that was much more patient with my language skills and happy to explain things a 1000 times over ensuring I understood.

That first lesson though in the power of the language barrier has left a deep impact on me.

I’d be lying if I said it was the last time I nodded my head along with something I didn’t understand but it, luckily, was the only time I was kicked out because of my ignorance.

My original month in Guatemala quickly turned into 3 as I changed my flight again and again. I finally went back to the US and started university a semester later but truly, that push abroad changed the entire course of my life, language woes and all.

I have a handful of other language barrier moments I want to share this month. Share yours in the comment or tag me in the post if you end up writing about it!