Back To Cemanahuac

This is not the first time I’ve been to Cuernavaca. In the spring of 1982, I quit my waitressing job in Boston, packed a few bags, said goodbye to my Foster Street housemates, and boarded a flight to Mexico City. I had arranged to spend a month living with a Mexican family in Cuernavaca while I studied Spanish at a small language school called Cemanahuac.

When I arrived in the bustling Mexico City airport, it took a while to figure out where to change dollars to pesos and how to find a taxi to my hotel in the centro histórico. An hour later, I was relieved when I finally turned the key to my tiny, dark hotel room. I had made it to Mexico!

That first night in Mexico City, I didn’t venture far. I wasn’t confident of my language skills and was afraid to go out alone. Nagging hunger finally forced me out of the hotel and down the street to the nearest taqueria. I gobbled two greasy tacos and hurried back to the safety of my room. The next day, I took a bus to Cuernavaca and began a month of study and home stay.

Forty years later, I was back in Cuernavaca. This time I was staying a month in an AirBnb apartment with Vince. He was working remotely while I caught up on memoir writing and honed my Spanish skills. I was continuing online classes with tutors and was speaking Spanish with the locals whenever I left the apartment. I also planned to return to Cemanahuac for some in-person, direct instruction.

It took me a few weeks to muster the courage to check out Cemanahuac. Forty years is a long time and I wondered if my Spanish had improved and if I could keep up with the younger students. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Vince and I had walked to the school one evening so I knew that it still existed. I needed to find out what level Spanish classes were taught and how to register and pay for a class.

When I arrived at the school, the gate was padlocked and all was quiet on the other side. My “Holas” echoed throughout the empty patio so I assumed no one was around. I turned to leave just as a man with a key approached to unlock the gate. He explained that the gate stayed locked these days because of COVID concerns but the director Charlie was inside and could assist me.

Charlie appeared from his office when I entered the courtyard. I introduced myself in Spanish and told him why I was there. Although I assumed English was his first language, Charlie and I continued our conversation in Spanish. He walked me around the school and described some of the changes that had been made in the past forty years. He asked what I recalled about the school, but I was embarrassed to admit that I remembered very little. I remembered my host family, their house, my room, walking to school, and a few weekend trips with other students to Teotihuacan, Taxco, and Acapulco. But I could not remember anything about the school, my Spanish class, teacher, or Charlie who had been leading those weekend excursions since he and his sister cofounded the school almost fifty years ago.

After our tour of the school, Charlie summoned one of the teachers to interview me in Spanish and determine what level of instruction I required. Blanca and I chatted for a while about the Cemanahuac program, resources, teaching practices, and COVID precautions. She explained that whereas they often had dozens of students in the past, they currently only had a few due to the coronavirus. Because of fewer students, classes were one on one and could be tailored to individual student needs. Instruction was four hours a day and I could choose two hours of grammar followed by two hours of conversation or any variation in between. I could even do fewer than four hours a day if I didn’t think I could sustain that many hours of continuous Spanish. I told her that I could do four hours a day as long as there were no tests and no homework. I mostly wanted to have directed conversation with an instructor who could correct my mistakes and focus on my weaker areas with the language.

The following Monday, I started my week of Spanish at Cemanahuac. Lupita was assigned as my instructor and she and I immediately hit it off. Not only was she an experienced and capable teacher, Lupita was also very friendly and personable and able to keep me engaged in a steady stream of conversation for hours at a time.

The week went by fast and I looked forward to going to class. Unfortunately, I had to miss one day of school because of the continuing saga of my friggin’, infected finger but that is another story.