Get off my back.

Today, I am going to get back to travel basics. Let’s talk luggage, or more specifically backpacks. Backpacks are a very practical way to carry your belongings for a trip. You can stuff a lot into them, and you just put it on your back, fasten the straps, and go where you need to go. You can also strap other things onto them, like water bottles, shoes, a sleeping pad if you’re camping, pots and pans if you’re camping, a lantern if you’re camping, etc.

So let me just say that I don’t camp. I have camped. I might camp again in the future. But when I am traveling in Central America or wherever, I typically do not camp. So if I am strapping anything to my backpack, it will be a water bottle, an extra pair of shoes, a sleeping bag stuffed into a compression sack (for those cold nights in the highlands), maybe a plastic bag full of junk food. But no pots or pans.

I also like a backpack because it’s easy to throw underneath a bus, or on top of a bus, or into the trunk of a car. Typically, they are pretty indestructible so you can really throw them anywhere. And when I say “you,” I mean the guy driving the bus or car. Or anyone standing nearby. I certainly don’t mean me.

After years of traveling mostly with my backpack, I am now to a point in my life that I think we may have to go our separate ways. Actually, the backpack I have now is fairly new and has only been used on one trip. The pack I had before this one crossed a lot of borders, accumulated dirt from many locales, and eventually started deteriorating to the point that I couldn’t use it anymore. (It actually burst open in exhaustion on the baggage carousel at Logan Airport after four months in Guatemala, as if to say, "¡Basta!" Enough!) It wasn’t even a “true” backpack; the kind you open at the top and shove all your stuff into. It was like a “suitcase-backpack” in that the hardware was backpacky and how you got it on your back was backpacky, but it zipped open on the sides like a suitcase, and you could zip an attached cover over the hardware to carry it like a duffle (I only did that when I checked it onto a plane). It was canvas like a traditional pack, and a couple other smaller bags zipped onto the front of it if I wanted more space. It was from EMS and was pretty cool. But they don’t make them anymore. 

I have a personal aversion to shoving my clothes into a deep, dark hole. That is what it is like for me to use the other type of backpack, the traditional backpack that loads from the top. I don’t like having to dig out all my crap to get to one thing that I can’t find because I can’t see it or feel it. I don't like sticking my hand into an unknown abyss. Who knows what could have crawled in there (see this post)? And I don’t like how wrinkled my clothes would undoubtedly get. Oh sure, experienced users of the traditional pack will tell you that there is a way to roll your clothes to prevent an overabundance of wrinkles. But I have not discovered how to do that. And the reality is that many of those folks are walking around in clothes with a heck of a lot of wrinkles. I’m just sayin’.

So I chose to replace my deteriorated EMS suitcase-backpack, the backpack that lasted  for about 14 years, and was still adamant that it not be top-loading. I found one, more of a traditional backpack than my last one. It loads on top, but also has a side zipper so you can open it and see all your goodies, much like my last pack. I like it, at least theoretically. It is a good size and is a lovely shade of blue.

Here’s the problem: I am no longer the traveler I used to be. And I have had some back problems. I just don’t know if I can carry that sucker around, however briefly. I don’t even know if it fits me that well (I have been told there aren’t many backpacks out there that fit women really well). First, I must clarify something. There are backpackers and there are backpackers. Backpackers are those people you see, walking for miles, even days, with a backpack strapped to their back, replete with other necessary gear such as the aforementioned pots and pans. These are the true backpackers, and I have never been one of those, nor have I ever claimed to be. A backpacker, of the non-italicized nature, is merely a traveler who carries a backpack – in my case from baggage claim to bus or taxi, from bus or taxi to hostel, hotel or home. Sure, there are times when I have walked a few blocks with the backpack, maybe even several. But my Point A to Point B is considerably shorter than that of a backpacker.

So now that I have clarified that, what should I do? The last thing I need to do is blow a gasket from carrying a heavy backpack I have no business carrying (and it is always heavy). But taking a wheeled suitcase to Latin America just seems wrong somehow. I think maybe I’ve done it. I vaguely remember taking one when I went to Oaxaca, Mexico with my friend Monica. But that was only for a week and we had very specific plans; we weren’t traipsing all over the countryside. When going for a longer time, traveling to a number of places, I don’t know that a wheelie seems to fit. Many streets in Latin America are cobblestone, so you couldn’t just pull it along like you do in the airport. The sidewalks and roads are often very uneven so if your bag is strapped to your back, it’s not a problem, but with a wheelie, you might have to pick it up, which could be even worse for a questionable back. And throwing a wheelie suitcase onto the top of a chicken bus (more on those another time), is kind of like bringing luxury sheets to a youth hostel.

It is possible that I am just too attached to the idea of a backpack, to the ruggedness and the grittiness it seems to project. People in Latin America call those carrying backpacks mochileros, which means backpackers. True, there may be negative local connotations with this that I don’t even know about – like mochileros tend to give off an aroma that suggests infrequent bathing. Or mochileros never want to pay a decent price for local wares. Or, oh no, here come those stinky mochileros who want to buy all our bananas. All the same, it seems cooler than “person who travels with suitcase.” I don’t even know the Spanish word for that, or if there is one. Maybe it’s just the all-encompassing viajero, or traveler.

Hmmm, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

But whatever you choose to use for luggage on your trip, and whatever label you prefer for yourself, the most important thing is your comfort and only you can determine what is best for you. If I do give up my backpack for good, there will always be my daypack, the miniature version of the backpack. I often use that for weekend trips and for walking around the city or town I’m visiting. So I guess I don’t have to get that weight entirely off my shoulders. At least not until they start to fall apart, too.

This photo is from a trip to the Darién Province of Panama in which some
local guys helping us took our bags, put them into huge baskets, and made their
own type of backpack. This was before I had a backpack, but these small-statured
gentlemen with superhuman strength helped us all out. The guy in back
had at least three heavy bags in that basket! Maybe more!

Use it or lose it.

Last week I wrote about the many benefits to taking Spanish immersion classes in Latin America. On that same subject, and because I have known some people here in the U.S. taking Spanish classes, I would like to say:  you’ve got to use what you know or there is no point. If you are learning Spanish, on your own, through Rosetta Stone, from a friend, as a part of your high school or college studies, in another country, whatever, you will never really learn it, or retain it, or absorb it if you do not speak it!

I am feeling a little rusty myself these days. I do not have much of an opportunity to really speak Spanish lately except if I’m singing to Maná or Juanes (look ‘em up) or conversing -- in a very one-sided fashion -- with whatever is on the Spanish language TV channels. It’s kind of a bummer. But when I’m in the U.S., even if speaking with native speakers, we usually resort to English. I am not sure why. When I am in Latin America, I'm totally different. Someone can speak to me in English, and I will answer in Spanish. I’m in their country, and I want to speak Spanish, so why shouldn’t I speak it? That’s one of the reasons I’m there. In Nicaragua, at the little inn I made my home base, the manager was also from the U.S. I talked to her quite often, and I think through all our conversations, we spoke English for maybe three minutes total. Otherwise, it was always Spanish.

So I think I need to take that approach even when I’m in the U.S. But I don’t. If I’m in a restaurant with Spanish speaking staff, I will only speak Spanish if I think they did not understand my special request (which is hardly ever). They’re busy enough, why do they need to humor the lady who wants to speak a little Spanish? But since I am writing this and telling you that if you are learning Spanish, you need to use what you know, then I need to do that as well.

It is important to speak with native speakers, even if you feel lousy-stupid with mispronunciation, low knowledge of tenses, and lack of vocabulary. You need to hear how they say things, the figures of speech they use, how they emphasize words, phrases and sentences. If you feel compelled to practice with the other students in your class, that is fine, but it should be supplemented with conversations with native speakers. If you’re only speaking with students from your class, you will learn to speak Spanish with a Minnesota, Texas or Massachusetts (or whatever) accent. And that is fine in and of itself. You may always do that anyway, even if you speak to native speakers everyday. But for the reasons I mentioned, it really will help you.

Having a conversation exchange with a native Spanish speaker is a good way to practice. Find someone who wants to practice English and then spend an hour together every week, or more frequently, speaking 30 minutes in Spanish and 30 minutes in English. And make a promise to each other that you will correct one another and not feel bad about it, on either end of the correction. Leave your ego at the door.

When I was first learning Spanish in Panama, I know I made a lot of mistakes. One day I particularly remember, I was upstairs in my room and my roommate, a Panamanian named Darío, yelled at me to come downstairs. I was in the middle of something and yelled back, “Estoy muy preocupada” which means “I am very worried.” What I meant to say was “Estoy muy ocupada” which means “I am very busy.” I’m sure Darío was like, “Um, okay. Since you’re worried, then by all means, do not come downstairs. You freak.” My other friend and coworker in Panama, Victor, was trying to learn more English. One day he called me on the phone from the front of the house. He said, “Jill, where you are?” And I said, “In the office, Victor, where are you?” He said, “I’m in the chicken.” So I said, “Victor, it’s kitchen, not chicken!” And then he just laughed and laughed. But really, how else do you learn?

My hostess in Guatemala was a great woman who took the time to talk to me a lot. Her whole family did. I could always tell when I’d said something that befuddled her. She would wrinkle her brow in a certain way and I would ask her in Spanish, “Is that not a word?” And then we’d try to figure it out. Once we were changing the sheets on my bed and I commented on the awesome wool blanket that helped keep me warm on those chilly nights in the Guatemalan highlands. When I referred to the blanket, I could not for the life of me remember the Spanish word for blanket. So I just Spanishized the English word and called it a “blanketa.” She gave me that look, and then just busted out laughing. Then I started laughing and pretty soon, we were laughing so hard we were crying. I don’t know why she thought it was so funny. She did not speak English, so I don’t think she realized how pathetic my attempt had been. And I’m not sure if “blanketa” means something in Guatemala of which I am not aware, something way different than an actual blanket ... maybe “pipe wrench” or “elbow” or something dirty. But she found it funny, and as a result, so did I.

So yes, you need to be willing to put yourself out there and just try. Make mistakes. Laugh at your mistakes. Learn from your mistakes. I don't recall a stranger ever laughing at me (just my host mom and friends). And even if they laugh at you, then you know you’ve said something incorrectly and can try to find out the right way to say it. I can promise that once you make a big goof, you will remember the correct way to say it from then on.

Wait, I still cannot remember how to say blanket.

Maybe we were laughing too hard.

Step to the head of the class.

When I took my first trip to Latin America, Costa Rica to be exact, I didn’t know a lick of Spanish (or very few licks at least). I didn’t think much of it at the time; I was going with a group of people who were helping to build a house, and knowing Spanish was not a prerequisite for going. But once I got there, how I wish I knew it. I wanted to talk to the great local people we met and understand what they were saying. I wanted to speak with our bus driver, the local workers, and the cute guy painting our hotel. But alas, I hadn’t a clue. I was, however, inspired. I was going to learn Spanish by golly! I was going to return to Latin America, and volunteer somewhere, and learn the language. Somehow, someway, I was going to become fluent.

If you have ever felt this need to learn Spanish-- and I have said this before (see here) -- I highly recommend enrolling in a total immersion language school in another country. There are a number of reasons why they are a great option for getting a grip on a widely spoken and valued language. Here are a few:

-       In Latin America at least, they are very inexpensive, even with the homestay option (which includes room and 2-3 meals a day).

-       You will have a ready-made social network of people you can hang out with and travel with in your free time. Other travelers will make your experience abroad even more memorable, and you will often be learning about more cultures in the process if they are from different countries.

-       You will usually get to participate in cultural activities and field trips that will further your understanding of the language, culture, and the people who are teaching you and hosting you in their home. There are often also cooking, dance, and handicraft classes, as well as presentations on the country’s history.

-       You are going to learn a lot of Spanish! The nature of these programs makes it virtually impossible to leave them-- even after just a week-- without having improved your Spanish skills.

Here I am at a cooking class at my Spanish school in Granada, Nicaragua.
We were learning to make empanadas de platanos maduros
(that is my friend Pascale in the orange shirt). 

I highly recommend the schools that offer one-on-one tutoring. I have been in a classroom setting (multiple students in one class) in two schools, and it was one extreme or the other. The first total immersion school I participated in was in Costa Rica, which had a classroom setting, and I was a beginner. But I was more of a beginner than most of my classmates, so I never fully comprehended what was being taught. I was lost a lot of the time and it was frustrating. I did learn, but it wasn’t as fun as the future one-on-one situations I would later experience. Then, a few years later when my language skills were greatly improved, I was in a classroom in Mexico with other students who were at a less advanced level than I. That class was as frustrating as the beginner class. It was more of a review session for me. But with a one-on-one situation, you go at your own pace. If you are stuck on the difference between the pretérito and imperfecto tenses, then you are going to work on it until you understand. If you cannot master the pronunciation of definitivamente, then you work on it until you do. It’s all about you.

I have had some great one-on-one Spanish instructors. Not one of them spoke English, or enough English, to translate anything for me. If I didn’t understand something, then they would explain it in another way ... but still in Spanish. I was forced to think and figure things out. And the teachers were also able to identify my strengths and weaknesses, and help create more strengths. A typical day in class would involve some lessons from the instructor, some written exercises, some conversation, mixing it up, keeping it interesting, breaking up the monotony. 

There was a point when I knew my basic, very beginner Spanish was improving while I lived in Panama. When I arrived there, I knew hardly a thing. High school Spanish didn’t have any personal application in my life at the time, and I didn’t retain much of that. So I was really clueless with the español when I decided to go to Panama for several months. I worked with Spanish speakers (most spoke only Spanish), I lived with a Spanish-only-speaker, I read children’s books in Spanish, I watched movies with Spanish subtitles, I talked to people, I took classes from local teachers. And one day, a real test came when I was coming back home from the Isla Taboga ferry launch in a taxi. I had taken that trip a dozen times before; I knew how much the taxi fare was (there were no meters in Panama City taxis and rates were based on the “zones” you crossed). But this guy decided he could pull one over on the fula (Panamanian word for a blonde), and charge more because what the heck does she know? I wasn’t having any of that. And before I knew it, I was in a full-fledged argument with a taxi driver. In Spanish! How exciting! I knew enough Spanish to raise some hell, and to let that guy know that I had been there for months and I had taken taxis before, so I knew the fares. I think I may have even sworn at the guy. It was a proud moment.

Totally immersing myself (maybe not totally, but pretty thoroughly at least) was the best way for me to learn Spanish as an adult. If you already know Spanish but want to brush up on some things, heading off to another country for a while is the way to go. If you just want to learn some basics because you’re planning on traveling through Central or South America for a few months, I highly recommend it be the first part of your travels. If you want to build upon what you know, and learn as much as you can, spending a few weeks or months in an immersion setting is going to do wonders for your abilities. You can find such schools all over Latin America. I have studied in Panama, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Mexico, Guatemala, and Nicaragua. Or pick another language and/or another region. I would love to take Portuguese classes in Brazil or French in Martinique (or France for that matter!). As I’ve said before, taking classes in a total immersion language school is a great way to travel and meet people. And it’s also a fun way to learn.