The Sunday Times - January 2005

Learn the Lingo on Holiday

The best way to a learn a foreign language? Stop speaking your own. We sent three terrible linguists to sample 'total immersion' in Spain, France and Italy. Three great schools, three beautifu locations and one rule in common: no English allowed.

What are the chief cultural differences between us and our Latin neighbours? Here is one view, from an aggrieved Provençal boulanger: “The British walk into my shop as if they own it. They look around and say nothing, like occupying soldiers. They still think they are fighting the Hundred Years’ war.”

Recognise yourself? Yes, the man probably has a point — but the fundamental problem is not British bad manners, it’s our linguistic ineptitude. We just don’t do foreign languages. Instead, we take off every summer to the Med and spend our holidays waving our arms about in a desperate bid to communicate. Whenever we meet locals who can speak our tongue, we immediately apologise for not speaking theirs. It’s the nation’s annual guilt trip.

It doesn’t have to be that way. The best continental language schools now promise to save us from ourselves, with a policy of “total immersion” teaching — no English allowed. Their message: you can conquer French, Italian or Spanish, but you have to be prepared to go cold turkey. We sent our guinea pigs across the Channel to sample three of the best: all of them exponents of total immersion, and all set in inspiring locations where you feel more like you are going en vacances than back to school. Did it work? Here are their reports...

Learning Spanish by Katie Bowman

The student: you’d think a Latin American mother and a lifetime of family holidays in Honduras and Spain would make me fluent. But seven years of school French have swamped any basic Spanish I once knew, and my hot-blooded mum isn’t the most patient teacher. But she — and my love of all things Iberian — is the reason I want to learn.

The school: I chose International House (IH) in Palma de Mallorca hoping the sunshine would compensate for the early mornings. The school is in a typical Mallorcan town house on one of Palma’s prettiest squares, Plaça de Cort.

I can go it alone or learn in a group on either a standard or intensive basis. Taking the easiest option, I sign up for a group course of four lessons a day (9.30am-1.30pm) over two weeks. This means I’ll have the afternoons free to practise my spangly new vocab, preferably on the beach. A 50-minute written test on the first morning brands me “elementary” — that is, I can count to 10.

The course: there’s a bouncy ball in the corner and giant dice hanging from the blackboard. This is clearly going to be a “hands-on” language course. My classmates look friendly enough, and range from a raucous 17-year-old Italian called Fabio to a sedate middle-aged Scot named Henry. We begin by asking each other about hobbies, birthdays and families. Mistakes abound, but it gets us used to using common phrases over and over again. The entire lesson is in Spanish. At first this is frustrating, but our teacher, Miriam, assures us that translation slows the learning process. If you’re busy mentally changing “cerveza” into “beer” before translating your answer of “big” into “grande”, your conversation won’t flow. So we are forced to think, ask and respond in Spanish.

The next couple of days follow in similar relaxed vein, but, just as I start to feel settled, Miriam lifts up that ball. We’re going to learn verb conjugations by throwing it to each other while standing in a circle. First up is Fabio, who blithely spouts “I speak”, and tosses the ball to a Swiss girl. She declares “you speak”, and throws the ball to me. “He speaks,” I cry, and the ball smacks me in the face. Miriam smiles and tells me my verb conjugation is excellent, but my ball skills could be improved upon. At least, I think that’s what she says.

After class we embark on the first of the fortnight’s optional excursions. These will include a visit to the Gaudí cathedral, salsa lessons and mountainside horse-riding. Today, it is tapas at a local bar, accompanied by students on all levels of the course. Until now, lunch has been an informal affair — a chance to retreat into our native language with friends. Ordering tapas in front of one another offers no such escape. The afternoon is a roaring success, with the free-flowing rioja loosening everybody’s tongues. I’m more relaxed in class by now: learning a new language could actually be fun. Next day, Miriam pulls out the giant dice. We are to work our way around a board in small teams, and Miriam cleverly pairs quieter students with more gregarious ones. The competitive instinct soon kicks in, and we’re shouting each other down for the chance to conjugate a reflexive verb. If you’d told me a week ago that I’ d be enjoying front-of-class role-play with a teenager called Fabio, I’d have said you were loco. These games might not appeal to everyone, but the interactive teaching method isn’t as intimidating as it sounds. After my first week, I’ve learnt some invaluable vocabulary, the present tense and how to introduce myself. Once my two weeks are up, I have cracked the past tense and am itching to get back to my local tapas restaurant to impress the waiters.

School’s out: my first few afternoons are beach-based — this is meant to be a holiday, after all. Later, I venture further afield, to the beautiful town of Soller, reached by a rickety but charming train from Plaça d’Espanya. The journey alone is worth it — through citrus and almond groves.

One evening back in Palma, I decide to brave a chic-looking old-town restaurant with no English menu. Though my waiter answers me in English when I order, I persevere, and by the end we’re chatting in broken Spanish about whether I should have pudding.

The verdict: I’m thrilled with my progress. My mother will be so proud even though our telephone calls will take even longer than they used to.

The details: Cactus Language (01273 725200, www.cactuslanguage.com) offers Spanish courses at International House Palma: mine cost £249pp; it’s £569pp if you stay with a host family on a half-board basis. Cactus can also organise return flights from all UK and Irish airports (from about £100).

To view the article in full click here >>