If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart. – Nelson Mandela
It is 9am, and I find myself in class for the second time within two weeks. What happened to my carefree lifestyle? I’ll tell you what happened, es nombre espanol y estoy aprendar aqui. The secluded outdoor classroom is my new sanctuary of learning for the next week and I am ready for my brain to begin hemorrhaging from the copious amounts of Spanish I will be cramming into it without mercy. My instructor Karen speaks very little English and has the patience of a saint as I struggle to hold a conversation with her. I know that my high school Spanish teacher, Mrs. Hoffarth, would be appalled if she could hear how poor my vocabulary has become, no bueno. The private one-on-one lessons for five days at four hours per day, has the bargain price tag of only Q400 ($50), which is the cheapest I have seen or heard of in Central America.