Bridges

That Little Voice

I was challenged this week to think about bridges, as in connecting with other people, other countries, other ideas, other languages. And it isn’t a subject I’ve thought about in great depth, until now.

Spending time in a foreign country where I don’t understand a word spoken in Spanish opens the doors to new meanings of bridges.

I’ve considered bridges a path from pointAto point B, usually over a body of water, or from one job to another, or one home to another. Leaving one place and getting to another, a beginning and an ending.

But bridging the gap between countries, morays, languages, beliefs, traditions, feels as though I’m on a rope overpass swinging with each step I take, hanging on with a fearful grasp, while marveling at the terrain around me.

I began the journey with enthusiasm and an extra dose of ignorance, not understanding nor thinking about the mundane obstacles that would jolt and bewilder me.

Things like how to find a bathroom when ‘banos’hadn’t been discussed in my first three lessons of Spanish class.

Or, when you want to purchase a garden hose, and drawing a picture is mistaken to mean I am looking for a pet snake.

It is especially frustrating when the internet connection in the city is comparable to the first telephone transmission Mr. Bell initiated. A bit scratchy, but hopeful.

Suddenly bridging isn’t a simple few steps but rather an extended hike through a dense forest of new foliage, different pests, a slower pace, and an awakening that this bridge may not have an end.

It may have relief stations where I can stop, meet new folks around a lunch counter, take a break, get nourishment, but an end? Probably not in this lifetime.

Some things on this journey in a foreign land become a bit familiar, but the habits, the beliefs, the work ethic, the politics, the values, those remain unpierced and not understandable, since I am not a native.

I may never understand what makes Mexican women such great caregivers. Or why ‘a lot of ice’ means two ice cubes melting in a glass of hot ice tea. Or why ‘in an hour’ may mean the next day or next week.

I wonder what makes Mexican families such closely knit units, and why beautiful homes and gardens are hidden behind imposing stone fences.

Those are the things I may never learn nor understand. I find the people interesting, especially if they speak more English than I do Spanish. I find their celebrations exciting and filled with enthusiasm, and their food tantalizing and especially spicy.

But to adopt, understand, and embrace this new culture may never become second nature to me. Charming, mesmerizing, absorbing and most appealing I will ‘get’, but it may always be a never ending bridge from one culture to another.

I’ll keep you posted as I find new enchanting visions along this pathway.