Anna Lao, Plus3 Argentina Summer 2025
During my time abroad in Argentina, one of the biggest challenges I faced was the language barrier. Before leaving, I felt somewhat prepared. I had practiced Spanish through daily Duolingo lessons, proudly collecting little green owl streaks like badges of honor. I figured that with enough practice, I’d be able to manage most situations. However, the moment I stepped off the plane in Buenos Aires, I realized Duolingo had not prepared me for the speed, slang, and sheer confidence with which people actually spoke in Argentina. My “Hola, ¿cómo estás?” sounded fine in theory, but once the conversation moved past greetings, I was immediately lost.
In the beginning, I survived on the basics. I could order food at restaurants, though I’ll admit this often required the help of Google Translate and some dramatic pointing at the menu. I felt like a contestant in a game show who couldn’t say the answer but was really hoping the host understood the gesture. At grocery stores, I sometimes avoided speaking entirely, and would read the total off the screen they had. Everyday tasks that would normally take two minutes at home suddenly felt like uphill battles.
I once mispronounced a word so badly that the waiter tilted his head, paused, and then kindly repeated it back to me with a smile. It was a small reminder that humility and humor go a long way when learning. Even simple conversations, like saying ‘have a nice day’, sometimes ended with me accidentally saying something that made no sense. Luckily, most people appreciated the effort and responded with patience and a grin. I laughed too, mostly to mask my embarrassment, but these interactions taught me an important lesson. Mistakes were inevitable, and laughter could smooth over almost anything.
Thankfully, I wasn’t alone in these struggles. I made close friends within my study abroad group, several of whom spoke Spanish fluently. They became my unofficial translators and cultural interpreters, jumping in to clarify when a conversation went completely over my head. At markets, they’d help me bargain with vendors. At restaurants, they explained dishes I didn’t recognize and usually ended up ordering for me. Their support was a safety net that kept me afloat when I felt overwhelmed, and I was grateful for it.
At the same time, I didn’t want to rely on them forever. Part of the reason I went abroad was to push myself, and hiding behind my friends wasn’t exactly the brave, adventurous version of myself I had pictured. As the trip went on, instead of directly relying on my friends, I would have them teach me some phrases and words, and I would use those mini lessons to speak to vendors and locals. At restaurants, I would ask my friends to give me rundown of the items and how to say them. By the end of the trip, I was able to order my dinner on my own and have basic interactions with locals on my own.
Looking back, the language barrier was both my greatest frustration and my greatest teacher. It made me laugh at myself, and in the process, taught me not to take mistakes so seriously. Most importantly, it gave me the courage to embrace discomfort instead of running from it. By the time I returned home, I was far from fluent, but I definitely knew more Spanish. On top of that, I learned to be more confident and take tough challenges and learn from them.
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