39. Precarious Production

In my last blog entry, I talked about the surreptitious way I joined study groups to pick up the language they had to offer then moved on to other cultural fields to infiltrate and exploit. My calculating study approach was meant to expose me to as much new language as possible in order to improve my comprehension skills; however, the ultimate goal was to develop my speaking ability and join the “adult world” instead of sounding like a pre-schooler forever. Within a few years, I entered the aggressive production phase of my evolving Japanese.

Joining study groups was fine; however, I found myself repeating the same  phrases over and over after about six months in a cultural study context and realized that I needed to access more challenging linguistic experiences across more fields if I really wanted to become fluent. I came to the conclusion that, rather than being taught, I needed to cast myself in the role of teacher using the target language.

In my third year in Japan, I began to receive invitations to speak to assorted civic groups on an exotic range of topics, some of which I knew a great deal about (“Canadian folk singers? No problem!”), others of which I was totally ignorant (“Seniors’ benefits in Canada? Hmm. I suppose I could ask my grandmother in Calgary...”). As the only Canuck (what Canadians call themselves behind closed doors) for a hundred-mile/160.93 kilometer radius, I was expected to be the expert on all things stamped with a red maple leaf. I wasn’t really a “Great White North” nationalist. It was just that no one else was available and I was the default person to go to.

For my part, I accepted these assorted speaking engagements because I had come to realize that they were prime sources for my language development. The words and phrases I prepared for these events were permanently branded on to my brain cells by the ultimate memory tool – fear.

Frankly, I do not view myself as an exemplary student. If there is a clear reason to master language used in a field that is unfamiliar to me, with a little prodding I will put in the necessary hours. On the other hand, without a goal, I can be as lazy as my most lethargic university students. Agreeing to speak in public forced me to investigate content that I was unsure of in my mother tongue then convey the meaning by looking up the key words I needed to express myself in Japanese. The process was stressful and the end result terrifying, but my spoken language was certainly evolving.

Topics were as varied as my audiences and sometimes a little too spontaneous for my own good. For one group of 500 elementary school children, my demure talk on primary school life in Alberta mutated into a frenzied representation of wildlife across Canada. Kids being kids, they were much more interested in hearing about bears and wolves eating deer than school schedules. As a result, their questions forced me into unknown vocabulary terrain. My pint-sized audience stared transfixed as I frantically gestured assorted animals in a desperate effort to elicit the necessary language to express myself (see blog entry 12, Eliciting, and blog entry 19, Show me!). Moose racks spreading out from my head, beaver tails slapping the water surface, coyotes howling at the moon. I left with a whole new corpus of beastly terms – and about 2 kilos of weight loss!

But perhaps the most nerve-wracking discussion context I threw myself into was as the co-host of a radio talk show on a station in Takamatsu when I was teaching at a university there. The program involved cultural commentary and was broadcast live every Friday before the 6:00 evening news. Initially, I was asked by a close friend to be interviewed on air and thought, “Why not?” I chose a safe topic within my comfort zone (local souvenirs that go down well overseas) and, given that I knew the interviewer, did a decent job of getting my point across.

My perky, practical little talk was well-received resulting in an invitation to become a regular commentator. The offer fit perfectly into my schedule and sounded like a great way to pick up new language. I could finish my last university class of the week on Friday afternoon around 4:30, jump on my bicycle and arrive with plenty of time to relax, collect my thoughts then settle down comfortably in front of the microphone as the clock ticked its way to 5:55. Of course, the reality was much harsher.

I had not factored in the possibility that my students might have loads of questions at the end of each university class (“It’s Friday. Don’t you all have dates or something else to do?”) and that I would have to pedal like a banshee to reach the studio in time. Then there were the vagaries of the local weather. Icy winds in February, heavy rains in June, sweltering heat in August. Over the two years I spoke on air, I can count the times on one hand when I didn’t arrive soaked in perspiration seconds before the director frantically signaled that we were broadcasting.

To complicate matters further, while I found the first few months invigorating with plenty of topics to chatter on about, after a year of weekly commentary on what titillated my cultural taste buds, I found myself scraping the barrel for untouched topics. I knew the situation was bad when one Friday I caught myself leafing through a large English-Japanese dictionary to retrieve “denial”, “anger”, “bargaining”, “depression” and “acceptance”, the necessary words for explaining Kübler-Ross’ five stages of grief. What had started out as a light and frothy language learning adventure had mutated into heavy interludes plumbing the depths of “what-will-I-talk-about-this-week” despair!

And there was more misery on the horizon. The listening audience was apparently entertained and I began to garner a following, something I hadn’t really thought about. Getting into a taxi and having the driver turn and exclaim “You’re Don-san, aren’t you?” can be very unnerving. I had achieved my goal of picking up a wondrous range of vocabulary, but was now in need of “infringement” and “privacy”. So this is what it meant to be an “ii no naka no kawazu” – “a frog in a well”, or “big fish in a small pond” as we say in English.


Still, I can’t complain. During my brief career as a part-time radio announcer I had learned language that I would never have picked up otherwise. To this day the words and phrases I frantically committed to memory, sometimes seconds before the red light went on in the studio, are still emblazoned in my brain.

But in the end I moved on, realizing there must be a simpler way of learning “denial” without developing an ulcer.

(If you are really a fool for language, check out my language learning website at http://en.sulantra.com/ with courses from and to English, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese,Turkish, Bulgarian, Thai, German, Korean, Portuguese and Italian!)

38. Stealth Studying

In this blog I have touched on a number of strategies that have proven useful for me on my language learning journey, such as “eliciting” (getting the words you don’t know using words and gestures you do know; see blog entry 12), “copy correcting” (imitating native speakers when they correct your speech; see blog entry 8), “gesturing” (using your body when you don’t have the words to get your point across; see blog entry 19) and “Control” (conversation management based on a concrete behavioral model; see blog entries 27 and 28). On the other hand, all of these great strategies amount to nothing if you don’t go out into the real world and use them.

This is easy to accomplish if you are living in a country where your first language is not the lingua franca. Every interaction becomes a “learning experience”; however, you still may have to make an effort, particularly if your first language is English and you teach your mother tongue for a living, as many of the foreigners in Japan do.

No matter how sincere intentions are to learn “nihongo” (Japanese), the newly-arrived English speaker soon discovers that intial contact in the workplace will most likely not be in the local language. Soon you slip into the comfortable, but confining routine of functioning through colleagues, whose English language skills grow by leaps and bounds as your Japanese aspirations wither. It is an easy trap to fall into; however, you may soon find yourself frustrated and resentful, like a pampered child being constantly fussed over.

In my time here, I have run across a surprising number of foreigners who accept living in an “English cocoon” as the norm. They are unable to comfortably participate in simple conversations in Japanese even though they landed on these shores decades ago. For me, this is a sad condition. It reminds me of the Indian women I first taught in Canada (see blog entry 17) who were able to function but could not fully participate in the mainstream culture. In the case of English-speaking “ex-pats”, each activity in the local community is a hurdle while one’s circle of friends is typically limited to bilingual natives or other foreigners in the same confining monolingual boat.

The attitude of some local inhabitants may also prove a barrier to one’s efforts to becoming bilingual. In Japan, many of those keen to learn English have come to view native speakers as a type of language “vending machine”. Just push a button and a new phrase will pop out. It can be very frustrating when someone you have never met before insists on practicing their broken English with you when you are trying to get the job done in Japanese. Not the best way to make new friends.

So how do you go about finding opportunities to improve your communication skills in a language when based in a culture other than your own? If you live in a smaller town or the countryside, going to a language school for lessons may not be an option. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Endless grammar drills can be mind-numbing while a “key phrase for the week” is hardly high volume learning. For my money, I have found it much more productive to study with the locals as you learn a new skill in their language.

When I first arrived in Japan, I lived in a small village on the Inland Sea (see blog entry 29) with the nearest language classes a one-hour boat ride away. Since I worked most nights, attending lessons across the water wasn’t realistic. Besides, I was facing more immediate hurdles. Trips to the local supermarket were a nightmare. A surprising number of vegetables were unrecognizable while the contents of packaged goods could be positively ominous. I knew the Chinese character for “fish” but I might be purchasing catfood!

To remedy the situation, I decided to take cooking lessons and discovered that they were an excellent setting for learning language. Following orders to chop, slice or grill, I soon realized that I was picking up a range of vocabulary and expressions from my fellow classmates as they chattered around me.

Soon I began to evolve into a “serial student” developing (albeit shallowly) a range of skills, then walking away from each field once I had milked it for all of the language it had to offer. Doll making, wood carving, flower arranging – I tripped through the traditional arts with the ulterior motive of improving my listening comprehension and speaking ability in Japanese.

There was an obvious pattern to my progress. First, search out an instructor who was willing to tolerate an eager foreigner with limited linguistic skills. Second, squeeze in lessons for a few hours during my busy work week, assuming the role of class incompetent until I had mastered some fundamental techniques and terms. Next, strike up conversations, clarifying and being forced to clarify in order to communicate. And, finally, gracefully excuse myself from classes once I knew most of the jargon and it was obvious that my fractured phrases were understood by those around me. If my classmates stopped demanding explanations, I knew my learning experience had plateaued and it was time to move on.

The above progression may sound mercenary, however, my excuse of being “too busy at work to continue” was culturally acceptable and no noses were put out of joint. I had my priorities but was determined to part friends. Furthermore, I wasn’t completely a linguistic butterfly flitting from field to cultural field. I persevered with Japanese cooking for three years and studied “sado”, or tea ceremony, for eight years, even receiving a qualification.

I undertook tea ceremony because the language I had picked up in the Mitsui shipyards (see blog entries 27 and 29) was very rough-edged. I realized this the hard way while making a congratulatory speech at a wedding reception. My eloquent phrases were continuously sidetracked by the embarrassed giggles of the audience. I thought my words were polished and dignified; the other guests thought that I sounded like a dockyard thug!

Japanese tea ceremony, on the other hand, uses language that is excruciatingly formal – perfect for wedding speeches and, as it turns out, funerals. Furthermore, the study of tea ceremony can prove endless. You start with the basics of the ceremony itself, mastering a series of stages and steps in order to perform in a smooth, effortless manner for your guests. But lessons can become addictive and I soon found myself dabbling in ceramics in order to recognize the style of each tea bowl I held or lingering over the elegant hanging scroll selected by my teacher for the day’s lesson. Training includes posture (rising gracefully from a squat to full standing position can be hellishly difficult when you are tall and gangly) and the proper demeanor as you slide open paper screens and move about clad in a kimono. And, of course, all of this activity is accompanied by the directions and explanations of your “sensei” – the much sought after language I so desperately wanted.

The above learning contexts involved aural input. Like a small child, a lot of language has to go in before something comes out. In my next blog, I will talk about efforts at output, or treading in precarious places to improve my speaking skills.

(If you are really a fool for language, check out my language learning website at http://en.sulantra.com/ with courses from and to English, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese,Turkish, Bulgarian, Thai, German, Korean, Portuguese and Italian!)

37. What’s in a name?

Way back in blog entry 6 I talked about a quirky strategy for remembering new words in a foreign language by associating them with assorted images or similar sounding words in your mother tongue or another language you are familiar with. I referred to this technique as “mental connections” and suggested the weirder the connection the easier it would be to remember since the association would stand out more. This is the season when I put the strategy to good use.

The school year has started again in Japan and with it comes the conundrum of what to call my students. My university classes range from 20 to 120 individuals and getting their names down can be daunting. But knowing a student’s name can mean the difference between his or her active participation or indifference in lessons. To complicate matters, there are a number of cultural norms that I must choose to adhere to or ignore when addressing students.

The general rule for Japanese is that you use the family name followed by “san”, the equivalent of “Mr.” or “Ms.” when speaking with those around you. If you are talking with someone from your childhood, however, the first name (or maybe I should say “given name” since, in Japan, the first name is the family name) can be used followed by “kun” for men or “chan” for either sex – kind of like the “e” sound we tack on names in English to indicate familiarity, such as “Jimmy” for “James” or “Suzy” for “Susan”.

In a school setting, another dynamic comes into play, that of teacher and student. If teachers really want to signify who is in charge, they will drop the title altogether and use the family name only. For female students use of the given name is also common.

So what do I do? Being a Westerner who conducts some of his classes in English, I am allowed to play by a different set of rules, which I tend to make up on the spot depending on who is sitting in the classroom. Usually I address my students by their given names, explaining that in Canada this feels more informal and friendly. Just call me Don, eh?

My goal is to break down the walls and get to know everyone better. The reasoning makes sense to the average twenty-year-old and, after some initial awkwardness mostly on the part of the guys, students take this as the norm and soon begin referring to each other using first names often followed by a “chan” or “kun” to make things sound more palatable to their Japanese ears.

Such use of the given name is normally only reserved for friends and family who have known you since childhood but it does have advantages. It helps build a feeling of camaraderie both in and outside of classes. This point was brought home during a recent parent-professor counseling session (yes, we have such things at the university level, too) when one mother expressed her delight that I was using everyone’s first name. She said that it helped break down the usual formality and her son had supposedly made new friends more quickly “just like in elementary school”. I’m not sure that is the ambience I strive for but she certainly approved.

 On the other hand, my demand that students use my first name results in the awkward situation where my colleagues refer to me by my family name with “sensei” (professor) while the students refer to me by “Don”. This has resulted in some professors complaining that my students are being rude. After explaining that the use of my given name makes me feel more approachable and comfortable with the speaker, some brave souls do attempt to “go with the flow” and address me as “Don”, particularly on staff outings. But others visibly cringe when a student or staff member shouts out “Don!” to get my attention in the halls.

When it comes to the foreign students in my classes, there are some interesting variations. My Korean students seem to enjoy using given names for the same reason I do – it breaks down formality and creates a more relaxed, personal atmosphere. As for my Thai students, they seem to have no qualms whatsoever about using given names rather than family names in class. When I commented on their “adaptability”, I was informed that Thais use the given name when addressing someone formally and switch to a “nickname”, which typically has no resemblance to their real name, in the company of friends. So much for creating a more casual ambience in my classes.

As for my students from China, they are harder to read. Some are delighted that I know a little Chinese and call them by their real names in their mother tongue. Others, however, insist that I use the Japanese pronunciation of their Chinese names, which can be disturbingly different. To give an obvious example, “Mao Tse-tung” of revolution fame is pronounced as what sounds like “Mo-Duck-Toe” to English-speaking ears.

I am not really sure why some of my Chinese students are more comfortable being addressed with the Japanese pronunciation of their names. Maybe they are just being kind to the inhabitants of their host country since most Japanese find Chinese names to be real tongue twisters. Or perhaps it makes my students from China feel like they “stick out” a little less. Being in Japan, they want to use a Japanese variation of their name. I can kind of understand this attitude. When I was in university studying Mandarin, I was given a Chinese name, which meant that I was “part of the group”. To this day certain friends in Vancouver still address me as “Meidan”.

On the other hand, if you are trying to remember the names on class lists and have already created an association for a Chinese name, such as “Jing-Jing” (“Hmm. That sounds like change in my pocket...”) only to discover that she wants to be called “Sho-Sho”, it can really mess with one’s mental processes.

Names are important. They reflect the very essence of someone’s persona with usage governed by cultural norms that are hard to overcome no matter how long you have lived abroad. In Japan, when men become well acquainted, they address each other by the surname without a title to show that they are “buddies”. On the other hand, in the Western culture that I hail from, being called by the surname only (“Hey, Smith!”) can come across as rude and offensive.

In my first year working at Mitsui Engineering and Shipbuilding (see blog entry 27), I became close friends with the man in the desk across from mine, Nishimura-san. One day in my second month, he shouted across the large office we worked in to get my attention by using my surname only. I was thrown off balance. How rude! He thought that our friendship had reached the stage where we were on a first-name basis – family name that is. For my unacculturated ears, it sounded loutish.

I have a close friend, Kurt, whose name ends up sounding like “Kato” in Japanese, a typical local surname. Some of his acquaintances are mortified when they discover that for years they have been calling him by his given name, not his family name. On the other hand, his surname contains fourteen letters and is liberally sprinkled with “v”’s, which don’t exist in Japanese. In the end, everyone sticks with the comfortable, if potentially rude, status quo.

 As for the name “Don”, it is not quite as adaptable. It has a range of meanings in Japanese, none of which are very acceptable. “Don” can refer to the noise of a drum being beaten (“don, don, don…”), the head of a yakuza (gangster) clan, stinky, a dimwit... I think you get the picture, which is not an attractive one. Still, my name doesn’t leave people snickering when I introduce myself as it does in Istanbul. In Turkish, my name means “boxer shorts”. What’s in a name, indeed!

(If you are really a fool for language, check out my language learning website at http://en.sulantra.com/ with courses from and to English, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese,Turkish, Bulgarian, Thai, German, Korean, Portuguese and Italian!)

36. Another Perspective: Team Teaching

Today’s blog entry will go off on a rather different tangent. Yes, it talks about language learning, but in the unique context of team teaching. I was recently contacted by a major Japanese publisher of school texts to write an essay about this topic, which is dear to my heart. Here I present the unabridged version.

I have lived in Japan for over half of my life and during many years here have had a wide range of teaching experiences, including several working with Japanese instructors in junior and senior high schools to teach English. This arrangement is surprisingly common thanks to team teaching programs established by the Japanese Ministry of Education (Monkasho). A great deal of funds have been spent over the years on these programs; however, the results are mixed. Depending on who you are talking with, you will hear of amazing or horrible classroom experiences.

Although I am no longer involved directly with team taught classes for English, I do coordinate programs where I serve as the non-native instructor in a team-teaching context, most recently Thai. I also conduct workshops for regional education boards for both foreign and Japanese instructors who work for the government-sponsored Association for Japanese Exchange and Teaching (AJET) program. In my discussions with participants after these workshops, I hear praise and complaints very similar to those I encountered in my own team-teaching contexts many years ago. The French have an expression which describes this situation: “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.” - The more things change, the more they stay the same. No kidding!

My first team teaching experience took place in 1984, well before the official Ministry of Education programs were set up. I was one of a very few foreigners living on Shodo Island in Japan’s Inland Sea area and was approached by two local high schools to work alongside their teachers in classes. The goal was the same for each school – to give the island kids a chance to interact with a native English speaker – but my experience with each school was radically different.

In the first school, I arrived early on the first day of class early to discuss the lesson plan with my teaching partner and confirm who would be responsible for which components of the lesson. What activities were planned? How would we interact? Would I be solely responsible for some sections or would we do everything together? I was excited by the prospects. I had studied Chinese at university with native and non-native instructors working together, and knew such classes could be very productive and motivating (see blog entry 21). In my case, it was exciting to speak with a native Mandarin speaker and really communicate. On the other hand, I was impressed by my non-native instructor who inspired me. He was clearly comfortable working with a native and gave me the confidence to persevere. If he could learn Chinese, so could I!

The teacher I was to work with at the first school, Mr. F, didn’t take my phone calls and appeared in the staff room minutes before the class actually started. When I asked about the lesson plan I was told “Nan de mo ii.” (“Anything is okay.”) then marched into the classroom and left at the front of the room as my “partner” walked to the back and sat down. I felt like a curiosity on display. Fortunately, I am energetic and quick on my feet. I came up with some introductory activities that did not require handouts or one-on-one interviews with students, a time killer which leaves the other kids uninvolved and bored. This first class was a big disappointment for me, but I was determined that the students would enjoy themselves. I could “fix things” with my teaching partner by the next class. Sadly, the only thing that changed was my attitude towards the school. I didn’t like working there.

Over the weeks of visiting this school, my attempts to sit down with the Japanese instructor and discuss lesson planning were met with resistance. Mr. F was always “busy” when I asked for some time together, and started each class by walking quickly to the back of the room and sitting in his chair. Occasionally he would get up and stroll about when students were asking or answering questions. I understood his purpose when I suddenly turned from writing on the board and caught him hitting a student on the back of the head for making an error! How did he expect his students to try if he hit them when they made mistakes? After class, I told the man that, if I caught him hitting a student again, I would not return to the school. As a result, he never left his chair at the back of the room and we were both miserable.

Fortunately, my team teaching experience at the second school was completely different. The instructor assigned to work with me, Mr. Y, was happy to meet several days before we were to work together in the classroom. He greeted me at the door the first day we met and lead me straight to his desk in the staff room where he showed me the ideas and activities that he had planned for our first lesson. We discussed who would do what and, once we entered the classroom, things went incredibly well. Mr. Y’s English wasn’t perfect, but his attitude certainly was. He was completely involved in the lesson and inspired his students – and me – with his pleasant, approachable manner. I finished the school year with a new friend, convinced that team teaching could work with some planning and sensitivity towards your teaching partner.

I left Shodo Island to continue my education in the UK, returning to a Community Program Supervisor’s position at the Language Institute of Japan (LIOJ) in Odawara. By coincidence, LIOJ had just received a contract with a local high school and I was asked to set up the program using the four community teachers on staff, including myself. I was very excited by the possibilities and encouraged the LIOJ teachers by telling them how wonderful team teaching could be, while providing clear, structured training. Our group worked closely with the teachers in the local school. Everyone knew what their tasks were and did them well. We ended the year on a high and frightening note: 40 local education officials came to observe our team taught classes, as many observers as students! Subsequently, Odawara City asked us to expand the program to seven schools, a testament to its success.

Why were the LIOJ team teaching classes so successful? Clear guidelines were applied to improve the chances that the working relationship between the local teacher and visiting LIOJ instructor got off on the right foot. These guidelines included the following three core principles.

1.        Consultation is critical.

As I learned on Shodo Island, taking the time to discuss the role of each teacher in the classroom can make or break the working relationship. Both teachers are under pressure: the local teacher doesn’t want to look incompetent in front of his or her students, while the visiting instructor doesn’t want to be treated like a dancing poodle for entertainment vs. education purposes. A little time spent together preparing outside of the classroom can make a huge difference. Whether you meet in the staff room, in a nearby café or simply discuss on the telephone, this consultation time goes a long way to making your classroom efforts a success. An added benefit is that you may develop a strong friendship in the process.

2.        Lesson plans equal less stress.

Consultation about classroom activities and roles is great; however, your end goal should be a concrete lesson plan that you are both more or less satisfied with. A good lesson plan is designed like a stage script with clear activities, estimated time required, and assignment of “roles”. In other words, who does what and how long will it take. In the beginning, there will be miscalculations and things might be a little messy; however, with time and patience both teachers should become more adept at recognizing what works well in their team taught classes. A lesson plan reassures both teachers and makes for productive discussion, particularly afterwards when you discuss how things went and what to do differently next time.

3.        Attitude saves the day.

In the end, all the discussion and lesson-planning in the world is worthless unless both teachers respect each other’s efforts. Each teacher has his or her particular strengths. The local teacher probably knows the class better and can help identify which students are likely to provide the best model at the start of an activity, while the visiting teacher can add an energizing element to what would otherwise be a repetitive routine. Identify each person’s strengths and design the lesson plan around them. Maintain a flexible attitude. If an activity is not going as planned, don’t step in and take over. Discuss the situation with your teaching partner and make adjustments. Students are not stupid. If they see that their teachers are working well together to provide a productive lesson, they will respond with respect for both of you. I know this from my own experience.

Years have passed since my first forays into team teaching. I have been on both sides of the team teaching equation, as a native English speaker and as a non-native French, Spanish, Japanese and Thai teacher. I know that with planning, patience and sensitivity towards your classroom partner, the end result can be a wonderful, productive experience for everyone, especially the students.

If you enjoyed this article, you might be interested in reading two earlier papers I prepared on team teaching published in the academic publications Cross Currents and The Language Teacher. Click these links for access.

And, of course, if you are really a fool for language like me, check out my language learning website at http://en.sulantra.com/ with courses from and to English, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, Turkish, Bulgarian, Thai, German, Korean and Italian!

35. A Language Fixation: Never-ending Story

In my last blog, I talked about the origins of an accelerated language training system that I have spent many years developing. I refer to the system as ABLE for “action-based language empowerment” because immediately after each ABLE course I take participants overseas to test how well they can communicate and accomplish specific tasks in the target language (see blog entries 32 and 33). To date, I have coordinated about thirty-five ABLE courses in fourteen languages with approximately three hundred “guinea pigs”, including myself.

You would think that after so many years with so many languages and participants that the novelty would wear off. It doesn’t, at least not for me. So what is the attraction of running such courses, the reason for this ABLE addiction? Why do I continue to cajole, even coerce people into coming along for a language learning ride? I have three specific reasons.

First, over the years my obsessive interest in languages and apparent ability to pick up the basics of a new tongue relatively quickly has resulted in acquaintances viewing me as some kind of freak. In truth, I do not consider myself an exceptional language learner. If I do not put in the effort, my ability to communicate in a language does not progress. Perhaps I do have the ability to identify and mimic the sounds of a foreign tongue a little better than most people. Listeners frequently comment on how native-like my speech is even though my level may be very rudimentary. Many people who play the piano or sing in a choir probably have the same innate ability.

I recently read a review of a book entitled “Babel No More: The Search for the World’s Most Extraordinary Language Learners” written by Michael Erard,which is causing quite a stir among people like myself who are fixated with learning languages. The book (which I hope to read soon) apparently suggests that there are “special” people who are capable of easily picking up almost any language with little effort. Perhaps this is true to a degree; however, I truly believe that given suitable study conditions, an efficient teaching approach, interesting material, an empathetic instructor, and/or opportunity for use, anyone can master the basics necessary to communicate in another tongue. This is one of my primary reasons for involving others in the study of a new language. I want to show that any of my friends or family members is capable of quickly picking up the core language necessary to communicate their needs. I refuse to believe I am unique, one of Erard’s “special” people. It’s just that the whimsical road of life provided me with favorable conditions to nurture my fixation.

My next reason for spending the time, energy and funds to organize small groups of sometimes reluctant participants to learn a new language is because it is an adrenalin rush. It is thrilling for me to watch people who think they are lousy language learners evolve in a matter of weeks into motivated travelers effectively communicating in a foreign tongue. Of course they are not fluent but they get the job done. In pre-course surveys, few believe they will be able to understand or say anything in the language they are about to study, especially in such a short time. But in the survey administered post-course, after a trip abroad, there is an obvious “can-do” mentality for most participants with many expressing an interest in continuing their studies. And almost everyone is eager to participate in the next ABLE course!

My final reason for spending so many years researching how to learn a language more effectively derives from my own past as a teenager looking for an opportunity to go where I could savor the delights of unfamiliar cultures, meet new people and make new friends while using their language. My time in Malaysia as a 19-year-old perhaps had the greatest impact on me (see blog entries 10, 14 and 32); however, every trip I make to new, or even familiar places still excites me. For those who chose to join me on one of the ABLE programs, I hope that their experience will be just as energizing.

Many years ago, I read James Clavell’s “Shogun”, a novel based loosely around real events in feudal Japan. Academics panned the book as being pulp fiction for the masses but it got me interested in Japanese culture, and lead me to study the tea ceremony, traditional cuisine (kaiseki), even how to wear a kimono. I often wonder how many others started down a similar path thanks to a novel, movie, or even comic book. In my travels about the globe, I have met a surprising number of young people whose fascination with things Japanese is based on their love of manga.

In some ways, I view ABLE and, subsequently, our online courses at www.sulantra.com, in a similar light. The study system is surprisingly uncomplicated, while the visual component is simple and straightforward. Online there are no glitzy computer graphics or an overload of animated features because we want to reach and educate a broad audience – not crash their computers!

I understand that not every person who signs up for a classroom-based ABLE program or online course at www.sulantra.com will become fluent in the language they are studying. But I do want them to be able to communicate, albeit at a rudimentary level, and have the freedom to do what they want when traveling abroad. I want their first steps in the new language to be pleasant, not boring or painful. I want them to continue, moving forward step by step on a journey of self-discovery as they experience all that a new culture has to offer when you speak the language of its people. If only a small handful of those who make the journey eventually become fluent then the time and effort spent has been worthwhile!

(If you are really a fool for language, check out my language learning website at http://en.sulantra.com/ with courses from and to English, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, Turkish, Bulgarian, Thai, German, Korean and Italian!)