Castellano, not Español

As an English speaker living in Buenos Aires, I feel like a post entirely devoted to the language is desperately needed.  

Because of Argentina's insistence on being unique, their language is also unique to every other Latino country. For one, Argentines speak castellano, not español even though the language is, in the bigger schemes of things, essentially the same.  Now this is not completely an Argentine phenomenon since Spaniards also speak castellano (cah-stay-ya-no) and many capital cities in Latin America also follow suit.  However, just to make sure that Argentina isn't lumped into a category with these other exceptions, Argentines change the pronunciation of castellano (cah-stay-sha-no) to differentiate.

In fact, Argentines pronounce everything with a "ll" or a "y" as "sh."  This means that "calle" or street is (cah-shay) and "ayuda" or help is (ah-shoo-duh).  This can be problematic.  For example, it took me an hour to realize that my friend was talking about a pier, "muelle." 

But the Argentines don't stop at phonetics; even the vocabulary is different.  To name a few: "niño"is "nene," "piña" is "ananá," "hombre" is "barón," and "manteca" is "mantequilla."  The list goes on and on.  And why not add a word with no real meaning at all?  Argentines love to throw a "che" in just for good measure.  What it means exactly, not even the most Argentine of Argentines will be able to tell you, but, "che," it sounds great. 

And  if you thought verbs were safe, you thought wrong.  Argentines like the conjugation "vos" rather than the "tú" you learned in high school Spanish.  Want to tell someone to come here?  The standard "ven" or the more formal "venga" just won't do.  "Vení" is more like it. 

And then, if all of that is not enough, don't forget the quirks.  Argentines have a nasty habit of changing the order of the letters in a word.  Don't be surprised if an Argentine orders a "feca" instead of a "café" at a coffee shop. 

All this to say that as a semi-fluent (if such a thing exists) Spanish speaker, it is a little disheartening to arrive in Buenos Aires to find that the people speak a language quite different than the one you have studied in your three years at the university.  It can be even more frustrating when you start speaking like them yourself. 

Argentina is defined in a lot of ways by what it is not, but I'm more interested in what it is.  It's true; Argentina is not like everyone else, but it is like Argentina.  The quirky language, the Boca-River rivalry, the breakfast medialunas, the daily demonstrations, the public transportation (Bondi or Subte), the national color of celeste--this is Argentina.  This is what I have come to know and love about this wonderful country. 

Instead of getting caught up in who we are not, we can hold on to who we are--children of God.

Where are you from?

Everyone in our barrio knows who we are, and more importantly, that we are not from here.  No matter where we go, as soon as we open our mouths, someone is bound to ask us the dreaded question, "where are you from?"  For example, an average conversation at the fruiteria might go something like this (in Spanish, of course):

Me: "Hi, I would like four red apples and four bananas."
Owner: "Ok, where are you from?"

This used to irritate me to no end, especially when I thought my pronunciation was spot on.  No matter how hard I tried to sound like an Argentine, people stared at me like I was from Mars.  One time, after the third person that day asked me where I was from, I had had enough.  The object of my frustration was an innocent barista at a coffee shop.  Exasperated, I asked him what gave me away.  The answer?  He said, "you just sound different."

At first I was a little put off.  I thought, how can I not sound different?  Then I realized, maybe I will always sound different because I am different, just a little anyway, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. 

Yes, the guy at the bakery knows that we are from the United States, but he remembers our order before we even get to the counter.  Yes, the cashier at the market greets us in English, but he never fails to speak to us.  And yes, the man at the fruiteria thinks we sound different, but he gives us free pears.

The truth is, because we are different, we have made friends.  Most of the conversations we have had are because someone has asked us where we are from.  The woman at the bookstore and the waiter at the pizza place are two examples of people that have spoken to us because our deficiencies in Spanish have given us away.    

Before coming here, I prided myself on my ability to speak Spanish.  In my classes at the university, I excelled. Unfortunately, everything I've studied could not have prepared me for Argentina.  The accent is different, the intonation, the conjugations of the verbs, even the name of the language (Spanish is called Castellano in Argentina).  Most of the time I sound like an eight-year-old.   

But this trip is not about me showing off my Spanish fluency.  In fact, this trip isn't about me at all.  This trip is about using my differences and deficiencies to point everyone around me to someone much greater than me.  The free fruit is a bonus.