The Art Of Speaking In Tongues

A few years ago, I took a few Indonesian lessons at a well-regarded language school here in Bali, and quite frankly, I found it mentally exhausting, which is a polite way of saying my brain officially tuned out by lesson three.

I live on this island for up to ten months a year to 'supposedly' try to churn out a new book (the word ‘supposedly’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence).

As the years have rolled on, I have found it increasingly necessary to learn to speak the language. It’s a long, winding, and often bumpy road — the kind where you set off confidently and, after a few wrong turns, end up buying a bucket.

We'll get to that later.

I am not only a novelist but also a travel writer, which sounds glamorous until you realise it means arriving somewhere where spoken English is as common as a polite New York taxi driver is.

The Indonesian class was small: just four of us and an ever-so-patient teacher, a man whose patience, I suspect, was not a personality trait but a professional survival mechanism.

My classmates radiated confidence and intelligence, gobbled up the class notes in a flash, while I held up proceedings by plodding through the most basic sentences like a man defusing a bomb in slow motion.

We had a loquacious Greek gentleman in the class. Greek was his mother tongue, but he spoke English, Spanish, and German, and if that wasn't enough, he had enough Arabic in his arsenal to get by.

There he was, casually adding a sixth language to his already bulging linguistic cabinet. He reminded me of someone who already owns four sports cars and is buying a fifth just because he can.

The Greeks, I decided, like to blow their own trumpets.

Frankly, if I could speak five languages, I'd hire a marching band.

In the group was a shy Russian woman who had only recently mastered English and was now, gluttonously, embarking on a third language. There she was, stoically practising pronunciation and diction while I was learning to count! What was going on in her head?

Did she see a word, translate it back into Russian, then into English, then into Indonesian, and finally, three countries later, open her mouth and spit out a perfectly nuanced phrase?

Indonesian (Bahasa Indonesia) is the official language of Indonesia and was introduced in the 1950s. It was designed by academics (who I suspect were in a hurry) rather than left to evolve naturally. It was intended as a unifying platform tongue, but, on reflection, Indonesia ended up with a language essentially assembled by committee.

You'd think that would make it easier.

Well, it isn't.

I mean, how hard could it be, this language that "borrows" liberally from other tongues and quietly supplants the 300-plus existing native languages?

Actually, it is very hard. Growing up in countries where English was the only spoken language has left my brain lazy and stubbornly monolingual, and it fights back hard every time I try to think and speak in an unfamiliar language.

Pronunciation, nuance, spelling, and an alphabet that only pretends to behave like mine conspire against me with malicious enthusiasm.

I learn a basic question, then deploy it with real gusto, often feeling mighty pleased with myself. Then, unfortunately, the person I am speaking to fires back a rapid-fire answer, laced with a follow-up question.

Checkmate!

My house in Bali is festooned with Post-it notes in Indonesian, stuck to lamps, fridges, doors, and the confused neighbour's cat. I still laboriously try to build vocabulary by repeating the same words aloud like a man rehearsing for a play no one asked him to be in.

My confidence, I should say, is building.

This very morning I set off for the market, quietly rehearsing: "Good morning. Could I please have a carton of milk and a dozen eggs? Thank you."

This was delivered with real conviction. I believe I even smiled.

The lady at the market looked at me askance, paused, and then handed me a packet of condoms and a brand-new bucket.

I think I still have a way to go!

Although one thing I can take comfort in is that wherever this language takes me next, I'll apparently never run short of contraception or buckets.